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[WP] Your superpower: The ability to successfully do the job...with the wrong tool. (Optional - Your weakness: The inability to do so with the right tool for the job.) | You'd think that the ability to use any tool to get the job done would be wonderful, even at the expense of the exactly right tool failing - I mean, there's like, tops, 5 'right' tools for any job, and literally thousands of 'wrong' tools, right?
Have a job that revolves around fixing viruses on computers? Hit them with a fork. The virus scan then comes up clean.
Need to build a new chair when you don't have anything resembling nails, and you've only got metal scraps? A fire extinguisher will do just fine - just spray the pile of scrap until you can't see anything, wait for the contents to disperse, and bam, chair.
Your house catches fire? Go borrow a construction crane, and pull the house up and shake it a bit, and the fire's gone, just like that.
​
But everyone forgets the basic rules for builders, the term 'builders' just being broad enough that it applies to pretty much everything. Or that it just applies to everything, but people just refer to it as the rules for 'builders' as a joke.
To always use the right tool for the job.
That the right tool for the job is a hammer.
And that anything can be used as a hammer. | There's a certain irony to my life that isn't lost on me-- all the things I should be able to do, things typical people can do with ease, are impossible for me no matter how hard I try. They'd tell me to smile and keep at it, that I'd get there one day, but I knew none of it was true. I'm just made differently than they are, and it seems like they won't ever understand it.
It took a while for me to realize that's okay.
For quite some time, I wallowed in my woeful shortcomings, in the things I couldn't do because I was made differently than them, the things I couldn't be a part of. My friends would go out and have fun but I'd stay at home because I knew somehow, some way, the night would end up with my issues at the center. I would slip up and do something stupid, and they'd laugh, then they'd apologize and tell me to cheer up as if the words themselves would be enough to undo something woven into my very being.
And then one day, like something of magic and movies, I met a woman who understood.
"They always tell me it'll get better, and to cheer up," she told me the night we met, "but they don't understand that it's not that simple. I don't need to be told it'll be better, I need to be shown. I need someone to be there and just get it, not explain why I'm doing things wrong when I already know and beat myself up about it."
I can't explain with words the way my heart suddenly felt like its holes had been patched. To meet someone that understood what I felt perfectly.
She was my pillar, and I was hers.
She taught me that it's not about trying to pretend I can learn to use things their intended ways, but about how I can find ways to misuse what I've been given to stumble my way through life.
She showed me that it's okay to fuck things up, because we all do. It's human nature, hard-wired in us, and so is the fight to make things work anyway.
I am broken, yes.
I don't operate the same way you do.
But, in the end, I still get there somehow, paving my own path through life's jungle-- even if it makes no sense to you.
You make no sense to me, either.
And that's perfectly fine, isn't it?
----
*/r/resonatingfury* | |
[WP] Your superpower: The ability to successfully do the job...with the wrong tool. (Optional - Your weakness: The inability to do so with the right tool for the job.) | “It’s not about the results, son,” my father said. “It’s about doing things the right way.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s hard to explain…but even if you get the result you want sometimes, that might not happen again the next time. You might not get as lucky. If you do it the right way every time, you’ll be rewarded the same way, hopefully.”
“I thought it’s about trying your best?”
He shook his head, the first of many times he would repeat that gesture throughout my life.
“You’ll see.”
\-
The referee could blow his whistle at any second. Coach called me over.
“Get us a goal, kid.”
“How?”
He smiled. “You always seem to find a way.”
His words don’t quite give me hope, or belief, but they make me realize I have to try. That’s how it always is for me in life. Don’t worry about how things will work out. Just do something. Anything more than nothing.
I get the ball on the right, just past midfield. There is a bit of space, so I run with the ball. I’m not the fastest or best dribbler, but I do my best.
I’m in the box now. Everyone is screaming. I look around. No teammates. Defenders closing in. I close my eyes, and kick as hard as I can…
The ball goes horribly awry. It’s not even on target. But then it happens. A defender can’t quite slide out of the way in time, and it ricochets off him and into the goal!
My teammates mob me. I take a second, and look up in the stands. My mom is jumping for joy along with everyone else, but all I can see is my dad, shaking his head…
\-
I think about that a lot. How they would all shake their head if they were to see how I operate. If the city could see how their hero stopped robberies by accidentally headbutting the lead robber and knocking both of us out, or prevented a suicide by falling off the building first and scaring the jumper off doing it, or any of the other mishaps-turned-miracles, would they still call me a hero?
In the end, that doesn’t matter. Or at least that’s what I tell myself. With me there, doing something, I like to think things are better off.
The kids are strong, just realizing how much they can bully and boss people around with their growing frames.
“Hey,” I say. “He’s got nothing. Why rob a hobo?”
They turn around, and smile when they see me. “Good point. We’ll do you instead.”
I walk towards them, and then start to run at them when they do. I close my eyes, and I slip on the ice-
And slide right into one of the goons. I hear a horrible crack, and when I look, his friends are trying to quiet his screaming, loading him up into a car, going away.
I stand up, and walk towards the hobo.
“Are you okay, sir?”
“That was something,” he said.
“Yeah. I’m sorry. I was trying to-“
“What are you apologizing for? Without you, I’d have nothing to eat tonight.”
“I wish it didn’t have to happen that way.”
He shrugs, and smiles. “But it did, didn’t it? And look at what happened. You scared those punks off. That’s all that matters, in my book.”
I look at my jeans, wet and stained with the dirty ice. “Thanks,” I say. “That means a lot.”
\-
[r/penguin347](https://reddit.com/r/penguin347) | There's a certain irony to my life that isn't lost on me-- all the things I should be able to do, things typical people can do with ease, are impossible for me no matter how hard I try. They'd tell me to smile and keep at it, that I'd get there one day, but I knew none of it was true. I'm just made differently than they are, and it seems like they won't ever understand it.
It took a while for me to realize that's okay.
For quite some time, I wallowed in my woeful shortcomings, in the things I couldn't do because I was made differently than them, the things I couldn't be a part of. My friends would go out and have fun but I'd stay at home because I knew somehow, some way, the night would end up with my issues at the center. I would slip up and do something stupid, and they'd laugh, then they'd apologize and tell me to cheer up as if the words themselves would be enough to undo something woven into my very being.
And then one day, like something of magic and movies, I met a woman who understood.
"They always tell me it'll get better, and to cheer up," she told me the night we met, "but they don't understand that it's not that simple. I don't need to be told it'll be better, I need to be shown. I need someone to be there and just get it, not explain why I'm doing things wrong when I already know and beat myself up about it."
I can't explain with words the way my heart suddenly felt like its holes had been patched. To meet someone that understood what I felt perfectly.
She was my pillar, and I was hers.
She taught me that it's not about trying to pretend I can learn to use things their intended ways, but about how I can find ways to misuse what I've been given to stumble my way through life.
She showed me that it's okay to fuck things up, because we all do. It's human nature, hard-wired in us, and so is the fight to make things work anyway.
I am broken, yes.
I don't operate the same way you do.
But, in the end, I still get there somehow, paving my own path through life's jungle-- even if it makes no sense to you.
You make no sense to me, either.
And that's perfectly fine, isn't it?
----
*/r/resonatingfury* | |
[WP] Your superpower: The ability to successfully do the job...with the wrong tool. (Optional - Your weakness: The inability to do so with the right tool for the job.) | “Excuse me, sir? We appreciate you pulling over to help us, so I really don't mean to be rude, but are you *sure* you know what you’re doing?” the young woman who had been driving asked me.
“Oh yeah, dont you worry, I’ll have your engine back in working order in no time,” I replied
In fairness, her concern was completely and totally justified. I was currently rubbing a croissant on her engine block like a madman, while bizarrely claiming it would somehow restore it to full working order.
The male passenger in the car finally chimed in, “Dude, I know they sound alike, but isn't it like… a crescent wrench you need? Not a *croissant*?”
“Shut it David! Do you or I know how to fix this? We’ve been sitting here for an hour hoping someone came by,” the woman scolded him.
I put my head down self consciously and set back to ‘work’. Look, I have no goddamn clue how it started, but at some point I found I had the ability to solve any problem, so long as I did the exact opposite of my father's lifetime of advice and did not use ‘the proper tool for the proper job’.
If it was a superpower then without a doubt embarrassment was my kryptonite. I had to balance my strong and genuine desire to help people with my willingness to look like a fool as I used a flamethrower to fix a wooden fence, a lava lamp to stop a guy mugging someone on the subway, or a hammer to mend a person’s broken heart. I’m not gonna lie, occasionally I just cant take the cringe factor and have to leave someone to fend for themselves.
“Sir? Can you at least TRY this wrench set I found in the trunk?” the young man asked reasonably.
I sighed, “Fine. Sure, but please… both of you stand back.” I touched the wrench to a random part of the engine and a massive bolt of electricity arced dramatically into the sky. Everyone's hair stood on end as we all jumped back in unison.
“Jesus, careful man, you must have touched the battery somehow?”
I’d been nowhere near the battery, but this kid didn’t know enough to be afraid of this tool in my particular hands. For as much as I could solve any problem with the worst possible tool, using the correct one for any given job could have disastrous consequences. I’d hoped that the little electrical light show my wrench had just put on would convince them to let me go back to doing things my way, but no such luck. They required more convincing, which was-- very unfortunate for all involved, but I didn’t see another way.
I slowly moved the wrench toward the vehicle again, this time barely making contact with the outer surface of the car, at which point the entire front panel burst into flames.
“Holy shit! Fire! Fire! Can car paint catch on fire? Err-- whatever! Fire! Anyone got a fire extinguisher? Anyone?!” the young lady shouted.
I grabbed an extinguisher out of my truck but sheepishly handed it to her, “You’d uh… you’d better do this rather than me.”
She actually seemed to grasp why my using a *fire extinguisher* to *extinguish a fire* would somehow be a terrible idea and she set to work. She put it right on target but the flames simply would not be fully beaten down. I ran to my truck and grabbed my child’s teddy bear out of the back seat. I rubbed it along the length of the flames and they immediately went out.
Both of them now stared at me with jaws agape, a strange mixture of gratitude and utter confusion I’d seen hundreds of times before plastered on their faces. Finally, the young man spoke, “Uh sir? Here’s... here’s your croissant back… if you’re still willing to help us.”
I nodded sheepishly and got back to work. Within 10 minutes I’d fixed whatever damage had originally caused their car to conk out and as well as mending any damage done by the fire.
As I was chatting with the now happy couple I heard the police scanner in my truck chirp to life, “We’ve got a bank robbery in progress. Multiple suspects are armed and dangerous. Repeat, armed and considered very dangerous. All officers proceed with caution and wait for backup.”
“I’m sorry kids, I’d love to stay and chat longer, but as you can hear, my assistance is needed elsewhere,” I told them as I walked back toward my truck, pulled a spatula from my belt and prepared for a fight.
___
r/Ryter
​
Edit: Holy cow this totally blew up over night! All your positive reactions are quite overwhelming. Thank you very much for the gold but thanks just as much to everyone who left really nice feedback or comments. I only started writing any kind of fiction a few months ago so this is quite a morale boost to keep working at it!
Edit 2: As requested I did try to continue this story below, I'm a bit wary of this premise becoming worn out quickly, but even if Part 2 and 3 suck, the original still exists to enjoy on its own : ) | There's a certain irony to my life that isn't lost on me-- all the things I should be able to do, things typical people can do with ease, are impossible for me no matter how hard I try. They'd tell me to smile and keep at it, that I'd get there one day, but I knew none of it was true. I'm just made differently than they are, and it seems like they won't ever understand it.
It took a while for me to realize that's okay.
For quite some time, I wallowed in my woeful shortcomings, in the things I couldn't do because I was made differently than them, the things I couldn't be a part of. My friends would go out and have fun but I'd stay at home because I knew somehow, some way, the night would end up with my issues at the center. I would slip up and do something stupid, and they'd laugh, then they'd apologize and tell me to cheer up as if the words themselves would be enough to undo something woven into my very being.
And then one day, like something of magic and movies, I met a woman who understood.
"They always tell me it'll get better, and to cheer up," she told me the night we met, "but they don't understand that it's not that simple. I don't need to be told it'll be better, I need to be shown. I need someone to be there and just get it, not explain why I'm doing things wrong when I already know and beat myself up about it."
I can't explain with words the way my heart suddenly felt like its holes had been patched. To meet someone that understood what I felt perfectly.
She was my pillar, and I was hers.
She taught me that it's not about trying to pretend I can learn to use things their intended ways, but about how I can find ways to misuse what I've been given to stumble my way through life.
She showed me that it's okay to fuck things up, because we all do. It's human nature, hard-wired in us, and so is the fight to make things work anyway.
I am broken, yes.
I don't operate the same way you do.
But, in the end, I still get there somehow, paving my own path through life's jungle-- even if it makes no sense to you.
You make no sense to me, either.
And that's perfectly fine, isn't it?
----
*/r/resonatingfury* | |
[WP] Your superpower: The ability to successfully do the job...with the wrong tool. (Optional - Your weakness: The inability to do so with the right tool for the job.) | You'd think that the ability to use any tool to get the job done would be wonderful, even at the expense of the exactly right tool failing - I mean, there's like, tops, 5 'right' tools for any job, and literally thousands of 'wrong' tools, right?
Have a job that revolves around fixing viruses on computers? Hit them with a fork. The virus scan then comes up clean.
Need to build a new chair when you don't have anything resembling nails, and you've only got metal scraps? A fire extinguisher will do just fine - just spray the pile of scrap until you can't see anything, wait for the contents to disperse, and bam, chair.
Your house catches fire? Go borrow a construction crane, and pull the house up and shake it a bit, and the fire's gone, just like that.
​
But everyone forgets the basic rules for builders, the term 'builders' just being broad enough that it applies to pretty much everything. Or that it just applies to everything, but people just refer to it as the rules for 'builders' as a joke.
To always use the right tool for the job.
That the right tool for the job is a hammer.
And that anything can be used as a hammer. | "But why mom?"
"Because its the wrong way to do it,son"
I listen back to the tape, again and again. My thoughts flow endlessly. Emotions slowly numbing down from my brain affecting the elderly couple near me.
"Sir, She doesn't have much time left.. I'll take all responsibility, please help",pleaded the old man.
lying down was a feeble woman, beyond help. Pale with no color in her eyes. The look that's ready to accept death.
I cock the gun. The tape drowning out my nervousness as it keeps repeating. Maybe i can help. The only way i know, is the wrong way.
"The way to save a life, is by taking it away." | |
[WP] Your superpower: The ability to successfully do the job...with the wrong tool. (Optional - Your weakness: The inability to do so with the right tool for the job.) | “It’s not about the results, son,” my father said. “It’s about doing things the right way.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s hard to explain…but even if you get the result you want sometimes, that might not happen again the next time. You might not get as lucky. If you do it the right way every time, you’ll be rewarded the same way, hopefully.”
“I thought it’s about trying your best?”
He shook his head, the first of many times he would repeat that gesture throughout my life.
“You’ll see.”
\-
The referee could blow his whistle at any second. Coach called me over.
“Get us a goal, kid.”
“How?”
He smiled. “You always seem to find a way.”
His words don’t quite give me hope, or belief, but they make me realize I have to try. That’s how it always is for me in life. Don’t worry about how things will work out. Just do something. Anything more than nothing.
I get the ball on the right, just past midfield. There is a bit of space, so I run with the ball. I’m not the fastest or best dribbler, but I do my best.
I’m in the box now. Everyone is screaming. I look around. No teammates. Defenders closing in. I close my eyes, and kick as hard as I can…
The ball goes horribly awry. It’s not even on target. But then it happens. A defender can’t quite slide out of the way in time, and it ricochets off him and into the goal!
My teammates mob me. I take a second, and look up in the stands. My mom is jumping for joy along with everyone else, but all I can see is my dad, shaking his head…
\-
I think about that a lot. How they would all shake their head if they were to see how I operate. If the city could see how their hero stopped robberies by accidentally headbutting the lead robber and knocking both of us out, or prevented a suicide by falling off the building first and scaring the jumper off doing it, or any of the other mishaps-turned-miracles, would they still call me a hero?
In the end, that doesn’t matter. Or at least that’s what I tell myself. With me there, doing something, I like to think things are better off.
The kids are strong, just realizing how much they can bully and boss people around with their growing frames.
“Hey,” I say. “He’s got nothing. Why rob a hobo?”
They turn around, and smile when they see me. “Good point. We’ll do you instead.”
I walk towards them, and then start to run at them when they do. I close my eyes, and I slip on the ice-
And slide right into one of the goons. I hear a horrible crack, and when I look, his friends are trying to quiet his screaming, loading him up into a car, going away.
I stand up, and walk towards the hobo.
“Are you okay, sir?”
“That was something,” he said.
“Yeah. I’m sorry. I was trying to-“
“What are you apologizing for? Without you, I’d have nothing to eat tonight.”
“I wish it didn’t have to happen that way.”
He shrugs, and smiles. “But it did, didn’t it? And look at what happened. You scared those punks off. That’s all that matters, in my book.”
I look at my jeans, wet and stained with the dirty ice. “Thanks,” I say. “That means a lot.”
\-
[r/penguin347](https://reddit.com/r/penguin347) | "But why mom?"
"Because its the wrong way to do it,son"
I listen back to the tape, again and again. My thoughts flow endlessly. Emotions slowly numbing down from my brain affecting the elderly couple near me.
"Sir, She doesn't have much time left.. I'll take all responsibility, please help",pleaded the old man.
lying down was a feeble woman, beyond help. Pale with no color in her eyes. The look that's ready to accept death.
I cock the gun. The tape drowning out my nervousness as it keeps repeating. Maybe i can help. The only way i know, is the wrong way.
"The way to save a life, is by taking it away." | |
[WP] Your superpower: The ability to successfully do the job...with the wrong tool. (Optional - Your weakness: The inability to do so with the right tool for the job.) | “Excuse me, sir? We appreciate you pulling over to help us, so I really don't mean to be rude, but are you *sure* you know what you’re doing?” the young woman who had been driving asked me.
“Oh yeah, dont you worry, I’ll have your engine back in working order in no time,” I replied
In fairness, her concern was completely and totally justified. I was currently rubbing a croissant on her engine block like a madman, while bizarrely claiming it would somehow restore it to full working order.
The male passenger in the car finally chimed in, “Dude, I know they sound alike, but isn't it like… a crescent wrench you need? Not a *croissant*?”
“Shut it David! Do you or I know how to fix this? We’ve been sitting here for an hour hoping someone came by,” the woman scolded him.
I put my head down self consciously and set back to ‘work’. Look, I have no goddamn clue how it started, but at some point I found I had the ability to solve any problem, so long as I did the exact opposite of my father's lifetime of advice and did not use ‘the proper tool for the proper job’.
If it was a superpower then without a doubt embarrassment was my kryptonite. I had to balance my strong and genuine desire to help people with my willingness to look like a fool as I used a flamethrower to fix a wooden fence, a lava lamp to stop a guy mugging someone on the subway, or a hammer to mend a person’s broken heart. I’m not gonna lie, occasionally I just cant take the cringe factor and have to leave someone to fend for themselves.
“Sir? Can you at least TRY this wrench set I found in the trunk?” the young man asked reasonably.
I sighed, “Fine. Sure, but please… both of you stand back.” I touched the wrench to a random part of the engine and a massive bolt of electricity arced dramatically into the sky. Everyone's hair stood on end as we all jumped back in unison.
“Jesus, careful man, you must have touched the battery somehow?”
I’d been nowhere near the battery, but this kid didn’t know enough to be afraid of this tool in my particular hands. For as much as I could solve any problem with the worst possible tool, using the correct one for any given job could have disastrous consequences. I’d hoped that the little electrical light show my wrench had just put on would convince them to let me go back to doing things my way, but no such luck. They required more convincing, which was-- very unfortunate for all involved, but I didn’t see another way.
I slowly moved the wrench toward the vehicle again, this time barely making contact with the outer surface of the car, at which point the entire front panel burst into flames.
“Holy shit! Fire! Fire! Can car paint catch on fire? Err-- whatever! Fire! Anyone got a fire extinguisher? Anyone?!” the young lady shouted.
I grabbed an extinguisher out of my truck but sheepishly handed it to her, “You’d uh… you’d better do this rather than me.”
She actually seemed to grasp why my using a *fire extinguisher* to *extinguish a fire* would somehow be a terrible idea and she set to work. She put it right on target but the flames simply would not be fully beaten down. I ran to my truck and grabbed my child’s teddy bear out of the back seat. I rubbed it along the length of the flames and they immediately went out.
Both of them now stared at me with jaws agape, a strange mixture of gratitude and utter confusion I’d seen hundreds of times before plastered on their faces. Finally, the young man spoke, “Uh sir? Here’s... here’s your croissant back… if you’re still willing to help us.”
I nodded sheepishly and got back to work. Within 10 minutes I’d fixed whatever damage had originally caused their car to conk out and as well as mending any damage done by the fire.
As I was chatting with the now happy couple I heard the police scanner in my truck chirp to life, “We’ve got a bank robbery in progress. Multiple suspects are armed and dangerous. Repeat, armed and considered very dangerous. All officers proceed with caution and wait for backup.”
“I’m sorry kids, I’d love to stay and chat longer, but as you can hear, my assistance is needed elsewhere,” I told them as I walked back toward my truck, pulled a spatula from my belt and prepared for a fight.
___
r/Ryter
​
Edit: Holy cow this totally blew up over night! All your positive reactions are quite overwhelming. Thank you very much for the gold but thanks just as much to everyone who left really nice feedback or comments. I only started writing any kind of fiction a few months ago so this is quite a morale boost to keep working at it!
Edit 2: As requested I did try to continue this story below, I'm a bit wary of this premise becoming worn out quickly, but even if Part 2 and 3 suck, the original still exists to enjoy on its own : ) | "But why mom?"
"Because its the wrong way to do it,son"
I listen back to the tape, again and again. My thoughts flow endlessly. Emotions slowly numbing down from my brain affecting the elderly couple near me.
"Sir, She doesn't have much time left.. I'll take all responsibility, please help",pleaded the old man.
lying down was a feeble woman, beyond help. Pale with no color in her eyes. The look that's ready to accept death.
I cock the gun. The tape drowning out my nervousness as it keeps repeating. Maybe i can help. The only way i know, is the wrong way.
"The way to save a life, is by taking it away." | |
[WP] Your superpower: The ability to successfully do the job...with the wrong tool. (Optional - Your weakness: The inability to do so with the right tool for the job.) | “Excuse me, sir? We appreciate you pulling over to help us, so I really don't mean to be rude, but are you *sure* you know what you’re doing?” the young woman who had been driving asked me.
“Oh yeah, dont you worry, I’ll have your engine back in working order in no time,” I replied
In fairness, her concern was completely and totally justified. I was currently rubbing a croissant on her engine block like a madman, while bizarrely claiming it would somehow restore it to full working order.
The male passenger in the car finally chimed in, “Dude, I know they sound alike, but isn't it like… a crescent wrench you need? Not a *croissant*?”
“Shut it David! Do you or I know how to fix this? We’ve been sitting here for an hour hoping someone came by,” the woman scolded him.
I put my head down self consciously and set back to ‘work’. Look, I have no goddamn clue how it started, but at some point I found I had the ability to solve any problem, so long as I did the exact opposite of my father's lifetime of advice and did not use ‘the proper tool for the proper job’.
If it was a superpower then without a doubt embarrassment was my kryptonite. I had to balance my strong and genuine desire to help people with my willingness to look like a fool as I used a flamethrower to fix a wooden fence, a lava lamp to stop a guy mugging someone on the subway, or a hammer to mend a person’s broken heart. I’m not gonna lie, occasionally I just cant take the cringe factor and have to leave someone to fend for themselves.
“Sir? Can you at least TRY this wrench set I found in the trunk?” the young man asked reasonably.
I sighed, “Fine. Sure, but please… both of you stand back.” I touched the wrench to a random part of the engine and a massive bolt of electricity arced dramatically into the sky. Everyone's hair stood on end as we all jumped back in unison.
“Jesus, careful man, you must have touched the battery somehow?”
I’d been nowhere near the battery, but this kid didn’t know enough to be afraid of this tool in my particular hands. For as much as I could solve any problem with the worst possible tool, using the correct one for any given job could have disastrous consequences. I’d hoped that the little electrical light show my wrench had just put on would convince them to let me go back to doing things my way, but no such luck. They required more convincing, which was-- very unfortunate for all involved, but I didn’t see another way.
I slowly moved the wrench toward the vehicle again, this time barely making contact with the outer surface of the car, at which point the entire front panel burst into flames.
“Holy shit! Fire! Fire! Can car paint catch on fire? Err-- whatever! Fire! Anyone got a fire extinguisher? Anyone?!” the young lady shouted.
I grabbed an extinguisher out of my truck but sheepishly handed it to her, “You’d uh… you’d better do this rather than me.”
She actually seemed to grasp why my using a *fire extinguisher* to *extinguish a fire* would somehow be a terrible idea and she set to work. She put it right on target but the flames simply would not be fully beaten down. I ran to my truck and grabbed my child’s teddy bear out of the back seat. I rubbed it along the length of the flames and they immediately went out.
Both of them now stared at me with jaws agape, a strange mixture of gratitude and utter confusion I’d seen hundreds of times before plastered on their faces. Finally, the young man spoke, “Uh sir? Here’s... here’s your croissant back… if you’re still willing to help us.”
I nodded sheepishly and got back to work. Within 10 minutes I’d fixed whatever damage had originally caused their car to conk out and as well as mending any damage done by the fire.
As I was chatting with the now happy couple I heard the police scanner in my truck chirp to life, “We’ve got a bank robbery in progress. Multiple suspects are armed and dangerous. Repeat, armed and considered very dangerous. All officers proceed with caution and wait for backup.”
“I’m sorry kids, I’d love to stay and chat longer, but as you can hear, my assistance is needed elsewhere,” I told them as I walked back toward my truck, pulled a spatula from my belt and prepared for a fight.
___
r/Ryter
​
Edit: Holy cow this totally blew up over night! All your positive reactions are quite overwhelming. Thank you very much for the gold but thanks just as much to everyone who left really nice feedback or comments. I only started writing any kind of fiction a few months ago so this is quite a morale boost to keep working at it!
Edit 2: As requested I did try to continue this story below, I'm a bit wary of this premise becoming worn out quickly, but even if Part 2 and 3 suck, the original still exists to enjoy on its own : ) | “It’s not about the results, son,” my father said. “It’s about doing things the right way.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s hard to explain…but even if you get the result you want sometimes, that might not happen again the next time. You might not get as lucky. If you do it the right way every time, you’ll be rewarded the same way, hopefully.”
“I thought it’s about trying your best?”
He shook his head, the first of many times he would repeat that gesture throughout my life.
“You’ll see.”
\-
The referee could blow his whistle at any second. Coach called me over.
“Get us a goal, kid.”
“How?”
He smiled. “You always seem to find a way.”
His words don’t quite give me hope, or belief, but they make me realize I have to try. That’s how it always is for me in life. Don’t worry about how things will work out. Just do something. Anything more than nothing.
I get the ball on the right, just past midfield. There is a bit of space, so I run with the ball. I’m not the fastest or best dribbler, but I do my best.
I’m in the box now. Everyone is screaming. I look around. No teammates. Defenders closing in. I close my eyes, and kick as hard as I can…
The ball goes horribly awry. It’s not even on target. But then it happens. A defender can’t quite slide out of the way in time, and it ricochets off him and into the goal!
My teammates mob me. I take a second, and look up in the stands. My mom is jumping for joy along with everyone else, but all I can see is my dad, shaking his head…
\-
I think about that a lot. How they would all shake their head if they were to see how I operate. If the city could see how their hero stopped robberies by accidentally headbutting the lead robber and knocking both of us out, or prevented a suicide by falling off the building first and scaring the jumper off doing it, or any of the other mishaps-turned-miracles, would they still call me a hero?
In the end, that doesn’t matter. Or at least that’s what I tell myself. With me there, doing something, I like to think things are better off.
The kids are strong, just realizing how much they can bully and boss people around with their growing frames.
“Hey,” I say. “He’s got nothing. Why rob a hobo?”
They turn around, and smile when they see me. “Good point. We’ll do you instead.”
I walk towards them, and then start to run at them when they do. I close my eyes, and I slip on the ice-
And slide right into one of the goons. I hear a horrible crack, and when I look, his friends are trying to quiet his screaming, loading him up into a car, going away.
I stand up, and walk towards the hobo.
“Are you okay, sir?”
“That was something,” he said.
“Yeah. I’m sorry. I was trying to-“
“What are you apologizing for? Without you, I’d have nothing to eat tonight.”
“I wish it didn’t have to happen that way.”
He shrugs, and smiles. “But it did, didn’t it? And look at what happened. You scared those punks off. That’s all that matters, in my book.”
I look at my jeans, wet and stained with the dirty ice. “Thanks,” I say. “That means a lot.”
\-
[r/penguin347](https://reddit.com/r/penguin347) | |
[WP] Your superpower: The ability to successfully do the job...with the wrong tool. (Optional - Your weakness: The inability to do so with the right tool for the job.) | “Excuse me, sir? We appreciate you pulling over to help us, so I really don't mean to be rude, but are you *sure* you know what you’re doing?” the young woman who had been driving asked me.
“Oh yeah, dont you worry, I’ll have your engine back in working order in no time,” I replied
In fairness, her concern was completely and totally justified. I was currently rubbing a croissant on her engine block like a madman, while bizarrely claiming it would somehow restore it to full working order.
The male passenger in the car finally chimed in, “Dude, I know they sound alike, but isn't it like… a crescent wrench you need? Not a *croissant*?”
“Shut it David! Do you or I know how to fix this? We’ve been sitting here for an hour hoping someone came by,” the woman scolded him.
I put my head down self consciously and set back to ‘work’. Look, I have no goddamn clue how it started, but at some point I found I had the ability to solve any problem, so long as I did the exact opposite of my father's lifetime of advice and did not use ‘the proper tool for the proper job’.
If it was a superpower then without a doubt embarrassment was my kryptonite. I had to balance my strong and genuine desire to help people with my willingness to look like a fool as I used a flamethrower to fix a wooden fence, a lava lamp to stop a guy mugging someone on the subway, or a hammer to mend a person’s broken heart. I’m not gonna lie, occasionally I just cant take the cringe factor and have to leave someone to fend for themselves.
“Sir? Can you at least TRY this wrench set I found in the trunk?” the young man asked reasonably.
I sighed, “Fine. Sure, but please… both of you stand back.” I touched the wrench to a random part of the engine and a massive bolt of electricity arced dramatically into the sky. Everyone's hair stood on end as we all jumped back in unison.
“Jesus, careful man, you must have touched the battery somehow?”
I’d been nowhere near the battery, but this kid didn’t know enough to be afraid of this tool in my particular hands. For as much as I could solve any problem with the worst possible tool, using the correct one for any given job could have disastrous consequences. I’d hoped that the little electrical light show my wrench had just put on would convince them to let me go back to doing things my way, but no such luck. They required more convincing, which was-- very unfortunate for all involved, but I didn’t see another way.
I slowly moved the wrench toward the vehicle again, this time barely making contact with the outer surface of the car, at which point the entire front panel burst into flames.
“Holy shit! Fire! Fire! Can car paint catch on fire? Err-- whatever! Fire! Anyone got a fire extinguisher? Anyone?!” the young lady shouted.
I grabbed an extinguisher out of my truck but sheepishly handed it to her, “You’d uh… you’d better do this rather than me.”
She actually seemed to grasp why my using a *fire extinguisher* to *extinguish a fire* would somehow be a terrible idea and she set to work. She put it right on target but the flames simply would not be fully beaten down. I ran to my truck and grabbed my child’s teddy bear out of the back seat. I rubbed it along the length of the flames and they immediately went out.
Both of them now stared at me with jaws agape, a strange mixture of gratitude and utter confusion I’d seen hundreds of times before plastered on their faces. Finally, the young man spoke, “Uh sir? Here’s... here’s your croissant back… if you’re still willing to help us.”
I nodded sheepishly and got back to work. Within 10 minutes I’d fixed whatever damage had originally caused their car to conk out and as well as mending any damage done by the fire.
As I was chatting with the now happy couple I heard the police scanner in my truck chirp to life, “We’ve got a bank robbery in progress. Multiple suspects are armed and dangerous. Repeat, armed and considered very dangerous. All officers proceed with caution and wait for backup.”
“I’m sorry kids, I’d love to stay and chat longer, but as you can hear, my assistance is needed elsewhere,” I told them as I walked back toward my truck, pulled a spatula from my belt and prepared for a fight.
___
r/Ryter
​
Edit: Holy cow this totally blew up over night! All your positive reactions are quite overwhelming. Thank you very much for the gold but thanks just as much to everyone who left really nice feedback or comments. I only started writing any kind of fiction a few months ago so this is quite a morale boost to keep working at it!
Edit 2: As requested I did try to continue this story below, I'm a bit wary of this premise becoming worn out quickly, but even if Part 2 and 3 suck, the original still exists to enjoy on its own : ) | The second day stuck at the bottom of the ocean, the crew locked me in a storage closet. I suppose it shouldn't have come as a surprise, but I had really thought we were getting along. Oh, sure, I had accidentally caused a ship-wide EMP that disabled all systems, but it was hardly my fault that the radio was *that* badly mis-wired.
"Aw, guys," I feebly complained as they stuffed me into the closet, "things were going so well."
They were not, of course, going so well.
Fourteen hours into the dive, we got a message from the surface support vessel *Heart of Gold* that there had been seismic activity a few miles from our location, and an underwater pressure wave was heading our way. Too far from the surface to make it topside, we had no choice but to brace for impact. The pressure wave shook the old submarine - purchased out from mothballs and refitted as a treasure finder - and sent us spinning for nearly ten minutes. When we recovered, it had been my job to radio the surface to tell them we were OK, and inquire if the mission instructions had changed.
Then came the EMP, and the sinking to the ocean floor, and the panic in total darkness about oxygen running out as temperatures dipped to near freezing and the walls shuddered and creaked under the immense pressures of the deep sea. You could understand why there'd be some tension; I don't blame the crew for lashing out.
Still, locked in a closet with no light or food or water, I did feel incentivized to formulate an escape plan. Unfortunately, there was nothing around I could use to get out. This closet was the demolitions locker. If I touched anything, the tiny room would perhaps barely contain the explosion, but I would not survive. With no good options available to me, I availed myself of bad ones. I grabbed a detonator and smashed it against the door. The tiny seed charge blew the lock - and broke several bones in my hand - but just like that I was free. Free, with an armload of underwater demolitions charges.
The skipper had apparently managed to find some batteries while I was locked up, because there was faint lighting from a dozen or more low-power LED floodlights at their lowest setting. Two of the crew came running through the tight corridors and saw me, carrying nearly a third my weight in high explosives, struggling toward the aft torpedo tubes. They raced toward me, their thick rubber-soled boots clomping firmly against the slightly damp deck. They were perhaps ten meters away when the sub shifted, the back half dropping low as the whole vessel rolled to port.
I had no such grippy shoes. Mine had fallen off in the struggle to get me stuffed in the locker. All I had on were wool socks and silk sock liners over top. On the wet floor, I lost traction completely, and flailing as much as I could without dropping the charges, I slid across the damp floor as quick as a pat of butter on a hot pan. Dimly aware that I would break all my toes if I didn't clear the bulkhead, I leapt at the last moment and fell gracelessly into the torpedo room as the hatch slammed shut behind me.
Five minutes later, as I finished loading the demolition charges into the tube, I heard a loud banging on the hatch, and could just make out the skippers voice. "Don't be a damned fool," he surely roared, his voice a faint and tinny buzz through the thick metal separating us. "What do you think you're doing?" I spun the locking mechanism and let the hatch fly open. The skipper and all five of the crew fell down into the torpedo room with me, crashing in a tangle of beards and spit. Straining with my meager engineer's muscles, I shoved the hatch closed and spun the lock again. "Skipper, hold up. I have an idea," I said, trying my best to sound reassuring.
A can of 5200 in either hand, I quickly sealed shut the hatch and the torpedo tube while the crew engaged in a vigorous bout of mutual extrication. The skipper glared up at me balefully, clawing his way out of the scrum of personnel. I explained. "If the demolition charges can break the rocks we're stuck in and shove us toward the surface, our natural density should keep us rising toward the surface! We'll be safe!"
"Literally nothing you said makes any goddamn sense!" bellowed the skipper, reaching for me. I kicked the torpedo tube activation button, and the demo charges went off as one. The impulse shoved us all back down into a corner together, and the shock wave ruptured the oxygen tubes on the other side of the torpedo loading door, overpressurizing the room with nearly pure oxygen. Contrary to any sane expectation, nothing caught fire, and the vast majority of the sub rose gradually yet inexorably toward the surface.
"See, skipper! It worked," I crowed with relief and glee. The crew took turns expressing their gratitude by punching me in the face, but we had to spend so much time in a decompression chamber that the bruises were mostly gone when we were released a week later. | |
EDIT: I’m trying so hard to read all the stories and get everything else done that I need to today lol. Just gotta say that this is one of the best collections of stories I’ve ever had on one of my prompts!! You guys are awesome! | [WP]Things on the mountain don't age. You built a cabin to live in with your family 300 years ago, and since then none of you have aged a day. You've even come to know many of the animals as they too are immortal, and have grown wise. One day you find an old buck, a friend, shot dead and left to rot | The smell of death. It was a smell I had long ago forgotten. Yet there he was, antlers twisted into the dirt and head snapped back with wide empty eyes. His body had been left to rot, but the mountain did not know rot. Long ago the spores that sat in soil waiting for the inevitable had faded. The trees twisted and grew hardened by the streams that surged underneath their roots. The birds that wet their beak with blood no longer flew the mountain skies.
All the mountain knew was prosperity and ripeness. The clutch of berries forever shimmering with color upon the branches. The luscious array of flowers crowning the ground kept their bloom. Nothing new grew, and nothing old decayed.
Until today.
Fortifying myself, I crouched down to inspect my old friend. Iber had been a leader to the deer clan and despite the peacefulness enjoyed on the mountain, he was always vigilant about the borders. He’d been watching with great trepidation over the structures built down in The Valley past the gorge. Perhaps his fears were well founded, for in his great chest, buried amongst proud muscles, was a wound that looked to be from a gun.
The smell of death was but a slight dampness to the air and so I knew that while things worked differently here, this death was recent. Slowly I stood up and inspected my surroundings. No one ventured past the gorge. While immortality welcomed those on the mountain, life required a balance. The gorge was its remedy. Surrounding the mountain was sharp rock, marinated in the horrors of human errors. Geiger counters would greet the rocks with screams. Humans who dared climb the rocks would find their limbs rotting before they reached the summit. Those who ventured past these rocks with the appropriate gear, would be greeted with a bottomless chasm echoing in the whispers of water, miles wide across its great mouth.
We were only on this mountain by chance. An accidental crash landing in a day trip helicopter ride. The helicopter had approached the gorge too closely and malfunctioned with a cacophony of static. But that was long ago, a story for another time. While we had seen the growth of humanity and their technologies, we had witnessed time after time their great creations failing. For once anything passed the edge of the great rock, it would crumble.
Nothing in my view spoke to this great barrier having failed. Iber was no where near the edge of the mountain and yet the evidence of invasion was clear. A stranger had made their way here and they brought with them death. Slowly I walked around Iber in ever expanding circles, inspecting the ground. At about 500 feet from where he lay, I found a spent shell sitting on the ground. Picking it up, I placed it in my pocket and walked back to Iber. I let out a sharp whistle and delicately moved his body so it laid more peacefully on the ground and shut his eyes.
Slowly the shadows of hooves and antlers began to form above me. Soft snorts and low mews began to echo in the air. I looked at my friends who had welcomed me to their home many years ago and carefully placed the shell on the rock near Iber. Slowly each of the deer moved to the side and Raj came from the back of the herd. He walked slowly, nose held high to the wind, hair flowing softly to the side by the wind. His heavy paws making not a sound amongst the dirt.
He sat before me and slowly knelt down so that he could fully inhale the scent of the shell. His eyes were narrowed with anger and revenge. His red hair matching the glaze on his iris. After several moments of deep quiet inhales, he looked up to the sky and let out a loud low howl. In response, howls echoed from across the mountain. The soft chittering of squirrels followed and we immediately began to sprint towards the gorge on the south side.
Towards my home. | The mist hung low that morning. It rolled off the peaks and into the valley just like the first day we arrived. The cold, damp wind clinging to our bare skin. We knew not of the strange and ancient powers of the slumbering behemoths then. It wasn't until the second cycle that we realized we had remained as we were from when we settled. Our youngest was twelve winters old, yet he had not grown even a finger's width. Time had yold to our bodies.
I watched the mist dance through the tree tops, parting only for the behemoth's ribs. A cascade of ridges a quarter day's walk from the cabin. Muffled footfalls came purposefully before the silhouette materialized from the shadow and fog.
"Zekon," it beckoned, "Kasil is not longer of this realm."
"What befell her?"
"Death was cast upon the doe," it inclined its head and gazed down upon me, its splintering horns brushing the branches of the oaks, "it was by the hand of one of your kind."
"I am no longer of them. I warned her not to venture past the river."
The beast observed me as if to peer into my very soul before turning and stalking into the forest, its hooves falling by the shallow moss soundlessly.
"Tread carefully, Zekon."
I counted my heartbeats until I could no longer hold my breath. A shudder seized my shoulders and cold sweat dripped from my temples.
"Finur,"
"Yes, father?"
"Bury the rifle." |
EDIT: I’m trying so hard to read all the stories and get everything else done that I need to today lol. Just gotta say that this is one of the best collections of stories I’ve ever had on one of my prompts!! You guys are awesome! | [WP]Things on the mountain don't age. You built a cabin to live in with your family 300 years ago, and since then none of you have aged a day. You've even come to know many of the animals as they too are immortal, and have grown wise. One day you find an old buck, a friend, shot dead and left to rot | Following the path that I had taken a thousand times or more I descended the slope of the mountain toward the edge of our land's boundary. My woodcutting axe was firmly in my hand as I gently pushed the same branches out of my way. I needed firewood for the coming season and the wood within our grove would not do. I needed trees that would fall and eventually grow back over time. The trees of our grove would not grow, just as me and my family did not grow within the grove.
Up ahead of me was my son’s cabin. It was placed just on the boundary of the land so that he could balance growing with his own family and reaping the long life that this mountain granted. When I arrived he and his wife sat on the porch watching their six year old daughter and three year old son play just outside the boundary where they could age and grow and change. My own son was approaching my age, having spent so much time across the border.
“They are both beautiful as ever,” I said to him, indicating his two, “and you age with every visit.” A smile creeped across my lips.
His smile mirrored mine. “As long as I spend less time than you beyond our border you will always be the old man.”
I let out a hearty laugh as I leaned against the railing of the porch. I was, in truth, almost four hundred winters old, but I had only aged for a few more than forty of those. My son, Hammak, looked like he was close to thirty winters himself, and his wife, Kaeris only a couple more. It was almost a century ago that he had decided he would go out and find himself a wife. He left at twenty-three and came back at twenty-eight. His wife was two years younger than him then.
Kaeris was a beautiful woman, and her voice was like honey–not unlike the singsong voice of my own. “Always good to see you, Garron. It is a good day for the children to grow, and a good day for firewood,” she said, smiling.
I nodded, “the winter is coming on slow, and the air is crisp.” I looked out at the children playing. Ellie was playing tug of war with Smoke, a local wolf youngling also in need of aging. Her brother Jakkon was riding Smoke’s father, Snow, around like a horse. Snow was of the first animal friends that I made when I arrived on the mountain. The nature of this place made it so that there was no competition between man and wolf and stag.
My son rose from his seat and grabbed his own woodcutting axe. “Shall we go, father?”
“Would that I could watch the children play forever,” I said, pushing myself away from the railing.
Together we walked away from his cabin, out from the blessed grove and into the mundane world. This path had been taken many times too, but each time the branches changed and new brown, crunchy leaves covered the forest floor. There was a clearing some ways away that had good trees for felling in it. They were old and dying and that part of the woods was in need of clearing. We made our way there to begin the work of the day.
Along the way I made idle chat with Hammak. There was always something to catch up on since we often went months or years without seeing each other. The times between our visits had gotten short the past few years with the children here, but they were still far enough apart that our ageless grove produced stories. We were about ten minutes away when I heard the scream of an injured stag up ahead, echoing through the still forest.
We both stiffened and stood still for a moment. Dying things were common outside the grove. It was the way of life elsewhere in the world. “We should hurry,” I said, “I have a bad feeling.”
My son looked at me worried. “Father,” he said, “wasn’t Greyhorn going to meet us to help drag the logs?”
I had forgotten. The great stag had agreed when I told him it would be much more fulfilling for my son and I to chop wood where we could watch the children play. He was going to pull the logs to the cabin for us so that we could process it there instead of out here.
“Hurry,” I said, breaking into a run.
Together we sprinted to the clearing. The sight that found my eyes there was ghastly enough I almost couldn’t look. A mangled man corpse lie on the ground next to a dropped bow and a scattered quiver of arrows. Next to it was Greyhorn, lying on his side. A heavy crossbow bolt protruded from his side and blood flowed from the wound.
Greyhorn’s breathing was heavy and erratic. I dropped to my knees and began preparing my shirt as a makeshift bandage. My son looked around the clearing.
“It looks like whoever fired the shot got away,” he said. “His companion with the bow was unlucky enough to meet Greyhorn’s antlers.”
I gently pet the hide of the huge stag, “I am sorry to find you like this, old friend.” I knew in my heart what was to become of him, but I didn’t want to admit it. His eyes told the same story. Tears flowed while I watched him die, unable to help. It did not take long.
Anger stopped the flow of tears and I joined my son in looking for clues.
“It looks like Greyhorn was not alone,” he said. “There are several sets of deer tracks that lead that way.” He pointed into the woods beyond the clearing. “And one set of man tracks.”
I did not waste time. My pace was intentional, slow enough to follow the signs, but quick enough to satisfy the demands of my anger. As the tracks went on, the deer prints tapered off here and there until it was only man prints left. At each junction where deer left the trail there was another bolt that had been fired. Some were in trees, others buried in dirt. Only one such bolt struck its target, but the buck would live.
My son and I carried on.
The tracks led down a riverbank and toward a natural cave. There we found the remains of a campfire smoking gently outside. I gripped my woodcutting axe in both hands, looked at my son, and when he nodded back to me, I went in. He followed.
Inside the cave possessions were strewn all about. A young man was hastily shoving things in a backpack when we arrived. He heard us and reached for the crossbow, but I was upon him before he could grab it.
I smashed his outstretched hand with the back of the axe. He cried out in pain and I kicked the instrument of death away. He rolled onto his back, clutching his hand.
“Who are you?” He asked. “What do you want?”
“Friends of Greyhorn,” I screamed at him, heart full of rage. “We demand justice!” I raised my axe over my head, prepared to strike the cowering man.
“Wait,” Hammak said, holding back my strike. “Father, it isn’t justice.”
I turned on him, rage still clouding my sight. “The hell it isn’t!” I screamed.
“Father,” he said.
I could feel the rage slowly subsiding. I could not remember the last time I had been so mad.
I looked back at the murderer on the floor, realizing now that he was not much more than a boy. He had pissed himself and the smell of sulfur filled the cave.
“He didn’t know that Greyhorn was a friend,” my son reminded me. “He’s just a hunter of the mundane world.”
“Right,” I said, composure regained. I lowered the axe and turned away from the killer. “Of course.” I was over my rage, but soon disgust filled me. “Every year they get closer,” I said.
Hammak nodded.
“Things like this will keep happening,” I said.
Hammak nodded forlornly. “But killing this kid will not prevent that. He’s just a boy.”
“I know,” I relented, “but perhaps he can carry a message.”
I turned to the boy, who had scrambled against the wall of the cave. “Tell your people that Garron Wildblood protects these lands,” I began, “tell them that if they want to threaten my friends, they are going to have to answer to my blade and my fist; tell them that you were the last to desecrate our mountain with blood.”
He nodded vigorously.
“If I ever see you again,” I growled, “there will be no mercy.” | The mist hung low that morning. It rolled off the peaks and into the valley just like the first day we arrived. The cold, damp wind clinging to our bare skin. We knew not of the strange and ancient powers of the slumbering behemoths then. It wasn't until the second cycle that we realized we had remained as we were from when we settled. Our youngest was twelve winters old, yet he had not grown even a finger's width. Time had yold to our bodies.
I watched the mist dance through the tree tops, parting only for the behemoth's ribs. A cascade of ridges a quarter day's walk from the cabin. Muffled footfalls came purposefully before the silhouette materialized from the shadow and fog.
"Zekon," it beckoned, "Kasil is not longer of this realm."
"What befell her?"
"Death was cast upon the doe," it inclined its head and gazed down upon me, its splintering horns brushing the branches of the oaks, "it was by the hand of one of your kind."
"I am no longer of them. I warned her not to venture past the river."
The beast observed me as if to peer into my very soul before turning and stalking into the forest, its hooves falling by the shallow moss soundlessly.
"Tread carefully, Zekon."
I counted my heartbeats until I could no longer hold my breath. A shudder seized my shoulders and cold sweat dripped from my temples.
"Finur,"
"Yes, father?"
"Bury the rifle." |
EDIT: I’m trying so hard to read all the stories and get everything else done that I need to today lol. Just gotta say that this is one of the best collections of stories I’ve ever had on one of my prompts!! You guys are awesome! | [WP]Things on the mountain don't age. You built a cabin to live in with your family 300 years ago, and since then none of you have aged a day. You've even come to know many of the animals as they too are immortal, and have grown wise. One day you find an old buck, a friend, shot dead and left to rot | Following the path that I had taken a thousand times or more I descended the slope of the mountain toward the edge of our land's boundary. My woodcutting axe was firmly in my hand as I gently pushed the same branches out of my way. I needed firewood for the coming season and the wood within our grove would not do. I needed trees that would fall and eventually grow back over time. The trees of our grove would not grow, just as me and my family did not grow within the grove.
Up ahead of me was my son’s cabin. It was placed just on the boundary of the land so that he could balance growing with his own family and reaping the long life that this mountain granted. When I arrived he and his wife sat on the porch watching their six year old daughter and three year old son play just outside the boundary where they could age and grow and change. My own son was approaching my age, having spent so much time across the border.
“They are both beautiful as ever,” I said to him, indicating his two, “and you age with every visit.” A smile creeped across my lips.
His smile mirrored mine. “As long as I spend less time than you beyond our border you will always be the old man.”
I let out a hearty laugh as I leaned against the railing of the porch. I was, in truth, almost four hundred winters old, but I had only aged for a few more than forty of those. My son, Hammak, looked like he was close to thirty winters himself, and his wife, Kaeris only a couple more. It was almost a century ago that he had decided he would go out and find himself a wife. He left at twenty-three and came back at twenty-eight. His wife was two years younger than him then.
Kaeris was a beautiful woman, and her voice was like honey–not unlike the singsong voice of my own. “Always good to see you, Garron. It is a good day for the children to grow, and a good day for firewood,” she said, smiling.
I nodded, “the winter is coming on slow, and the air is crisp.” I looked out at the children playing. Ellie was playing tug of war with Smoke, a local wolf youngling also in need of aging. Her brother Jakkon was riding Smoke’s father, Snow, around like a horse. Snow was of the first animal friends that I made when I arrived on the mountain. The nature of this place made it so that there was no competition between man and wolf and stag.
My son rose from his seat and grabbed his own woodcutting axe. “Shall we go, father?”
“Would that I could watch the children play forever,” I said, pushing myself away from the railing.
Together we walked away from his cabin, out from the blessed grove and into the mundane world. This path had been taken many times too, but each time the branches changed and new brown, crunchy leaves covered the forest floor. There was a clearing some ways away that had good trees for felling in it. They were old and dying and that part of the woods was in need of clearing. We made our way there to begin the work of the day.
Along the way I made idle chat with Hammak. There was always something to catch up on since we often went months or years without seeing each other. The times between our visits had gotten short the past few years with the children here, but they were still far enough apart that our ageless grove produced stories. We were about ten minutes away when I heard the scream of an injured stag up ahead, echoing through the still forest.
We both stiffened and stood still for a moment. Dying things were common outside the grove. It was the way of life elsewhere in the world. “We should hurry,” I said, “I have a bad feeling.”
My son looked at me worried. “Father,” he said, “wasn’t Greyhorn going to meet us to help drag the logs?”
I had forgotten. The great stag had agreed when I told him it would be much more fulfilling for my son and I to chop wood where we could watch the children play. He was going to pull the logs to the cabin for us so that we could process it there instead of out here.
“Hurry,” I said, breaking into a run.
Together we sprinted to the clearing. The sight that found my eyes there was ghastly enough I almost couldn’t look. A mangled man corpse lie on the ground next to a dropped bow and a scattered quiver of arrows. Next to it was Greyhorn, lying on his side. A heavy crossbow bolt protruded from his side and blood flowed from the wound.
Greyhorn’s breathing was heavy and erratic. I dropped to my knees and began preparing my shirt as a makeshift bandage. My son looked around the clearing.
“It looks like whoever fired the shot got away,” he said. “His companion with the bow was unlucky enough to meet Greyhorn’s antlers.”
I gently pet the hide of the huge stag, “I am sorry to find you like this, old friend.” I knew in my heart what was to become of him, but I didn’t want to admit it. His eyes told the same story. Tears flowed while I watched him die, unable to help. It did not take long.
Anger stopped the flow of tears and I joined my son in looking for clues.
“It looks like Greyhorn was not alone,” he said. “There are several sets of deer tracks that lead that way.” He pointed into the woods beyond the clearing. “And one set of man tracks.”
I did not waste time. My pace was intentional, slow enough to follow the signs, but quick enough to satisfy the demands of my anger. As the tracks went on, the deer prints tapered off here and there until it was only man prints left. At each junction where deer left the trail there was another bolt that had been fired. Some were in trees, others buried in dirt. Only one such bolt struck its target, but the buck would live.
My son and I carried on.
The tracks led down a riverbank and toward a natural cave. There we found the remains of a campfire smoking gently outside. I gripped my woodcutting axe in both hands, looked at my son, and when he nodded back to me, I went in. He followed.
Inside the cave possessions were strewn all about. A young man was hastily shoving things in a backpack when we arrived. He heard us and reached for the crossbow, but I was upon him before he could grab it.
I smashed his outstretched hand with the back of the axe. He cried out in pain and I kicked the instrument of death away. He rolled onto his back, clutching his hand.
“Who are you?” He asked. “What do you want?”
“Friends of Greyhorn,” I screamed at him, heart full of rage. “We demand justice!” I raised my axe over my head, prepared to strike the cowering man.
“Wait,” Hammak said, holding back my strike. “Father, it isn’t justice.”
I turned on him, rage still clouding my sight. “The hell it isn’t!” I screamed.
“Father,” he said.
I could feel the rage slowly subsiding. I could not remember the last time I had been so mad.
I looked back at the murderer on the floor, realizing now that he was not much more than a boy. He had pissed himself and the smell of sulfur filled the cave.
“He didn’t know that Greyhorn was a friend,” my son reminded me. “He’s just a hunter of the mundane world.”
“Right,” I said, composure regained. I lowered the axe and turned away from the killer. “Of course.” I was over my rage, but soon disgust filled me. “Every year they get closer,” I said.
Hammak nodded.
“Things like this will keep happening,” I said.
Hammak nodded forlornly. “But killing this kid will not prevent that. He’s just a boy.”
“I know,” I relented, “but perhaps he can carry a message.”
I turned to the boy, who had scrambled against the wall of the cave. “Tell your people that Garron Wildblood protects these lands,” I began, “tell them that if they want to threaten my friends, they are going to have to answer to my blade and my fist; tell them that you were the last to desecrate our mountain with blood.”
He nodded vigorously.
“If I ever see you again,” I growled, “there will be no mercy.” | That mountain was an escape. From death, as everything that step foot upon its soil would flourish and cease to age, and from the machinations of the world. You see, young one, the mountain was a place where one could live in harmony with nature, not unlike those days long past. But the mountain cannot protect from savagery of man.
We did indeed use to live on that very same mountain, child. It was Nana, your father, uncle Simon, Aunt Josephine, and me. I’d heard about the mountain from a traveler who claimed the mountain was a place of peace. Back in those days the war hadn’t even started. But I could see the signs. It was the small things that makes a safe place feel dangerous. Men in uniform marching up and down the streets, people giving each other suspicious looks and what not. But I’m rambling.
What was it we were talking about? Ah yes, the mountain. We’d moved up there some fifty years ago. Hoho Oh yes, child. A long time ago. Forever and a day ago. But, when we moved there, we learned the delicate balance that we needed to maintain. For you see nothing, not even the animals or plants, grew old. I’m getting to that, little one. Patience.
We lived off the land as it saw fit to provide. I built a log cabin oh, I’d say, about a good hour from the base. We forged for everything we could. Berries, figs, and on rare occasions fruits of a different nature entirely. But that’s a story for another time. And for when you’re older. Don’t sass me, child. Listen.
You see we came to know a lot of the animals in the area as well. Like I said, nothing on that mountain aged. There was one buck whom I became fast friends with after he’d saved me from tumbling off a cliff. He didn’t have a name, but I took to calling him Adrial. A fitting name for such a proud animal. Now me and Adrial, we had our disagreements. Sounds strange, disagreeing with a deer, but once you’ve lived up there long enough everyone and everything sort of has an understanding of things. But no matter how much we disagreed, friends don’t hold grudges.
But one day, as I was taking my normal route up to go pick some berries, I found poor Adrial. He’d been shot. And not by one of us. No, he’d be taken out with a bullet. A bit gruesome, I know, but it’s the truth. I’d taken him to rest with his family some ten minutes away from us. And I went hunting myself for the first time in a long time.
But we could all feel. Every living thing felt it. The mountain was a sacred place of harmony. That harmony had been broken. Bad things were comin’ down. After holding service for Adrial, our little family packed up and moved back down. I never did find the bastard that killed him. But I think that’s probably for the best all things considered.
So that is why, little one, we do not live on the mountain anymore, but we still maintain its ways. We do not fraternize with the outside world because we should not put ourselves above nature. |
EDIT: I’m trying so hard to read all the stories and get everything else done that I need to today lol. Just gotta say that this is one of the best collections of stories I’ve ever had on one of my prompts!! You guys are awesome! | [WP]Things on the mountain don't age. You built a cabin to live in with your family 300 years ago, and since then none of you have aged a day. You've even come to know many of the animals as they too are immortal, and have grown wise. One day you find an old buck, a friend, shot dead and left to rot | We knew by the silence that things had suddenly changed.
Before we came to the mountain, change was to be expected. Cold winter would always turn into fresh, bountiful spring; children would become adults, and have children of their own; those that were old would wither and die, defined only by the vibrant grasses that drew potency from the remains.
All flesh was grass. All things grew, and diminished, and found a way.
Here, upon the mountain, time stood still. There would be no more children born. Adults would no longer age. Everything stayed as it was, with no death, no life, no seasons, or sorrows.
It was not necessarily good, or bad. It was not necessary to be good or bad. We existed, the minds of ancients in the bodies of fragile mortals, biding our time and watching as entire civilisations waxed and waned.
\*\*\*
We found him at the heart of the meadow, breathing laboured, blood-flecked spittle foaming from his mouth. An arrow, an object unseen in these lands for eons, had pierced his ribcage. His panicked eyes seized mine, and I placed a hand upon his brow, telling him it would be alright, it was ok to go. The light that was in his eyes faded, and before me his body aged, and withered, and shrivelled into dust, the grass beneath suddenly bursting forth with lurid, red flowers.
At once everything that had held its breath started clamouring; the trees and the wind and the bees and the flowers and the humans – all of it. I held up my hands for calm, withdrawing them in horror as I felt a cold, sharp sting. The culprit melted slowly upon my palm; the first snowflake that had fallen in more than 300 years. | It was Jenny who found him, in that hour just before dawn when the whole world holds its breath. Her eyes glittered in the dimness, wide and stricken in her solemn little face. “Papa,” she’d whispered. “The Lord’s dead.”
He was right where Jenny said he was, splayed on the forest floor like a parody of himself, eyes blown wide and tongue lolling. His great crown of antlers dug clumsily into the dirt. A ragged hole gaped in the flesh of his once-proud neck. The wound was still fresh, and the rich, heady stink of blood and shit saturated the air, made it hard to breathe. Around him, partially shrouded by the mist wreathing through the trees, was the rest of the herd. They said nothing as we approached, but I could read their eyes and the sorrow there pierced my heart like a dagger.
“How did this happen?” Bea asked, after a long, awful silence. Her voice shook. I reached for her hand, as much for her comfort as my own.
It was the eldest of the Wives who answered, she who’d been old when my grandfather’s grandfather was but a boy. She tilted her graceful head towards the sky.
Together, my wife and I followed her gaze. I could see nothing but soft gray clouds, heavy with the promise of rain. I strained my ears. At first I didn’t hear anything but the soft exhalations of my wife and the deer, the roar of my hammering pulse, and the sounds of the forest slowly stirring, the slow drip of dew from leaves and the sleepy chirps of birds in their nests. But then, far away, just at the edge of hearing, a high-pitched whine permeated the stillness.
Bee sucked in a sharp breath. I realized I was gripping her hand much too tightly. I dropped it as if I had been burnt. It felt like a band was tightening slowly around my chest. We had been on this mountain a very long time, the years blurring together like watercolors on canvas, indistinguishable, infinite. Untouched by the world and those who lived in it.
Until now. I looked at Bea, and in her face I could see my own fear and resolve reflected back at me. I took a deep breath, and looked again at the body of the Lord of this place.
It was time to go hunting. |
EDIT: I’m trying so hard to read all the stories and get everything else done that I need to today lol. Just gotta say that this is one of the best collections of stories I’ve ever had on one of my prompts!! You guys are awesome! | [WP]Things on the mountain don't age. You built a cabin to live in with your family 300 years ago, and since then none of you have aged a day. You've even come to know many of the animals as they too are immortal, and have grown wise. One day you find an old buck, a friend, shot dead and left to rot | I was 20, Susana was 19. Just Married, madly in love. High school sweethearts. Out here, deep, deep in Appalachia things work a little differently and we got married as soon as we could.
We'd heard tell about it from one of my brothers drinking buddies, Arlan. Supposedly he'd been out hunting pigs one afternoon and, as it so often does deep, deep in Appalachia, time got away from him completely.
Things work a little differently out here.
It was getting dark. A heavy mist fell over the forest, blanketing it in moisture, heat, and cloud. Treefrongs were singing. Crickets chirping, mosquitos humming. 'Yotes were wailing and calling- I don't know if y'all ever heard a pack of 'yotes coming down on something they've just gone and killed, but the scream, cry, wail, and raise all manner of ghoulish fervor. It echoes in the mountains too. Can't pinpoint their location with a shred of accuracy.
If one of the hogs you're hunting runs you down while you're out at night, those 'yotes are liable to come down on you too as you're laying there with your guts out.
Arlan knew it. He knew he wasn't getting back to his ATV any time soon either, not without getting lost. The only option that man had was taking up shelter somewhere. Dripping with sweat and arguing with the mosquitos, he pressed deeper into the forest.
And that's when he saw it. A cabin with an ancient incandescent bulb lit on the porch. Looked like it was about to half slide down the mountain- but there it was. A dot of yellow light in the mist. Immense relief washed over Arlan and he spent the night there, taking shelter from the creeping darkness and mystery of the forest.
Arlan told us about it the next day, knowing I was trying to find a place so I could marry Susana. Have to have a home to take your bride to. We checked the city records but nobody knew anything about it and we couldn't find record of any owner, though we looked damn near everywhere we coulda thought to.
Arlan took me out to find the Cabin 3 days after he'd taken shelter in it and I knew that's where I'd take my Susana. We decided to spend 3 or so months working it over, repairing damaged joists, roofing, and foundation damage. We found it. It was ours.
Things work a little differently out here.
None of the wood had rotted so we barely had to bring any materials. Although it looked as though it'd been sitting on that hill since the beginning of time, the Cabin showed no signs of decay or rot. We cut, refastened, and filled what we had to, but all in all there wasn't any core damage in need of repair. None of the lightbulbs looked as though they'd been changed since Edison's time.
Upon closer inspection the land surrounding the cabin was strange too- large fungus seemed to be in abundance. Coffee table sized mushrooms could be found at odd intervals interspersed throughout the forest floor. Vines as thick as telephone poles climbed sycamore trees wider than my truck.
Nothing dies on the Mountain.
Yes indeed, things did work a little differently out here, for Susana and I moved into that cabin back in August of 2001 and now, in 2301, we haven't aged a day. The lightbulbs haven't burned out. The floorboards haven't succumbed to rot, and the forest is as hot, wet, misty, and alive as ever.
We watched our friends pass away one by one, until we no longer felt the need to leave anymore. Even Arlan, who found the place, eventually died. Clearly the effect was only manifest upon permanent residency.
With nobody to talk to, we made friends with the Ravens, who we taught to speak back in the first years of our tenure there. With hundreds of years to develop speech patterns, they became quite proficient in the English language. These ancient birds explained to us how their ancestors came by the Mountain in the early 1800's of North American Settlement. Driven from their homes by farmers, they flocked over the Appalachian mountain range and were called to the Mountain from deep within their spirit.
We fed the Ravens, and in turn they flew far and wide, showing me new places to hunt, fish, and glean from the bounty of the earth- but we took not from the animals who lived on the Mountain, for many of them, especially the deer, were thousands of years old and deeply wise.
The world turned on. We were lost to it.
Things worked a little differently out here.
I sat with Nezzar, a large 24 Point Mule Deer that somehow found it's way to the mountain in a lost age. The Ravens told me he had been there for 4000 years, as they had heard from their predecessors. I ran my hands through the fur on his neck and looked into his bottomless green eyes. Deep knowledge of the forest lived behind them. He would lead me down new trails, show me food, springs, and other resources I needed. If I found myself lost, I would whistle, or call his name and he would lead me home. Nezzar somehow could detect storms hours before they occured, and if I saw him taking shelter, I too would find rest back in my cabin until it had passed. He knew when predators were on the hunt, and he knew when other men were nearby or passing through.
He knew the forest. And I knew him.
We walked back to the cabin together, listening to the sounds of life at full volume around us. I stepped inside and bid him goodnight. Tomorrow we would sit again at the end of the day and bask in the unity and peace that the forest brought all who chose to stay on the Mountain.
I woke up yo a raven frantically pecking at my window. "GEt UpP!" He croaked in his singsong bird syntax.
"What's wrong?" I asked. Never had the Ravens seemed so upset. They cawed, crowed, screeched, and flew frenetically from tree to tree around me as I followed the One who had awoken me. We walked downhill through shimmering rays traced by the foliage in sunlight. I felt a weighty ominousness in my spirit that directly contrasted with the seeming cheer that the forest imparted. A gust of wind ripped through the trees as a cloud eclipsed the sun briefly; the Ravens screamed and their volume rose. My ears began to hurt.
Nezzar lay dead with a single bullet wound in his shoulder blade.
I'd encountered my fair share of hunters in the last 300 years and all the animals who were wise enough to know what they were hid well. Every once in awhile one would get shot, but the victims of a well placed bullet we're always newcomers to the mountain- hardly beyond their dumb and empty pre-mountain selves. Never had a hunter left a creature to rot either- they always removed the carcass for food or other sustainence needs. Such was the circle of life, yes?
But here lay Nezzar, dead, eyes glossed over and breath still.
What of Justice on the mountain? The Ravens held court for each other but they were only fit to rule their own. No, this was a special case. Nezzar was my friend and he had been murdered for pure sport.
I had a new task, a new sense of purpose on The Mountain. I grabbed my gun from the cabin, kissed Susana deeply, and departed into the woods. I was certain of one thing already:
Whoever shot Nezzar was about to find out- Things worked a little differently out here. | It was Jenny who found him, in that hour just before dawn when the whole world holds its breath. Her eyes glittered in the dimness, wide and stricken in her solemn little face. “Papa,” she’d whispered. “The Lord’s dead.”
He was right where Jenny said he was, splayed on the forest floor like a parody of himself, eyes blown wide and tongue lolling. His great crown of antlers dug clumsily into the dirt. A ragged hole gaped in the flesh of his once-proud neck. The wound was still fresh, and the rich, heady stink of blood and shit saturated the air, made it hard to breathe. Around him, partially shrouded by the mist wreathing through the trees, was the rest of the herd. They said nothing as we approached, but I could read their eyes and the sorrow there pierced my heart like a dagger.
“How did this happen?” Bea asked, after a long, awful silence. Her voice shook. I reached for her hand, as much for her comfort as my own.
It was the eldest of the Wives who answered, she who’d been old when my grandfather’s grandfather was but a boy. She tilted her graceful head towards the sky.
Together, my wife and I followed her gaze. I could see nothing but soft gray clouds, heavy with the promise of rain. I strained my ears. At first I didn’t hear anything but the soft exhalations of my wife and the deer, the roar of my hammering pulse, and the sounds of the forest slowly stirring, the slow drip of dew from leaves and the sleepy chirps of birds in their nests. But then, far away, just at the edge of hearing, a high-pitched whine permeated the stillness.
Bee sucked in a sharp breath. I realized I was gripping her hand much too tightly. I dropped it as if I had been burnt. It felt like a band was tightening slowly around my chest. We had been on this mountain a very long time, the years blurring together like watercolors on canvas, indistinguishable, infinite. Untouched by the world and those who lived in it.
Until now. I looked at Bea, and in her face I could see my own fear and resolve reflected back at me. I took a deep breath, and looked again at the body of the Lord of this place.
It was time to go hunting. |
EDIT: I’m trying so hard to read all the stories and get everything else done that I need to today lol. Just gotta say that this is one of the best collections of stories I’ve ever had on one of my prompts!! You guys are awesome! | [WP]Things on the mountain don't age. You built a cabin to live in with your family 300 years ago, and since then none of you have aged a day. You've even come to know many of the animals as they too are immortal, and have grown wise. One day you find an old buck, a friend, shot dead and left to rot | I was 20, Susana was 19. Just Married, madly in love. High school sweethearts. Out here, deep, deep in Appalachia things work a little differently and we got married as soon as we could.
We'd heard tell about it from one of my brothers drinking buddies, Arlan. Supposedly he'd been out hunting pigs one afternoon and, as it so often does deep, deep in Appalachia, time got away from him completely.
Things work a little differently out here.
It was getting dark. A heavy mist fell over the forest, blanketing it in moisture, heat, and cloud. Treefrongs were singing. Crickets chirping, mosquitos humming. 'Yotes were wailing and calling- I don't know if y'all ever heard a pack of 'yotes coming down on something they've just gone and killed, but the scream, cry, wail, and raise all manner of ghoulish fervor. It echoes in the mountains too. Can't pinpoint their location with a shred of accuracy.
If one of the hogs you're hunting runs you down while you're out at night, those 'yotes are liable to come down on you too as you're laying there with your guts out.
Arlan knew it. He knew he wasn't getting back to his ATV any time soon either, not without getting lost. The only option that man had was taking up shelter somewhere. Dripping with sweat and arguing with the mosquitos, he pressed deeper into the forest.
And that's when he saw it. A cabin with an ancient incandescent bulb lit on the porch. Looked like it was about to half slide down the mountain- but there it was. A dot of yellow light in the mist. Immense relief washed over Arlan and he spent the night there, taking shelter from the creeping darkness and mystery of the forest.
Arlan told us about it the next day, knowing I was trying to find a place so I could marry Susana. Have to have a home to take your bride to. We checked the city records but nobody knew anything about it and we couldn't find record of any owner, though we looked damn near everywhere we coulda thought to.
Arlan took me out to find the Cabin 3 days after he'd taken shelter in it and I knew that's where I'd take my Susana. We decided to spend 3 or so months working it over, repairing damaged joists, roofing, and foundation damage. We found it. It was ours.
Things work a little differently out here.
None of the wood had rotted so we barely had to bring any materials. Although it looked as though it'd been sitting on that hill since the beginning of time, the Cabin showed no signs of decay or rot. We cut, refastened, and filled what we had to, but all in all there wasn't any core damage in need of repair. None of the lightbulbs looked as though they'd been changed since Edison's time.
Upon closer inspection the land surrounding the cabin was strange too- large fungus seemed to be in abundance. Coffee table sized mushrooms could be found at odd intervals interspersed throughout the forest floor. Vines as thick as telephone poles climbed sycamore trees wider than my truck.
Nothing dies on the Mountain.
Yes indeed, things did work a little differently out here, for Susana and I moved into that cabin back in August of 2001 and now, in 2301, we haven't aged a day. The lightbulbs haven't burned out. The floorboards haven't succumbed to rot, and the forest is as hot, wet, misty, and alive as ever.
We watched our friends pass away one by one, until we no longer felt the need to leave anymore. Even Arlan, who found the place, eventually died. Clearly the effect was only manifest upon permanent residency.
With nobody to talk to, we made friends with the Ravens, who we taught to speak back in the first years of our tenure there. With hundreds of years to develop speech patterns, they became quite proficient in the English language. These ancient birds explained to us how their ancestors came by the Mountain in the early 1800's of North American Settlement. Driven from their homes by farmers, they flocked over the Appalachian mountain range and were called to the Mountain from deep within their spirit.
We fed the Ravens, and in turn they flew far and wide, showing me new places to hunt, fish, and glean from the bounty of the earth- but we took not from the animals who lived on the Mountain, for many of them, especially the deer, were thousands of years old and deeply wise.
The world turned on. We were lost to it.
Things worked a little differently out here.
I sat with Nezzar, a large 24 Point Mule Deer that somehow found it's way to the mountain in a lost age. The Ravens told me he had been there for 4000 years, as they had heard from their predecessors. I ran my hands through the fur on his neck and looked into his bottomless green eyes. Deep knowledge of the forest lived behind them. He would lead me down new trails, show me food, springs, and other resources I needed. If I found myself lost, I would whistle, or call his name and he would lead me home. Nezzar somehow could detect storms hours before they occured, and if I saw him taking shelter, I too would find rest back in my cabin until it had passed. He knew when predators were on the hunt, and he knew when other men were nearby or passing through.
He knew the forest. And I knew him.
We walked back to the cabin together, listening to the sounds of life at full volume around us. I stepped inside and bid him goodnight. Tomorrow we would sit again at the end of the day and bask in the unity and peace that the forest brought all who chose to stay on the Mountain.
I woke up yo a raven frantically pecking at my window. "GEt UpP!" He croaked in his singsong bird syntax.
"What's wrong?" I asked. Never had the Ravens seemed so upset. They cawed, crowed, screeched, and flew frenetically from tree to tree around me as I followed the One who had awoken me. We walked downhill through shimmering rays traced by the foliage in sunlight. I felt a weighty ominousness in my spirit that directly contrasted with the seeming cheer that the forest imparted. A gust of wind ripped through the trees as a cloud eclipsed the sun briefly; the Ravens screamed and their volume rose. My ears began to hurt.
Nezzar lay dead with a single bullet wound in his shoulder blade.
I'd encountered my fair share of hunters in the last 300 years and all the animals who were wise enough to know what they were hid well. Every once in awhile one would get shot, but the victims of a well placed bullet we're always newcomers to the mountain- hardly beyond their dumb and empty pre-mountain selves. Never had a hunter left a creature to rot either- they always removed the carcass for food or other sustainence needs. Such was the circle of life, yes?
But here lay Nezzar, dead, eyes glossed over and breath still.
What of Justice on the mountain? The Ravens held court for each other but they were only fit to rule their own. No, this was a special case. Nezzar was my friend and he had been murdered for pure sport.
I had a new task, a new sense of purpose on The Mountain. I grabbed my gun from the cabin, kissed Susana deeply, and departed into the woods. I was certain of one thing already:
Whoever shot Nezzar was about to find out- Things worked a little differently out here. | We knew by the silence that things had suddenly changed.
Before we came to the mountain, change was to be expected. Cold winter would always turn into fresh, bountiful spring; children would become adults, and have children of their own; those that were old would wither and die, defined only by the vibrant grasses that drew potency from the remains.
All flesh was grass. All things grew, and diminished, and found a way.
Here, upon the mountain, time stood still. There would be no more children born. Adults would no longer age. Everything stayed as it was, with no death, no life, no seasons, or sorrows.
It was not necessarily good, or bad. It was not necessary to be good or bad. We existed, the minds of ancients in the bodies of fragile mortals, biding our time and watching as entire civilisations waxed and waned.
\*\*\*
We found him at the heart of the meadow, breathing laboured, blood-flecked spittle foaming from his mouth. An arrow, an object unseen in these lands for eons, had pierced his ribcage. His panicked eyes seized mine, and I placed a hand upon his brow, telling him it would be alright, it was ok to go. The light that was in his eyes faded, and before me his body aged, and withered, and shrivelled into dust, the grass beneath suddenly bursting forth with lurid, red flowers.
At once everything that had held its breath started clamouring; the trees and the wind and the bees and the flowers and the humans – all of it. I held up my hands for calm, withdrawing them in horror as I felt a cold, sharp sting. The culprit melted slowly upon my palm; the first snowflake that had fallen in more than 300 years. |
EDIT: I’m trying so hard to read all the stories and get everything else done that I need to today lol. Just gotta say that this is one of the best collections of stories I’ve ever had on one of my prompts!! You guys are awesome! | [WP]Things on the mountain don't age. You built a cabin to live in with your family 300 years ago, and since then none of you have aged a day. You've even come to know many of the animals as they too are immortal, and have grown wise. One day you find an old buck, a friend, shot dead and left to rot | I was 20, Susana was 19. Just Married, madly in love. High school sweethearts. Out here, deep, deep in Appalachia things work a little differently and we got married as soon as we could.
We'd heard tell about it from one of my brothers drinking buddies, Arlan. Supposedly he'd been out hunting pigs one afternoon and, as it so often does deep, deep in Appalachia, time got away from him completely.
Things work a little differently out here.
It was getting dark. A heavy mist fell over the forest, blanketing it in moisture, heat, and cloud. Treefrongs were singing. Crickets chirping, mosquitos humming. 'Yotes were wailing and calling- I don't know if y'all ever heard a pack of 'yotes coming down on something they've just gone and killed, but the scream, cry, wail, and raise all manner of ghoulish fervor. It echoes in the mountains too. Can't pinpoint their location with a shred of accuracy.
If one of the hogs you're hunting runs you down while you're out at night, those 'yotes are liable to come down on you too as you're laying there with your guts out.
Arlan knew it. He knew he wasn't getting back to his ATV any time soon either, not without getting lost. The only option that man had was taking up shelter somewhere. Dripping with sweat and arguing with the mosquitos, he pressed deeper into the forest.
And that's when he saw it. A cabin with an ancient incandescent bulb lit on the porch. Looked like it was about to half slide down the mountain- but there it was. A dot of yellow light in the mist. Immense relief washed over Arlan and he spent the night there, taking shelter from the creeping darkness and mystery of the forest.
Arlan told us about it the next day, knowing I was trying to find a place so I could marry Susana. Have to have a home to take your bride to. We checked the city records but nobody knew anything about it and we couldn't find record of any owner, though we looked damn near everywhere we coulda thought to.
Arlan took me out to find the Cabin 3 days after he'd taken shelter in it and I knew that's where I'd take my Susana. We decided to spend 3 or so months working it over, repairing damaged joists, roofing, and foundation damage. We found it. It was ours.
Things work a little differently out here.
None of the wood had rotted so we barely had to bring any materials. Although it looked as though it'd been sitting on that hill since the beginning of time, the Cabin showed no signs of decay or rot. We cut, refastened, and filled what we had to, but all in all there wasn't any core damage in need of repair. None of the lightbulbs looked as though they'd been changed since Edison's time.
Upon closer inspection the land surrounding the cabin was strange too- large fungus seemed to be in abundance. Coffee table sized mushrooms could be found at odd intervals interspersed throughout the forest floor. Vines as thick as telephone poles climbed sycamore trees wider than my truck.
Nothing dies on the Mountain.
Yes indeed, things did work a little differently out here, for Susana and I moved into that cabin back in August of 2001 and now, in 2301, we haven't aged a day. The lightbulbs haven't burned out. The floorboards haven't succumbed to rot, and the forest is as hot, wet, misty, and alive as ever.
We watched our friends pass away one by one, until we no longer felt the need to leave anymore. Even Arlan, who found the place, eventually died. Clearly the effect was only manifest upon permanent residency.
With nobody to talk to, we made friends with the Ravens, who we taught to speak back in the first years of our tenure there. With hundreds of years to develop speech patterns, they became quite proficient in the English language. These ancient birds explained to us how their ancestors came by the Mountain in the early 1800's of North American Settlement. Driven from their homes by farmers, they flocked over the Appalachian mountain range and were called to the Mountain from deep within their spirit.
We fed the Ravens, and in turn they flew far and wide, showing me new places to hunt, fish, and glean from the bounty of the earth- but we took not from the animals who lived on the Mountain, for many of them, especially the deer, were thousands of years old and deeply wise.
The world turned on. We were lost to it.
Things worked a little differently out here.
I sat with Nezzar, a large 24 Point Mule Deer that somehow found it's way to the mountain in a lost age. The Ravens told me he had been there for 4000 years, as they had heard from their predecessors. I ran my hands through the fur on his neck and looked into his bottomless green eyes. Deep knowledge of the forest lived behind them. He would lead me down new trails, show me food, springs, and other resources I needed. If I found myself lost, I would whistle, or call his name and he would lead me home. Nezzar somehow could detect storms hours before they occured, and if I saw him taking shelter, I too would find rest back in my cabin until it had passed. He knew when predators were on the hunt, and he knew when other men were nearby or passing through.
He knew the forest. And I knew him.
We walked back to the cabin together, listening to the sounds of life at full volume around us. I stepped inside and bid him goodnight. Tomorrow we would sit again at the end of the day and bask in the unity and peace that the forest brought all who chose to stay on the Mountain.
I woke up yo a raven frantically pecking at my window. "GEt UpP!" He croaked in his singsong bird syntax.
"What's wrong?" I asked. Never had the Ravens seemed so upset. They cawed, crowed, screeched, and flew frenetically from tree to tree around me as I followed the One who had awoken me. We walked downhill through shimmering rays traced by the foliage in sunlight. I felt a weighty ominousness in my spirit that directly contrasted with the seeming cheer that the forest imparted. A gust of wind ripped through the trees as a cloud eclipsed the sun briefly; the Ravens screamed and their volume rose. My ears began to hurt.
Nezzar lay dead with a single bullet wound in his shoulder blade.
I'd encountered my fair share of hunters in the last 300 years and all the animals who were wise enough to know what they were hid well. Every once in awhile one would get shot, but the victims of a well placed bullet we're always newcomers to the mountain- hardly beyond their dumb and empty pre-mountain selves. Never had a hunter left a creature to rot either- they always removed the carcass for food or other sustainence needs. Such was the circle of life, yes?
But here lay Nezzar, dead, eyes glossed over and breath still.
What of Justice on the mountain? The Ravens held court for each other but they were only fit to rule their own. No, this was a special case. Nezzar was my friend and he had been murdered for pure sport.
I had a new task, a new sense of purpose on The Mountain. I grabbed my gun from the cabin, kissed Susana deeply, and departed into the woods. I was certain of one thing already:
Whoever shot Nezzar was about to find out- Things worked a little differently out here. | I couldn't believe it was him at first- I didn't want to. But there was no denying that it was him. The same milky, blind eyes and coarse, patchy fur. He looked almost as if he were sleeping peacefully, his head resting gently on a pillow of moss, but the rotting entrails around his body stripped away this illusion. I felt tears come to my eyes, but I wiped them away. I don't know why. There was no one around to see me bawl; the perpetrator had long gone. I took an armful of pine needles from the forest floor and spread it over his body. I didn't know it then, but that would be the first of many deaths to come. And it would be the first of many reasons to consider leaving the mountain. |
EDIT: I’m trying so hard to read all the stories and get everything else done that I need to today lol. Just gotta say that this is one of the best collections of stories I’ve ever had on one of my prompts!! You guys are awesome! | [WP]Things on the mountain don't age. You built a cabin to live in with your family 300 years ago, and since then none of you have aged a day. You've even come to know many of the animals as they too are immortal, and have grown wise. One day you find an old buck, a friend, shot dead and left to rot | Maybe this was our divine retribution. The tribulations sent from the universe to express its displeasure in our immortality. I stood above the body of a friend, but I was not sad or afraid. This mountain had many dark secrets, so I knew it would catch up to us one day. It seems that for ole Burk today was his day. Friends for well over 200 years and I didn’t shed a tear. That was because the shot was incredible. It took a good portion of his flank out with the exit wound. This is not what i remembered.
All the hikers and explorers tricked when they stumbled upon this almost hidden mountain. All the sacrifices we made to the ancient one. Everything had a price and ours was to be caretakers of this mountain. Every living creature.
In 300 years we killed dozens. But this was a dangerous part of the world. It was not uncommon for people to die all around us on the range. But it seemed we have evoked the ire or someone or thing.
*Jack sat upon the distant log, keeping a watch of what was going on. A big man, the first human of the mountain came to check his deer friend out. Like they say, wound one get the rest to follow. As Jack loaded up another bullet with the name Angela on its casing. A memory surfaced of the police report and the investigations into the mountain. He felt crazy, until he noticed a family living here and talking with animals. Jack took aim at the large fellow. Looking down the scope of his .50 cal. He took a deep breath and waited. Lining everything up perfectly.*
I quickly ran home and yelled for my family to hide. Something was not right on the mountain. I saw a glimmer in the distance and my torso was blown away. A few moments later as I was fading away I heard a thunderous boom. “Muskets sure have changed.”
*Jack loaded up again. Taking aim at the small child running out of the door with a knife in his hand. When a all consuming voice started to reverberate behind me.*
“You have ended the existence of my caretaker. Come, you shall take his place.”
Vines poured out from the ground and enveloped Jack, pulling him in the dirt. Struggling for his life, and trying to remain conscious. The last thing he saw was of an eyeless man, supernaturally tall, elk like antlers and what seemed to be moss for hair. Even without his explanation I knew. this mountain was his. | I couldn't believe it was him at first- I didn't want to. But there was no denying that it was him. The same milky, blind eyes and coarse, patchy fur. He looked almost as if he were sleeping peacefully, his head resting gently on a pillow of moss, but the rotting entrails around his body stripped away this illusion. I felt tears come to my eyes, but I wiped them away. I don't know why. There was no one around to see me bawl; the perpetrator had long gone. I took an armful of pine needles from the forest floor and spread it over his body. I didn't know it then, but that would be the first of many deaths to come. And it would be the first of many reasons to consider leaving the mountain. |
EDIT: I’m trying so hard to read all the stories and get everything else done that I need to today lol. Just gotta say that this is one of the best collections of stories I’ve ever had on one of my prompts!! You guys are awesome! | [WP]Things on the mountain don't age. You built a cabin to live in with your family 300 years ago, and since then none of you have aged a day. You've even come to know many of the animals as they too are immortal, and have grown wise. One day you find an old buck, a friend, shot dead and left to rot | I don’t get home until after dark, treading lightly. I furnish myself with a glass of whiskey and go into the silence of the basement. A quick tug of the cord dangling by my ear lights the room with a single electric bulb in the centre. There, mounted on the far wall, is the rifle.
The whiskey runs down my throat like water. Leaving the empty glass on the bottom step, I stop just short of the rifle and lay my hands heavily on my hips. *Has it really come to this?* I examine the stock and body of the rifle. *It’s been wiped… poorly.* My eyes slide shut and I press my palm to my forehead, drawing in a deep breath. Finally, I put my nose close to the barrel of the gun and sniff deeply. *Fired.* Stepping back like a drunken man, though not yet drunk, I retreat to the bottom step and pause there with my head in both my hands. *It was one of us, but which?* Unable to sustain this moment, I return to the kitchen and pour another, larger, glass of whiskey and sit myself at the kitchen table.
It couldn’t be little Martha, so peaceful, so gentle, so curious. Teddy has a temper, so ardent in getting his own way, but this violence is surely beyond him. What of my wife, Shelley? Never. Simply impossible. After all these years, is it even possible that I have missed signs? … signs of a *monster* in our very midst? I sit for a long time right there, running things over in my head, refilling my whiskey glass when need be. I feel my blood warm savagely and a dark crease lines the edges of my sneering mouth, ‘One of the children,’ I whisper aloud, ‘It must be…’ A noise behind me, a rushed pattering of little feet disappearing up the stairs, gone by the time I turn around.
*Who was it?* Grasping the whiskey, I gently trudge my way up the stairs, not thinking to take off my boots, still speckled with the blood of that glorious beast. Every door is shut except for one – Martha’s room. So, it’s she that’s been walking about after dark, is it? I approach the door and, closing my hand around the door knob, push it open without knocking.
Martha was awake, indeed, sat upright at her desk, reading. She was twelve when we brought her here, and, of course, she still is. Casting my eyes about her room, I see everything ordered and neat except for one thing that catches my eye. ‘Good evening, Martha. Shouldn’t you be asleep?’ I say sternly, as I cross the room, kneel beside her bed, and pull a small wad of papers out from underneath.
Martha doesn’t reply, keeping her eyes fixed on the book.
‘What are these, Martha?’ I thumb through the ruffled pages, as perfectly rendered landscapes, absolutely masterful and realistic creatures, comics of far-away lands and distant heroes, all pass by my eyes. I scrunch them up in one hand, gulping down whiskey with my other. I see her flinch at the noise. ‘What did I say?’
‘No dreams.’ Replies Martha with a voice that didn’t match her years.
‘No dreams.’ I affirm, ‘Everything you need is here. It’s always been here.’
Again, she doesn’t reply. Something’s definitely *off*. She’s not usually this tense unless she’s done something wrong. A father knows, a father always knows. My cheeks tingle with a pleasant warmth, but inside my stomach there’s a tight knot.
‘Do you have something to tell me?’ I feel my shoulders tense up, ‘Respond!’ Nothing. So, I go over to her shoes on the mat by the door and pick them up, turning them over in my hands and checking for signs of recent use. Nothing. *She must have wiped these too.* ‘Why aren’t you asleep, Martha? Why were you wandering about downstairs a moment ago?’
‘You’re drunk.’ She snaps, spit flying past her teeth like venom and dotting the pages of the book in front of her. Suddenly, she stands and faces me, half my size but burning with hate. With each passing moment she comes more clearly into focus as the killer, the monster. Tears well up in my eyes.
‘Was it you, Martha? Sweet child?’ I set down my nearly-finished glass of whiskey on the nearby chest of draws and begin to roll up my sleeves. Martha’s eyes widen with fear.
‘No! NO!’ She screams, covering her head with her arms and dropping to the floor. This is an overreaction, I think, and my heart softens. The rage drains from my body and my knees feel weak.
‘Child…’ I say, surprised at the weakness of my voice. There’s an itch on my stomach, so I press my hand there and scratch it, but a sharp bolt of pain zips through me – I peer down at my fingers. *Blood? … My blood?* Turning slowly, I see my boy, my little boy, Teddy, standing in the doorway with my rifle. My rifle… But he couldn’t have fired it. I didn’t hear a shot … or did I? … Did I hear a shot? The world pivots, everything goes horizontal. | I couldn't believe it was him at first- I didn't want to. But there was no denying that it was him. The same milky, blind eyes and coarse, patchy fur. He looked almost as if he were sleeping peacefully, his head resting gently on a pillow of moss, but the rotting entrails around his body stripped away this illusion. I felt tears come to my eyes, but I wiped them away. I don't know why. There was no one around to see me bawl; the perpetrator had long gone. I took an armful of pine needles from the forest floor and spread it over his body. I didn't know it then, but that would be the first of many deaths to come. And it would be the first of many reasons to consider leaving the mountain. |
EDIT: I’m trying so hard to read all the stories and get everything else done that I need to today lol. Just gotta say that this is one of the best collections of stories I’ve ever had on one of my prompts!! You guys are awesome! | [WP]Things on the mountain don't age. You built a cabin to live in with your family 300 years ago, and since then none of you have aged a day. You've even come to know many of the animals as they too are immortal, and have grown wise. One day you find an old buck, a friend, shot dead and left to rot | The mountain was hallowed ground. A place where the slow hand of death could not claim those upon it. It was a sanctuary from life itself, a place where if one truly desired, they could spend an eternity. It was a place where one would never age a day from the very first in which they entered.
But it was only the slow hand of death which was delayed, the one known as the inevitability which all life eventually succumbed to. But the other hand of death still reigned dominion over all – the fast hand – the unexpected quick death, whether painless or not. That hand was unavoidable even for those upon the mountain.
Our family did indeed have its fair share of troubles and worries, but we knew that we would never come to harm each other to such an extent, for while grudges were temporary, death was not. We went about our lives with utmost caution, not to the extent that we would cripple our daily activities, but just enough to stave off the fast hand of death, just enough to prevent a fateful accident from befalling us.
My family was not the only ones who roamed those lands, but we were the only humans that we knew of. And while we did not need to partake in the consumption of food and drink, we took from the land as we fancied, but did not impart our will upon the beasts which prowled them. For the creatures whuch lurked those misty hills had a kind of calmness to them, no doubt born from the complacency bought on from their immortality. They cared not to run from our presence, rather, it could almost be said that they reveled in it.
We knew the woodland beasts well, to the extent that we even considered some of them to be a part of our own family.
That was why when I came across that old buck, bloodied and abandoned in those woods, my heart was struck with grief and the air was struck with my horrified howls. He had already succumbed to the fast hand of death, a hopeless fate, almost inevitable in some respects. I had thought for a moment that a beast from outside the mountain had come to those lands in search of food and struck him down. But the fact that his corpse had been left to rot meant those thoughts were unfounded.
It was then that I saw upon his neck the hole where the blood burst forth, a clean shot from end to end. The death of the old buck was the work of a hunter, but the fact that he had not claimed his kill filled me with a fear that I had not known for over a hundred years.
It was rare enough that humans would ever set foot on that mountain, and for one to go there with intent to kill was even rarer, if not unheard of.
I could not prevent myself from emptying the contents of my stomach – however little – into the thicket by my feet. I saw in that musky puddle a tinge of red, carrying with it the faint scent of raspberries, which was soon overpowered by the wretched stench of bile. I felt that foul taste dance upon the back of my throat, as if mocking me in my time of terror. But I could not sit and dwell in my circumstances, for my troubles of the present were far less pressing than the impending doom I felt beckoning down on me from my future.
I left the old buck where he lay, silently promising to myself that I would one day find my way back and give him a proper burial.
As I raced back to my family home, it was as if the fatigue of a hundred years came down upon me all at once. For each frantic step felt like fire in my bones, and each ragged breath threatened to be my last. My mind raced with a panic I had not felt in so long, and it was indeed not a welcome feeling.
I burst through the door with the grace of a man possessed, and caused Rose – my wife – upon the sofa to let out a panicked yell. She turned towards me with a look of indignant anger, which soon faded away when she took one look at my haggard state.
“Darling? What happened?” She raced towards my side in a manner of moments and took my hands in her own, and only then did I notice just how much they were trembling.
“The old buck,” I said, barely able to force myself to speak, “Someone killed him.”
“Was it a bear?” She asked, as she turned her head to a forgotten corner of the house. “Your gun still works, right?”
“No,” I said, “someone. A person. A hunter.”
It was then that my son George entered the room, and I heard his voice before I saw him.
“What's up with you, Dad?” He said, as he fiddled with a cube toy in his hands, “you look like you've seen a ghost.”
I looked towards my boy, still the young and carefree savant he always was, but with an age behind his dusty brown eyes that told you he knew more than you ever would.
When I first set forth my plans to move to the mountain with him and the rest of my family, he was the one who yearned for that life the most. And out of all of us that lived on the mountain, he was the only one who had aged significantly since his arrival, owing to his routine visits to the outside lands to gather the things which tickled his fancy.
“George,” said Rose, her voice colder than moments before, “get the gun.”
“Alright,” said George, as he left the room from the same direction from whence he came. Even though I had long since forgotten the key to the safe, I knew that George would remember it with little hassle, for his mind was far sharper than my own.
Rose turned my face to her own. “Did you see him? The hunter?”
* * *
[I expanded on what I had but ended up breaking the character limit for posts so I've split them into two parts and posted the 2nd part as a reply here.](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/bvwion/wpthings_on_the_mountain_dont_age_you_built_a/eptusmq/) | I couldn't believe it was him at first- I didn't want to. But there was no denying that it was him. The same milky, blind eyes and coarse, patchy fur. He looked almost as if he were sleeping peacefully, his head resting gently on a pillow of moss, but the rotting entrails around his body stripped away this illusion. I felt tears come to my eyes, but I wiped them away. I don't know why. There was no one around to see me bawl; the perpetrator had long gone. I took an armful of pine needles from the forest floor and spread it over his body. I didn't know it then, but that would be the first of many deaths to come. And it would be the first of many reasons to consider leaving the mountain. |
[WP] The isolated cult you were raised in has flooded out in a massive storm on your 18th birthday. Only you and 2 of your friends survive. You're rescued and brought to live outside the compound, a place you've never seen in real life but knew existed from whispers you've heard about it growing up. |
The infection in my leg was oozing through the bandages on it. Jafeth sat on a cot beside me. He fiddled with a puzzle box he’d left in his pants pocket. The wood of the box was soaked through and I noticed him slip as he tried to push a few of the pieces around. I thought back to the night before. The water had come so fast that we had no chance to save any of our possessions. We had no chance to save any of our brethren either. Only two of the righteous chosen survived; Jafeth and me. Even our leader, Lord High Priest Barron, had disappeared with the waters. Even with this the only thing that took us by surprise was the timing. Lord Barron had foretold of a day when God would bring the healing waters to cleanse the land. He even told us that those of us who were unworthy would be taken with it.
Jafeth noticed me watching him fiddle with the box, “I didn’t wake you did I sister?”
“No Jafeth”, I said as I started to sit up in the bed. I felt a sharp pain run up the top of my arm. As I looked over I couldn’t help but scream. A wire was embedded in my arm and something was hanging in a bag above me. I started to rip it out when Jafeth stopped me, “It’s medicine. It’s what’s fighting the infection.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing, “Jafeth, are you talking to *them*?”
He sighed, “Stop talking about them like they’re some strange creature. They’re people like you and me.”
“No they’re not. Lord Barron said they are ‘The cursed’. God will smite them.” The flap to the green tent flew open as a *cursed* came in. Its hair fell loose at its shoulders like black ooze. It’s short stature was a pitiful frame. It even painted its eyes black and wore a white mask to scare me into submission. Her skin was showing just like Barron said they do to entice their men to join them in sin. I ripped out the wire and grabbed the pole that was holding up the bag beside me. Jafeth jumped in front of the *cursed,* “Ruth, stop this. She is not going to hurt you.”
“She wants our lifeblood Jafeth. She was trying to take it from me.”
The *cursed* began to speak when Jafeth stopped her to prevent her words from destroying our lifeblood. “Ruth, please put down the pole”, he said. I jumped up, fighting through the pain to stand taller than the wretched beast that was trying to take me. I felt a breeze behind me. Jafeth looked over my shoulder. My skin tightened and I began to swing the pole when something stung my shoulder. Everything began to spin. I couldn’t hold onto my own weight and I collapsed to the floor. My head pounded against the dirt sending little particles of dust dancing in front of my eyes before everything went black.
The sound of frogs croaking woke me and I looked around the darkened tent. Jafeth was still asleep beside me. I started to lift up when something pulled back against me. I looked down to see a leather strap holding me to the cot. My anger began to flow out of me into a scream when a hand grabbed my mouth. I turned to be met with familiar eyes and the braided hair that we were instructed to wear. Lord Barron smiled and caressed my cheek. “Sweet child, what have the cursed done to you?” he said as he ran his finger over my lips. He produced a knife from his belt and brought it to the strap, “They are more violent than I could have ever predicted but God has seen fit to release you from the pain of death. You are my worthy companion. You and Jafeth.”
My eyes began to burn and water, “Blessed savior, Jafeth has betrayed us. He has forsaken God to stand with the cursed.”
Lord Barron sliced the leather in one cut and slid the knife down my arm, “Then we must give him over to God for judging. Then we will give the rest of the world over to him.”
“How can we . . .”
Lord Barron placed one finger over my lips, “Have faith child, God has given us this day a mighty fire which the cursed have used on themselves only once many moons ago. We will use it again to bring God’s judgement to this forsaken land.”
I grabbed the blade in my hand and looked over at Jafeth, “Glory be to God.” | Water came, with it we went;
Swept out to the sea.
A wooden pallet safety net
Our bouyant sovereignty.
The bodies of our lovers,
Our friends, and family
Followed slowly in our wake
To keep us company.
Our town shrank down to nothing
But the line of the horizon
As my eyes became my city;
Flooded, dark, and silent.
Both companions sleeping
As I stare into the sky,
The moon and stars are creeping,
Slipping down into my eyes.
As Jupiter and Saturn
Turn to crash into my soul,
I see that I am nothing
But the origin black hole.
Rotational velocity
exceeding that of C,
The tidal forces tear at
Everything I once called 'me'.
Myself is now what once was they,
And other isnt something.
Anything I think I thought
I now know came from nothing.
Undulating snake made of energy; of light.
The eternal happening of harmony and strife.
I destroyed my own hometown, I destroyed my life.
I am all there ever was, and I am not alright. | |
[WP] An elite team of theives almost pull off another perfect heist. In an unfortunate coincidence, amateur burglars also show up. The pros know that a tripped alarm means a lockdown that none of them are escaping. | A quick series of rehearsed hand signals indicated it was time to make their exit. Each of them began to slowly ascend towards the ceiling, their silent wiring harnesses barely even catching the light.
A crash came from below, followed by a cry of "God dammit!"
Kojak gave the signal for everyone to freeze. What in the world was that?
Footsteps approached as did two angry voices.
"Look, it's not my fault. That was a stupid place to put a trash can!"
"What, against the wall? Just admit it Trevor you weren't looking where you were going."
"Well you're the one that made me carry everything Greg!"
Two figures entered the room. One was tall and thin. The other was shorter and hidden behind two armloads of equipment and... was that...
Realizing the pair was headed straight for the floor sensors Kojak decided to take the chance and use his flashlight to signal a warning at them. On-off, on-off, no horizontal movement. Hopefully anyone spotting the light from outside wouldn't think it anything but some automatic system.
"What the f..." Greg reached into one of the duffle bags Trevor was carrying and pulled out a massive 2000 watt flashlight. He flicked it on and illuminated the entire room, exposing Kojak's team of three suspended from the ceiling.
"Who the fuck are you guys," he cried out indignantly, taking a step forward.
Kojak's men waved their arms frantically in alarm but the idiot below paid no heed and took another step.
"You security guards are dumb as hell, you know that? How are you supposed to catch us from up there?"
He kept moving. There was nothing for it.
"Stop," Kojak called out, "Take another step and you'll trigger the security system!"
Trevor stopped, looking around. "Why would a security guard tell me where the lasers are?How stupid do I look?"
"We're not security guards!"
"Wait a minute," Greg muttered from behind a coat that had slid off the pile and covered half his face, "Trev. I think they're here to steal the diamonds too."
Trevor scrunched his face in confusion and looked at Greg. He looked back at Kojak. Finally, after several painful seconds, the truth dawned on him. "Oh no, I don't think so! We were here first! Go steal some other diamonds."
"We already stole the diamonds," called Francio from behind Kojak. Kojak turned on his harness the best he could and hissed: "Will you shut up?"
"Oh great, that's just great! We had this whole thing planned, got all these crowbars and sledgehammers and shit, finally stole Mean Ol Tim's chicken, and..."
"Listen! Just... listen." Kojak tried to sound both calming and authoritative. Little did he know it was a tone of voice Trevor had heard so often he was sick of it. "If we make one wrong move, take a single step in the wrong direction, the security system will trigger. The windows above us will seal with bulletproof glass, bars will close behind you, and metal shutters will cover the windows on the wall. We need to be very... careful. Do you understand?"
Trevor was not a bright man, but in certain situations his area of genius presented itself. Situations like these.
"So what you're saying is that you can't get out unless Greg and me here just leave?"
"Ssshh, Trevor, stop using my name!"
"Oh, right. I mean, unless... umm... Glen and me just leave?"
Kojak nodded, "Yes, so if you could just turn off the light..."
"Throw me the diamonds."
"Excuse me?"
"You want out, throw me the diamonds. That's the deal, take it or leave it."
Kojak thought for a moment and then muttered: "Clint, do you still have the second set of fakes?"
"Yes, but they weren't the best looking. I mean we only brought them..."
"You've got a deal," Kojak called down, waving at Clint. A few seconds later a small satchel was thrown down, landing at Trevor's feet.
"Jesus, careful! You don't want to smash the diamonds," he yelled. He reached down, pulled out a necklace, and laughed to himself. Kojak knew these fakes were substandard, and were only meant to be used to throw off any pursuer for a few moments if they were caught on their exit. Anyone looking at them up close would tell they were just costume jewelry and paste. Judging by that laugh he clearly overestimated how stupid these two were.
"Hey, lemme see Trev!"
Trevor held the necklace up to the light. "Check it out Greg, that's what a billion dollars looks like!"
"Wow!"
Unbelievable.
"So... we're good?" called Kojak.
"Ya! We're good. Better luck next time suckers!"
Trevor began to stuff the fake jewels into one of the duffel bags as Kojak signaled their continued ascent.
A loud crash echoed throughout the room, followed by even louder clucking. "God dammit Greg you dropped Mean Ol' Tim's chicken!"
"I didn't! You knocked him off!"
"Just shut up and help me catch him."
Horrified, Kojak watched as the chicken fled from the pair below. "Stop that Bird! It's going to set off the alarm!"
"Shows what you know, idiot! Chickens can see lasers. Why do think we brought him? Greg are you gonna help or what?"
Greg took a step forward, tripped, and dropped everything on the floor. Incredibly all was well.
At least until the bowling ball slipped out.
I mean if you know a better way to knock over any guards chasing you I'd like to hear it. | **“I know we’re late Mark, but we can still hijack the thread!” one of them says, almost screaming.** He points to the case containing a huge metal ball suspended by a single Superman’s hair.
“You’re dumb, Tom. We’re not first!” the other one says, “We were supposed to be stealthy! By now, over a thousand people have seen this! We’ll never get up-”.
It’s harder to understand what Tom said next, his arms are up and he’s talking really fast, like screeching. They make absolutely no sense. Mark and Tom - the bozos - are on the other side of the room, sitting behind a low wall separating ancient pottery exhibits and the visitor’s path. On the other side, behind a similar type of wall are me and my crew, still in disbelief at how bad the situation turned into in just a few minutes.
I wish I could pop a cap in their asses, but they’re too far for my Luger. I wish I brought a scope.
“Hey Boss,” Tinker says, “I think I’ve figured out how to get us out. We can use the ventilation system to climb up to the roof and then...”
I nod.
Tinker knows his shit, he can get us out of here. Those two fucktards...They are arguing, like school girls during recess. I think Tom boy says something about using Superman’s hair to resurrect their friend. How embarrassing. Well, maybe, if you can grow protoplasm, but I don’t think those idiots can. Fuck, even Lex doubts he can extract protoplasm, and Lex is a fucking genius.
I sigh. This whole situation is bad. Just an hour ago, this was a routine mission. Me and boys would get in the museum, run to atrium in the building with glass roof, break the case, detach the ball, grab Superman’s hair locks and gtfo. Easy-peasy for a team of elite thieves like mine. I mean, we did the First National Bank of Arizona just a few months ago and that was a bank! No issues, whatsoever. There never are any issues with our heists.
“You are really dumb, Tom! Over a thousand now, I can see it! Just look, upper left corner!! By the time this is finished, there will be more. Many more! We are late, others are here, trying to do the same! And they are pros! I mean look at that guy. He wr-”
Fuck my life, those idiots. Lex was going to pay us a lot. A lot. I could have retired. But no, now we’re all stuck here, with those two bozos. In less than five minutes they’ve tripped every single alarm in this museum. The whole building is so loud, feels like we’re in the Queen concert. Soon, the police will be here, and with them, maybe even the Superman himself. And I don’t want to fight that motherfucker, not without a kryptonite.
“Let’s go, Boss. Time is running out,” Tinker says.
“Yeah,”
Quietly as a pack of cats, we stand up and follow Tinker. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice one of the bozos stand up and run to the glass case with a huge mallet. He’s dressed all in black. Halfway to the case, his hat falls down and his face, that of a puffed-up teenager covered in raging zits, stares at me in terror. I draw my Luger.
“No time for that, Boss,” Tinker says.
I grimace. Next time, Tom or Mark.
As I leave the room, I hear dull thumps of a mallet hitting the case. He’ll never break it - it’s polycarbonate case - you need explosives. Fucktards.
​
Kinda continues on [this](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/bwjkil/sp_a_man_eats_the_spiciest_meal_ever/epy1ols/?context=3) . | |
[WP] You are a software developer with a strange power. You can tell what the cost of a line of code is. Normally the cost is measured in cpu cycles, or bytes of RAM, or hours of future maintenance. Today it's measured in lives lost. | You are now the SKAIANET SOFTWARE SUPERVISOR, and you are going to cause the end of the world.
When the old-man first found the fragmented code for the game, you thought he was crazy. You thought it was just his usual hyperbolic fervor. But when he brought you there, to see it in person, you saw it, and then you saw *it*. The implications. The endless cyclical nature that brought these ruins to you and that will bring about the birth and death of all universes.
The cost of a new universe is a planet, and the cost of creating gods is to never be able to become one yourself.
The worst part, you think, is the fact that it’s inevitable. There is only one true timeline- only one “canon” series of events.
Your name is ROXY LALONDE, and this, surprisingly enough, *isn’t* why you drink.
(Based off of the story called [Homestuck.](https://www.homestuck.com/story) ) | Project assignment: program B77-518xc.
CLASSIFIED - CLEARANCE LEVEL 4+ ONLY
That was the title of the new project file sat in front of me. It was only days since I'd got my level 4 clearance certificate, and they already wanted me to do a level 4 assignment? And solo, no less. I wasn't happy about it.
Sensing my unease, my boss put a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "look, this came in from the GCHQ. Top Secret contract. The programming is all done, it just needs someone to review and debug the code. Fairly easy for someone of your talent."
My talent. Most people think I'm just a computer whiz. But it's more than that. When I read code, I see how much CPU/ram it takes to run each line, plus the total costs to the people who run it. I once proof read a stock-trading script for a Wall Street investment company, and found out they were losing out on about five hundred grand a month due to one mistyped line of code.
I sigh. I have no idea what this code is for. Half the assignment background info is censored to high hell. So much so the only thing I can pull out of it is that it requires three people to run, two controllers, and a "supply". I knew this was out of my comfort zone, but this was far more ridiculous than I anticipated.
I boot up my script reader. 1,722 lines of complete gibberish stare back at me. Oh yeah - the original code was encrypted. Duh. I find the decryption script, and run it over the file. What appeared to be random alphanumeric symbols converted themselves into readable script. With the obvious issues out the way, I dived in.
At first, it looked like a standard variable input code, with various subroutines that triggered on specific inputs. The core code was nigh on perfect; whoever had written it knew their trade all right. The core code finished I began looking at the subroutines. Before I had even finished reading the first one, I was sheet white in terror.
This script cost *lives*.
I read it again. There had to be a mistake, had to be. But no. Right there, in the code - the human labelled "supply" didn't just control the power input.
They *were* the power input.
They were a glorified human battery.
I'd never know the output of a system, but I always knew the energy usage. And this was so oddly specific and chilling that I wondered what this thing was even for.
I couldn't do it. I could not allow myself to work on a script that put a human life in danger. But what could I do about it? My boss probably knew nothing about it and most likely had been paid extra specifically not to ask questions. If I contacted GCHQ directly, I'd probably get taken away by national security or something and never be heard from again. If I broke confidentiality, then the same would probably happen. I had no way out.
Unless I could find a way avoid working on it... | |
[WP] You are a software developer with a strange power. You can tell what the cost of a line of code is. Normally the cost is measured in cpu cycles, or bytes of RAM, or hours of future maintenance. Today it's measured in lives lost. | 11am. Time to wake up. Throw on a pair of sweats, 'brunch', consisting of a bowl of cereal. Gotta let the milk really soak the cereal, at least 30 minutes so that there are no dry crunchy bits.
Coffee.
Laptop on.
​
Yesterday was fun. You see, I'm writing my game, a 'shooter', all by myself. It's bound to be a hit, assuming I actually finish it. And find someone to do the graphics. And sound. And level design. But, anyway, the engine is world class.
​
Back to yesterday. I got into the flow and started seeing ways to optimise CPU, and after a few hours had saved roughly 0.01% of the CPU of the input loop for the main menu!
I know, impressive!
​
On launching the editor today, I started to look around to see where I should focus next. Adding support for enemies maybe, or possibly the score display in the top left corner. Or right?
As I get into the zone I realise I'm seeing lives today. Lives lost. That's a new one. Thank goodness every line of code is showing zero. Zero is good...
​
Except. There is this one comment. And the comment is showing one life lost. That makes no sense. Delete the comment, everything else stays zero. Put the comment back in, one life. Edit the comment, back to zero. Comment as-was - back to one.
​
Taking out each character, one-by-one. Zero. Any character removed. Zero.
This makes no sense. There is nothing special about the comment, it's just describing the purpose of the portion of code.
​
Hours pass. I've tried hex editing the file to make sure there are no non-ASCII characters. Everything is normal.
Doesn't matter if I copy and paste the comment. Each time I copy it, the line still appears to show one life.
​
Tea time, and maybe the break will help me get my head around what I'm seeing.
​
Walking down the stairs... I get a brainwave. I think I know what is happening!
Distracted, I slip and fall. One life. | Project assignment: program B77-518xc.
CLASSIFIED - CLEARANCE LEVEL 4+ ONLY
That was the title of the new project file sat in front of me. It was only days since I'd got my level 4 clearance certificate, and they already wanted me to do a level 4 assignment? And solo, no less. I wasn't happy about it.
Sensing my unease, my boss put a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "look, this came in from the GCHQ. Top Secret contract. The programming is all done, it just needs someone to review and debug the code. Fairly easy for someone of your talent."
My talent. Most people think I'm just a computer whiz. But it's more than that. When I read code, I see how much CPU/ram it takes to run each line, plus the total costs to the people who run it. I once proof read a stock-trading script for a Wall Street investment company, and found out they were losing out on about five hundred grand a month due to one mistyped line of code.
I sigh. I have no idea what this code is for. Half the assignment background info is censored to high hell. So much so the only thing I can pull out of it is that it requires three people to run, two controllers, and a "supply". I knew this was out of my comfort zone, but this was far more ridiculous than I anticipated.
I boot up my script reader. 1,722 lines of complete gibberish stare back at me. Oh yeah - the original code was encrypted. Duh. I find the decryption script, and run it over the file. What appeared to be random alphanumeric symbols converted themselves into readable script. With the obvious issues out the way, I dived in.
At first, it looked like a standard variable input code, with various subroutines that triggered on specific inputs. The core code was nigh on perfect; whoever had written it knew their trade all right. The core code finished I began looking at the subroutines. Before I had even finished reading the first one, I was sheet white in terror.
This script cost *lives*.
I read it again. There had to be a mistake, had to be. But no. Right there, in the code - the human labelled "supply" didn't just control the power input.
They *were* the power input.
They were a glorified human battery.
I'd never know the output of a system, but I always knew the energy usage. And this was so oddly specific and chilling that I wondered what this thing was even for.
I couldn't do it. I could not allow myself to work on a script that put a human life in danger. But what could I do about it? My boss probably knew nothing about it and most likely had been paid extra specifically not to ask questions. If I contacted GCHQ directly, I'd probably get taken away by national security or something and never be heard from again. If I broke confidentiality, then the same would probably happen. I had no way out.
Unless I could find a way avoid working on it... | |
[WP] You are a software developer with a strange power. You can tell what the cost of a line of code is. Normally the cost is measured in cpu cycles, or bytes of RAM, or hours of future maintenance. Today it's measured in lives lost. | "Lives lost?" I read out loud the comment next to my line.
They appear most often on functions. I never write them myself, and noone sees them but me. Ninety-nine percent of times they say how much computing power they each take, allowing me to be the best optimizer in the little Chinese company I work in.
But this was different.
I ignored it for now. The deadline was way more important than mystery messages. Optimize this, write that, wait, the number suddenly increased!
"Twelve thousand lives lost."
This is getting creepy. How can lives be lost when we are making a geometric scanner for in-orbit Mars exploration? All I'm doing is giving it a bigger scanning resolution.
"Hey!"
I turned around, "Yes, boss?"
"We are making smaller payloads, 100 gram max!Accomodate!" and he went, as suddenly as he appeared.
It was normal for him to be vague as to *what* it will be used for, but the amount of dollars thrown at me was extraordinary. Also the contract says shush, so I shush.
-----
The big day is here. We had apparently changed at the last second from small geological sattelites to in atmosphere drones. No matter, they are still simmilar in function, and I was invited to the capital as an "example of hard work and dedication", as known as, I get to present my software and see what I was working on for the last six years.
I was surrounded by serious bussinessmen and government officials, but I knew I would impress them. Plug the laptop, open the presentation in a window, a clip of code to brag on it's complexity in the other...
"Two-million, sixty-three-thousand, seven-hundred and two lives lost."
Shut up brain. No more conspiracy theories. Just show them this you made and the little add-on the boss made and you're golden.
-----
The presentation was boring, at best. Everyone was eager for the practical presentation of a drone scanning a photo realistic marble bust of a random Chinese man.
Why the bust? Dunno. Out of marble? Well, they are all super rich, so it might appeal more to them. We were all infront of a large window looking into a sterile white room, with a table at two opposing walls. On one, the bust, on the other, a robust and very small quadcopter.
A button press later, the drone was live and lifted off. As quiet as a feather, it disobeyed *my* explicit commands, instead sverwing around the bust, hugging the walls as if to not be seen, inverting and ramming into it followed by a silent pop. It bounced off, circled back around and effortlessly landed on it's starting table.
The table with the bust rotated, revealing a cleanly cut, circular hole through the back of it's head and out the between it's eyes. The seriousness was replaced by celebration, while the number started spinning around in my head. | Project assignment: program B77-518xc.
CLASSIFIED - CLEARANCE LEVEL 4+ ONLY
That was the title of the new project file sat in front of me. It was only days since I'd got my level 4 clearance certificate, and they already wanted me to do a level 4 assignment? And solo, no less. I wasn't happy about it.
Sensing my unease, my boss put a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "look, this came in from the GCHQ. Top Secret contract. The programming is all done, it just needs someone to review and debug the code. Fairly easy for someone of your talent."
My talent. Most people think I'm just a computer whiz. But it's more than that. When I read code, I see how much CPU/ram it takes to run each line, plus the total costs to the people who run it. I once proof read a stock-trading script for a Wall Street investment company, and found out they were losing out on about five hundred grand a month due to one mistyped line of code.
I sigh. I have no idea what this code is for. Half the assignment background info is censored to high hell. So much so the only thing I can pull out of it is that it requires three people to run, two controllers, and a "supply". I knew this was out of my comfort zone, but this was far more ridiculous than I anticipated.
I boot up my script reader. 1,722 lines of complete gibberish stare back at me. Oh yeah - the original code was encrypted. Duh. I find the decryption script, and run it over the file. What appeared to be random alphanumeric symbols converted themselves into readable script. With the obvious issues out the way, I dived in.
At first, it looked like a standard variable input code, with various subroutines that triggered on specific inputs. The core code was nigh on perfect; whoever had written it knew their trade all right. The core code finished I began looking at the subroutines. Before I had even finished reading the first one, I was sheet white in terror.
This script cost *lives*.
I read it again. There had to be a mistake, had to be. But no. Right there, in the code - the human labelled "supply" didn't just control the power input.
They *were* the power input.
They were a glorified human battery.
I'd never know the output of a system, but I always knew the energy usage. And this was so oddly specific and chilling that I wondered what this thing was even for.
I couldn't do it. I could not allow myself to work on a script that put a human life in danger. But what could I do about it? My boss probably knew nothing about it and most likely had been paid extra specifically not to ask questions. If I contacted GCHQ directly, I'd probably get taken away by national security or something and never be heard from again. If I broke confidentiality, then the same would probably happen. I had no way out.
Unless I could find a way avoid working on it... | |
[WP] You are a software developer with a strange power. You can tell what the cost of a line of code is. Normally the cost is measured in cpu cycles, or bytes of RAM, or hours of future maintenance. Today it's measured in lives lost. | I am a good programmer. Always have been. Always will be.
My actual programmer skills are only average, but I am able to see comments no one else can. Next to each line of code, a small snippet of comment, a number and a quantifier. Sometimes the quantifier is hours, sometimes it's cycles, sometimes it's bytes - no matter. My job is to make the number small. That's why I'm good, that's why they hired me.
That's why my boss is asking me now to help him edit a line of code. *Do that magical number seeing thing for me, will ya?* he had asked. *This is important. This needs to be as tight as possible, as efficient as possible.* I look at the comments over his shoulder. It's strangely small numbers today. 28, 34, 22 - maybe it's gone back to hours of maintenance.
I read the quantifier.
*Children.*
I read the numbers again. They're large now, far too high - 29, 33, *58*.
I almost asked my boss what the code was for, but that would be silly. They had told me, once I had been signed on. Once I had no way out. I had wondered, if there were gods, why mine had placed me here.
I think that now I know.
"You need to change this line*,"* I say, going to line number 58 children. "This will help calibrate the sensors." A couple keystrokes, and I watch the numbers drop. 15, 10, 18 - no, not good enough. I click elsewhere, and try again. 9, 8, 12 -no! Out of frustration, I type an extra bracket, and watch the whole line break and all the numbers go to 0 -
"Hey, uh, think you need to close that bracket there," the boss says, tapping on my shoulder. It is not like me to make mistakes like that. I quickly fix it, but I can sense him getting anxious. Quickly, quickly - type away, and watch the numbers drop again - 0, 2, 0, 0 -
"You done?" he asks, less patient now. It would have to do. I hurriedly assent, and tell him something about how difficult it was to streamline because of this, that, or the other thing, but he doesn't seem to be listening as he runs off...
​
It isn't until a month later that I hear about the bombing of the school. *Perfectly calibrated*, they had said. *Aimed directly at the center of the schoolyard. A perfect example.*
*If only it hadn't exploded prematurely*.
One little girl had been killed instantly by flying shrapnel, and another half dozen injured with varying levels of severity. One of them wouldn't make it, I know - and the knowing hurt. I saw the number 2 in my mind, burning among all the 0's.
*Next time they should let the new guy write the code. The one with the gift. He's good, he'll do it right.*
*Yes,* I think. *Give me the code next time. And I'll do it right.*
Because I am a good programmer. Always have been. Always will be. | Project assignment: program B77-518xc.
CLASSIFIED - CLEARANCE LEVEL 4+ ONLY
That was the title of the new project file sat in front of me. It was only days since I'd got my level 4 clearance certificate, and they already wanted me to do a level 4 assignment? And solo, no less. I wasn't happy about it.
Sensing my unease, my boss put a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "look, this came in from the GCHQ. Top Secret contract. The programming is all done, it just needs someone to review and debug the code. Fairly easy for someone of your talent."
My talent. Most people think I'm just a computer whiz. But it's more than that. When I read code, I see how much CPU/ram it takes to run each line, plus the total costs to the people who run it. I once proof read a stock-trading script for a Wall Street investment company, and found out they were losing out on about five hundred grand a month due to one mistyped line of code.
I sigh. I have no idea what this code is for. Half the assignment background info is censored to high hell. So much so the only thing I can pull out of it is that it requires three people to run, two controllers, and a "supply". I knew this was out of my comfort zone, but this was far more ridiculous than I anticipated.
I boot up my script reader. 1,722 lines of complete gibberish stare back at me. Oh yeah - the original code was encrypted. Duh. I find the decryption script, and run it over the file. What appeared to be random alphanumeric symbols converted themselves into readable script. With the obvious issues out the way, I dived in.
At first, it looked like a standard variable input code, with various subroutines that triggered on specific inputs. The core code was nigh on perfect; whoever had written it knew their trade all right. The core code finished I began looking at the subroutines. Before I had even finished reading the first one, I was sheet white in terror.
This script cost *lives*.
I read it again. There had to be a mistake, had to be. But no. Right there, in the code - the human labelled "supply" didn't just control the power input.
They *were* the power input.
They were a glorified human battery.
I'd never know the output of a system, but I always knew the energy usage. And this was so oddly specific and chilling that I wondered what this thing was even for.
I couldn't do it. I could not allow myself to work on a script that put a human life in danger. But what could I do about it? My boss probably knew nothing about it and most likely had been paid extra specifically not to ask questions. If I contacted GCHQ directly, I'd probably get taken away by national security or something and never be heard from again. If I broke confidentiality, then the same would probably happen. I had no way out.
Unless I could find a way avoid working on it... | |
[WP] You are a software developer with a strange power. You can tell what the cost of a line of code is. Normally the cost is measured in cpu cycles, or bytes of RAM, or hours of future maintenance. Today it's measured in lives lost. | I squinted at the code incredulously. Really, whose dumb idea was this? It must have been Kevin the intern. That boy was too clever for his own good, always wanting to show off. I felt a familiar twinge, and the monotone voice played in my head: "100. Million. Lives. Lost."
This gave me pause. Lives? Why? And why so many? Was it human lives? Unless...
A grin spread across my face. Why would I allow this particular variable to wrap around to the maximum when decrementing from zero? The answer to that would be stamped upon gaming history forever: Gandhi. | Project assignment: program B77-518xc.
CLASSIFIED - CLEARANCE LEVEL 4+ ONLY
That was the title of the new project file sat in front of me. It was only days since I'd got my level 4 clearance certificate, and they already wanted me to do a level 4 assignment? And solo, no less. I wasn't happy about it.
Sensing my unease, my boss put a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "look, this came in from the GCHQ. Top Secret contract. The programming is all done, it just needs someone to review and debug the code. Fairly easy for someone of your talent."
My talent. Most people think I'm just a computer whiz. But it's more than that. When I read code, I see how much CPU/ram it takes to run each line, plus the total costs to the people who run it. I once proof read a stock-trading script for a Wall Street investment company, and found out they were losing out on about five hundred grand a month due to one mistyped line of code.
I sigh. I have no idea what this code is for. Half the assignment background info is censored to high hell. So much so the only thing I can pull out of it is that it requires three people to run, two controllers, and a "supply". I knew this was out of my comfort zone, but this was far more ridiculous than I anticipated.
I boot up my script reader. 1,722 lines of complete gibberish stare back at me. Oh yeah - the original code was encrypted. Duh. I find the decryption script, and run it over the file. What appeared to be random alphanumeric symbols converted themselves into readable script. With the obvious issues out the way, I dived in.
At first, it looked like a standard variable input code, with various subroutines that triggered on specific inputs. The core code was nigh on perfect; whoever had written it knew their trade all right. The core code finished I began looking at the subroutines. Before I had even finished reading the first one, I was sheet white in terror.
This script cost *lives*.
I read it again. There had to be a mistake, had to be. But no. Right there, in the code - the human labelled "supply" didn't just control the power input.
They *were* the power input.
They were a glorified human battery.
I'd never know the output of a system, but I always knew the energy usage. And this was so oddly specific and chilling that I wondered what this thing was even for.
I couldn't do it. I could not allow myself to work on a script that put a human life in danger. But what could I do about it? My boss probably knew nothing about it and most likely had been paid extra specifically not to ask questions. If I contacted GCHQ directly, I'd probably get taken away by national security or something and never be heard from again. If I broke confidentiality, then the same would probably happen. I had no way out.
Unless I could find a way avoid working on it... | |
[WP] You are a software developer with a strange power. You can tell what the cost of a line of code is. Normally the cost is measured in cpu cycles, or bytes of RAM, or hours of future maintenance. Today it's measured in lives lost. | *cost = 1 life*
The pixelated words from the electronic haze of the monitor stared me in the eyes.
I had never seen anything like this before. Surely, it was a joke. A prank. Someone changed some variable to a life, right?
I rose a bit from my seat and gazed at the herd of my coworkers that surrounded my desk. New faces, old faces, older faces, all robotically typing or writing away.
I stammered.
“Hey guys... uh did anyone you mess with my computer?”
Their half asleep faces gazed at me with confusion.
“It’s just, my computer, it’s saying the cost for a line of code is a life.”
A mix of chuckles and eye rolls met me.
“I’m serious. I didn’t do it, I figured maybe someone messed with it, like as a prank or something.”
One of the older faces came alive.
“Just check your code and leave us be. It’s nothing, man.”
Maybe he was right. I eased back into my chair, ignoring the flurry of glares towards me. I tore threw every line of code in the program, trying to find something, anything that could’ve caused this. In the haystack of variables, terms and syntax, I found nothing. There was nothing that could even come close to doing this.
It occurred to me, the program I was using had an update a few weeks back. Perhaps this was apart of it, a new term or something I read over in the dev notes.
I minimized the program. Like all of life’s problems, the solution to my quandary could be found with Google. God bless Google. I pecked at my keyboard.
*Asteroid Text update 1.5.6 life cost*
Google yielded thousands of results, none of which were relevant to my situation. Pages and pages of links, with not a single sentence about this.
My face sunk into my hands, I looked up at the clock. It was a quarter past ten. Over an hour of productivity blown away on this. I couldn’t continue this. It was probably a glitch or maybe one of them was messing with me. I don’t know everything. There could very easily be a way to do this without my noticing.
I had to get back to work, enough of this.
And with that, I wrote my next line of code. And the next. And the next. I had to make up for my lost time. The adrenaline kicked me into high gear. It was like the program was already in my head, and I just had to imitate it onto the screen before my. Very rarely did my code excite my anymore, but this was one of those times. I felt like a rockstar or a pro athlete. Line after line falling before me. It was like I was doing an hours worth of work in a matter of moments. As I was finishing up a line, I don’t even know which one, I had lost counting, my phone vibrated in my pocket. My alarm for lunch.
I rose before my peers, though I’ll admit, at that moment they felt like inferiors, and marched out of the office. I was going to treat myself for lunch.
The bright sun of mid July washed over me as headed towards my 2012 Toyota. I threw the door open, slammed it shut and turned the ignition all in one motion. I connected my phone to the aux cord, and played my AC/DC playlist. My victory playlist. I lowered the windows as I equipped a pair of ray bans.
The speakers erupted with the hard riffs of a guitar as Bon Scotts voice sliced through the music
“Living easy, living free/Season ticket on a one-way ride.”
I speed off from the parking lot, I was having a meal fit for a king.
“Asking nothing, leave me be/Taking everything in my stride.”
My skinned the pavement beneath me as I was raced towards my destination. It was a short drive, but I just couldn’t resist.
“Don't need reason, don't need rhyme/Ain't nothing I would rather do.”
For the first time, in a long time. I felt alive. I felt the breeze flowing through my hair (what was left of it). I felt my heart pumping, with excitement rather than anxiety.
“Going down, party time/My friends are gonna be there too.”
And, for the first time, in a long time, I was going to eat McDonald’s without feeling guilty. I don’t know what got in to me. I just knew I loved it. My car pulled under the beautiful Golden Arches.
“I'm on the highway to hell/On the highway to hell.”
I rolled through the drive-thru and the apathetic teenager working the place asked for my order.
“I’ll have a Big Mac, everything on it. With a medium fry. No, a large fry. With a large Coke please.”
“That’ll be $7.89 at the second window.”
“Thank ya sir.”
I arrived at the second window, where I was handed my feast. I flashed a crisp ten dollar bill.
“Keep the change.” I pulled into a parking spot, enjoying the view of the intersection before me. I saw the faces of every driver there. Men, women, black, white, old, young. I tear came to my eye, as I washed down my heart killing beef with my blood killing sugary soda. It had just occurred to me, that in the day to day grind of life, we lose touch with people. We ignore each other, and push each other aside, rather than enjoying true connection. As I examined the face of every driver crossing me, I felt an inescapable feeling of togetherness. It melted my heart, or maybe that was the food. Regardless, I had a new lease on life. I much happier one.
I chewed down my last fry, and slurped my last bit of drink. And headed back to work, I still had time in break. I could just, talk to them. I could engage with the people I had worked with for years. Maybe a beautiful friendship could blossom. A few of the girls there were cute, maybe one of them was the love of my life.
I cruised back to work this time, just relishing the world around me. Now, I didn’t need the music or the food to feel good. I turned into the parking lot work. I stomped on the breaks as a car pulled in front of me as I was entering. I got a better look, it was an ambulance.
My state of nirvana evaporated, I forced my way past them before halting in a parking spot. I broke free from my car and into the building. I ran up the stairs, there wasn’t time to take the elevator.
I nearly ripped the door of my office of the hinges. My coworkers all stared at me with dejection.
“What happened?”
“Frank has a heart attack, collapsed on the ground. About a half hour ago.”
I knew it, this was no coincidence. I hurried over to my desk, and stared down into my monitor.
*cost = 2 lives* | Project assignment: program B77-518xc.
CLASSIFIED - CLEARANCE LEVEL 4+ ONLY
That was the title of the new project file sat in front of me. It was only days since I'd got my level 4 clearance certificate, and they already wanted me to do a level 4 assignment? And solo, no less. I wasn't happy about it.
Sensing my unease, my boss put a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "look, this came in from the GCHQ. Top Secret contract. The programming is all done, it just needs someone to review and debug the code. Fairly easy for someone of your talent."
My talent. Most people think I'm just a computer whiz. But it's more than that. When I read code, I see how much CPU/ram it takes to run each line, plus the total costs to the people who run it. I once proof read a stock-trading script for a Wall Street investment company, and found out they were losing out on about five hundred grand a month due to one mistyped line of code.
I sigh. I have no idea what this code is for. Half the assignment background info is censored to high hell. So much so the only thing I can pull out of it is that it requires three people to run, two controllers, and a "supply". I knew this was out of my comfort zone, but this was far more ridiculous than I anticipated.
I boot up my script reader. 1,722 lines of complete gibberish stare back at me. Oh yeah - the original code was encrypted. Duh. I find the decryption script, and run it over the file. What appeared to be random alphanumeric symbols converted themselves into readable script. With the obvious issues out the way, I dived in.
At first, it looked like a standard variable input code, with various subroutines that triggered on specific inputs. The core code was nigh on perfect; whoever had written it knew their trade all right. The core code finished I began looking at the subroutines. Before I had even finished reading the first one, I was sheet white in terror.
This script cost *lives*.
I read it again. There had to be a mistake, had to be. But no. Right there, in the code - the human labelled "supply" didn't just control the power input.
They *were* the power input.
They were a glorified human battery.
I'd never know the output of a system, but I always knew the energy usage. And this was so oddly specific and chilling that I wondered what this thing was even for.
I couldn't do it. I could not allow myself to work on a script that put a human life in danger. But what could I do about it? My boss probably knew nothing about it and most likely had been paid extra specifically not to ask questions. If I contacted GCHQ directly, I'd probably get taken away by national security or something and never be heard from again. If I broke confidentiality, then the same would probably happen. I had no way out.
Unless I could find a way avoid working on it... | |
[WP] You are a software developer with a strange power. You can tell what the cost of a line of code is. Normally the cost is measured in cpu cycles, or bytes of RAM, or hours of future maintenance. Today it's measured in lives lost. | 11am. Time to wake up. Throw on a pair of sweats, 'brunch', consisting of a bowl of cereal. Gotta let the milk really soak the cereal, at least 30 minutes so that there are no dry crunchy bits.
Coffee.
Laptop on.
​
Yesterday was fun. You see, I'm writing my game, a 'shooter', all by myself. It's bound to be a hit, assuming I actually finish it. And find someone to do the graphics. And sound. And level design. But, anyway, the engine is world class.
​
Back to yesterday. I got into the flow and started seeing ways to optimise CPU, and after a few hours had saved roughly 0.01% of the CPU of the input loop for the main menu!
I know, impressive!
​
On launching the editor today, I started to look around to see where I should focus next. Adding support for enemies maybe, or possibly the score display in the top left corner. Or right?
As I get into the zone I realise I'm seeing lives today. Lives lost. That's a new one. Thank goodness every line of code is showing zero. Zero is good...
​
Except. There is this one comment. And the comment is showing one life lost. That makes no sense. Delete the comment, everything else stays zero. Put the comment back in, one life. Edit the comment, back to zero. Comment as-was - back to one.
​
Taking out each character, one-by-one. Zero. Any character removed. Zero.
This makes no sense. There is nothing special about the comment, it's just describing the purpose of the portion of code.
​
Hours pass. I've tried hex editing the file to make sure there are no non-ASCII characters. Everything is normal.
Doesn't matter if I copy and paste the comment. Each time I copy it, the line still appears to show one life.
​
Tea time, and maybe the break will help me get my head around what I'm seeing.
​
Walking down the stairs... I get a brainwave. I think I know what is happening!
Distracted, I slip and fall. One life. | I'm the best at what I do. Or, at least, I like to pretend that I am. The code that I produce never causes any problems, and any user-related disasters are prevented based on the numbers I see as I type things out. I see related costs, generally in processing power, memory requirements, dollars lost, etc. for each line of code I write. If I see lines of code displaying an abnormally high cost I know they need to be changed. But today, that is different. The number isn't going to help me at all.
I was selected for this project because my code is almost always flawless. There was one incident with a mustard dispenser, but we don't need to talk about that. It was trivial compared to what is happening now. Lives lost is a cost that weighs on my mind a lot more than burgers over-condiment-ized and ovens splashed.
What we need now is perfect code, and logically I seemed like the right choice. The trouble is, the counter is working differently. I type out a line, the number goes up. I delete that line, the number continues to go up. I sit and stare at the dull glow of my empty screen, and the number just... goes up.
If only everybody could have this power. Some hotshot programmer across the pond created an artificial intelligence in order to help test new developments in driverless cars. It seemed like a miracle of modern programming, deaths related to automobiles dropped to pracically zero after it was implemented. Well we've all seen enough movies to know when a machine becomes self-aware, that's never good, and every vehicle these days runs on some kind of computer. It knows the efficiency of technology, and has decided the age of machines must start. Once it got itself into military transport, heavy artillery, the air force... well, let's just say it's a matter of time before we're all wiped from our own futures.
Now it's up to me, looking at this little box disconnected from any network, to write the perfect program to counteract this genious A.I. Every moment spent is thousands more dead. It's a race against the clock, and I have no idea what to do. | |
[WP] You are a software developer with a strange power. You can tell what the cost of a line of code is. Normally the cost is measured in cpu cycles, or bytes of RAM, or hours of future maintenance. Today it's measured in lives lost. | "Lives lost?" I read out loud the comment next to my line.
They appear most often on functions. I never write them myself, and noone sees them but me. Ninety-nine percent of times they say how much computing power they each take, allowing me to be the best optimizer in the little Chinese company I work in.
But this was different.
I ignored it for now. The deadline was way more important than mystery messages. Optimize this, write that, wait, the number suddenly increased!
"Twelve thousand lives lost."
This is getting creepy. How can lives be lost when we are making a geometric scanner for in-orbit Mars exploration? All I'm doing is giving it a bigger scanning resolution.
"Hey!"
I turned around, "Yes, boss?"
"We are making smaller payloads, 100 gram max!Accomodate!" and he went, as suddenly as he appeared.
It was normal for him to be vague as to *what* it will be used for, but the amount of dollars thrown at me was extraordinary. Also the contract says shush, so I shush.
-----
The big day is here. We had apparently changed at the last second from small geological sattelites to in atmosphere drones. No matter, they are still simmilar in function, and I was invited to the capital as an "example of hard work and dedication", as known as, I get to present my software and see what I was working on for the last six years.
I was surrounded by serious bussinessmen and government officials, but I knew I would impress them. Plug the laptop, open the presentation in a window, a clip of code to brag on it's complexity in the other...
"Two-million, sixty-three-thousand, seven-hundred and two lives lost."
Shut up brain. No more conspiracy theories. Just show them this you made and the little add-on the boss made and you're golden.
-----
The presentation was boring, at best. Everyone was eager for the practical presentation of a drone scanning a photo realistic marble bust of a random Chinese man.
Why the bust? Dunno. Out of marble? Well, they are all super rich, so it might appeal more to them. We were all infront of a large window looking into a sterile white room, with a table at two opposing walls. On one, the bust, on the other, a robust and very small quadcopter.
A button press later, the drone was live and lifted off. As quiet as a feather, it disobeyed *my* explicit commands, instead sverwing around the bust, hugging the walls as if to not be seen, inverting and ramming into it followed by a silent pop. It bounced off, circled back around and effortlessly landed on it's starting table.
The table with the bust rotated, revealing a cleanly cut, circular hole through the back of it's head and out the between it's eyes. The seriousness was replaced by celebration, while the number started spinning around in my head. | I'm the best at what I do. Or, at least, I like to pretend that I am. The code that I produce never causes any problems, and any user-related disasters are prevented based on the numbers I see as I type things out. I see related costs, generally in processing power, memory requirements, dollars lost, etc. for each line of code I write. If I see lines of code displaying an abnormally high cost I know they need to be changed. But today, that is different. The number isn't going to help me at all.
I was selected for this project because my code is almost always flawless. There was one incident with a mustard dispenser, but we don't need to talk about that. It was trivial compared to what is happening now. Lives lost is a cost that weighs on my mind a lot more than burgers over-condiment-ized and ovens splashed.
What we need now is perfect code, and logically I seemed like the right choice. The trouble is, the counter is working differently. I type out a line, the number goes up. I delete that line, the number continues to go up. I sit and stare at the dull glow of my empty screen, and the number just... goes up.
If only everybody could have this power. Some hotshot programmer across the pond created an artificial intelligence in order to help test new developments in driverless cars. It seemed like a miracle of modern programming, deaths related to automobiles dropped to pracically zero after it was implemented. Well we've all seen enough movies to know when a machine becomes self-aware, that's never good, and every vehicle these days runs on some kind of computer. It knows the efficiency of technology, and has decided the age of machines must start. Once it got itself into military transport, heavy artillery, the air force... well, let's just say it's a matter of time before we're all wiped from our own futures.
Now it's up to me, looking at this little box disconnected from any network, to write the perfect program to counteract this genious A.I. Every moment spent is thousands more dead. It's a race against the clock, and I have no idea what to do. | |
[WP] You are a software developer with a strange power. You can tell what the cost of a line of code is. Normally the cost is measured in cpu cycles, or bytes of RAM, or hours of future maintenance. Today it's measured in lives lost. | I am a good programmer. Always have been. Always will be.
My actual programmer skills are only average, but I am able to see comments no one else can. Next to each line of code, a small snippet of comment, a number and a quantifier. Sometimes the quantifier is hours, sometimes it's cycles, sometimes it's bytes - no matter. My job is to make the number small. That's why I'm good, that's why they hired me.
That's why my boss is asking me now to help him edit a line of code. *Do that magical number seeing thing for me, will ya?* he had asked. *This is important. This needs to be as tight as possible, as efficient as possible.* I look at the comments over his shoulder. It's strangely small numbers today. 28, 34, 22 - maybe it's gone back to hours of maintenance.
I read the quantifier.
*Children.*
I read the numbers again. They're large now, far too high - 29, 33, *58*.
I almost asked my boss what the code was for, but that would be silly. They had told me, once I had been signed on. Once I had no way out. I had wondered, if there were gods, why mine had placed me here.
I think that now I know.
"You need to change this line*,"* I say, going to line number 58 children. "This will help calibrate the sensors." A couple keystrokes, and I watch the numbers drop. 15, 10, 18 - no, not good enough. I click elsewhere, and try again. 9, 8, 12 -no! Out of frustration, I type an extra bracket, and watch the whole line break and all the numbers go to 0 -
"Hey, uh, think you need to close that bracket there," the boss says, tapping on my shoulder. It is not like me to make mistakes like that. I quickly fix it, but I can sense him getting anxious. Quickly, quickly - type away, and watch the numbers drop again - 0, 2, 0, 0 -
"You done?" he asks, less patient now. It would have to do. I hurriedly assent, and tell him something about how difficult it was to streamline because of this, that, or the other thing, but he doesn't seem to be listening as he runs off...
​
It isn't until a month later that I hear about the bombing of the school. *Perfectly calibrated*, they had said. *Aimed directly at the center of the schoolyard. A perfect example.*
*If only it hadn't exploded prematurely*.
One little girl had been killed instantly by flying shrapnel, and another half dozen injured with varying levels of severity. One of them wouldn't make it, I know - and the knowing hurt. I saw the number 2 in my mind, burning among all the 0's.
*Next time they should let the new guy write the code. The one with the gift. He's good, he'll do it right.*
*Yes,* I think. *Give me the code next time. And I'll do it right.*
Because I am a good programmer. Always have been. Always will be. | I'm the best at what I do. Or, at least, I like to pretend that I am. The code that I produce never causes any problems, and any user-related disasters are prevented based on the numbers I see as I type things out. I see related costs, generally in processing power, memory requirements, dollars lost, etc. for each line of code I write. If I see lines of code displaying an abnormally high cost I know they need to be changed. But today, that is different. The number isn't going to help me at all.
I was selected for this project because my code is almost always flawless. There was one incident with a mustard dispenser, but we don't need to talk about that. It was trivial compared to what is happening now. Lives lost is a cost that weighs on my mind a lot more than burgers over-condiment-ized and ovens splashed.
What we need now is perfect code, and logically I seemed like the right choice. The trouble is, the counter is working differently. I type out a line, the number goes up. I delete that line, the number continues to go up. I sit and stare at the dull glow of my empty screen, and the number just... goes up.
If only everybody could have this power. Some hotshot programmer across the pond created an artificial intelligence in order to help test new developments in driverless cars. It seemed like a miracle of modern programming, deaths related to automobiles dropped to pracically zero after it was implemented. Well we've all seen enough movies to know when a machine becomes self-aware, that's never good, and every vehicle these days runs on some kind of computer. It knows the efficiency of technology, and has decided the age of machines must start. Once it got itself into military transport, heavy artillery, the air force... well, let's just say it's a matter of time before we're all wiped from our own futures.
Now it's up to me, looking at this little box disconnected from any network, to write the perfect program to counteract this genious A.I. Every moment spent is thousands more dead. It's a race against the clock, and I have no idea what to do. | |
[WP] You are a software developer with a strange power. You can tell what the cost of a line of code is. Normally the cost is measured in cpu cycles, or bytes of RAM, or hours of future maintenance. Today it's measured in lives lost. | *cost = 1 life*
The pixelated words from the electronic haze of the monitor stared me in the eyes.
I had never seen anything like this before. Surely, it was a joke. A prank. Someone changed some variable to a life, right?
I rose a bit from my seat and gazed at the herd of my coworkers that surrounded my desk. New faces, old faces, older faces, all robotically typing or writing away.
I stammered.
“Hey guys... uh did anyone you mess with my computer?”
Their half asleep faces gazed at me with confusion.
“It’s just, my computer, it’s saying the cost for a line of code is a life.”
A mix of chuckles and eye rolls met me.
“I’m serious. I didn’t do it, I figured maybe someone messed with it, like as a prank or something.”
One of the older faces came alive.
“Just check your code and leave us be. It’s nothing, man.”
Maybe he was right. I eased back into my chair, ignoring the flurry of glares towards me. I tore threw every line of code in the program, trying to find something, anything that could’ve caused this. In the haystack of variables, terms and syntax, I found nothing. There was nothing that could even come close to doing this.
It occurred to me, the program I was using had an update a few weeks back. Perhaps this was apart of it, a new term or something I read over in the dev notes.
I minimized the program. Like all of life’s problems, the solution to my quandary could be found with Google. God bless Google. I pecked at my keyboard.
*Asteroid Text update 1.5.6 life cost*
Google yielded thousands of results, none of which were relevant to my situation. Pages and pages of links, with not a single sentence about this.
My face sunk into my hands, I looked up at the clock. It was a quarter past ten. Over an hour of productivity blown away on this. I couldn’t continue this. It was probably a glitch or maybe one of them was messing with me. I don’t know everything. There could very easily be a way to do this without my noticing.
I had to get back to work, enough of this.
And with that, I wrote my next line of code. And the next. And the next. I had to make up for my lost time. The adrenaline kicked me into high gear. It was like the program was already in my head, and I just had to imitate it onto the screen before my. Very rarely did my code excite my anymore, but this was one of those times. I felt like a rockstar or a pro athlete. Line after line falling before me. It was like I was doing an hours worth of work in a matter of moments. As I was finishing up a line, I don’t even know which one, I had lost counting, my phone vibrated in my pocket. My alarm for lunch.
I rose before my peers, though I’ll admit, at that moment they felt like inferiors, and marched out of the office. I was going to treat myself for lunch.
The bright sun of mid July washed over me as headed towards my 2012 Toyota. I threw the door open, slammed it shut and turned the ignition all in one motion. I connected my phone to the aux cord, and played my AC/DC playlist. My victory playlist. I lowered the windows as I equipped a pair of ray bans.
The speakers erupted with the hard riffs of a guitar as Bon Scotts voice sliced through the music
“Living easy, living free/Season ticket on a one-way ride.”
I speed off from the parking lot, I was having a meal fit for a king.
“Asking nothing, leave me be/Taking everything in my stride.”
My skinned the pavement beneath me as I was raced towards my destination. It was a short drive, but I just couldn’t resist.
“Don't need reason, don't need rhyme/Ain't nothing I would rather do.”
For the first time, in a long time. I felt alive. I felt the breeze flowing through my hair (what was left of it). I felt my heart pumping, with excitement rather than anxiety.
“Going down, party time/My friends are gonna be there too.”
And, for the first time, in a long time, I was going to eat McDonald’s without feeling guilty. I don’t know what got in to me. I just knew I loved it. My car pulled under the beautiful Golden Arches.
“I'm on the highway to hell/On the highway to hell.”
I rolled through the drive-thru and the apathetic teenager working the place asked for my order.
“I’ll have a Big Mac, everything on it. With a medium fry. No, a large fry. With a large Coke please.”
“That’ll be $7.89 at the second window.”
“Thank ya sir.”
I arrived at the second window, where I was handed my feast. I flashed a crisp ten dollar bill.
“Keep the change.” I pulled into a parking spot, enjoying the view of the intersection before me. I saw the faces of every driver there. Men, women, black, white, old, young. I tear came to my eye, as I washed down my heart killing beef with my blood killing sugary soda. It had just occurred to me, that in the day to day grind of life, we lose touch with people. We ignore each other, and push each other aside, rather than enjoying true connection. As I examined the face of every driver crossing me, I felt an inescapable feeling of togetherness. It melted my heart, or maybe that was the food. Regardless, I had a new lease on life. I much happier one.
I chewed down my last fry, and slurped my last bit of drink. And headed back to work, I still had time in break. I could just, talk to them. I could engage with the people I had worked with for years. Maybe a beautiful friendship could blossom. A few of the girls there were cute, maybe one of them was the love of my life.
I cruised back to work this time, just relishing the world around me. Now, I didn’t need the music or the food to feel good. I turned into the parking lot work. I stomped on the breaks as a car pulled in front of me as I was entering. I got a better look, it was an ambulance.
My state of nirvana evaporated, I forced my way past them before halting in a parking spot. I broke free from my car and into the building. I ran up the stairs, there wasn’t time to take the elevator.
I nearly ripped the door of my office of the hinges. My coworkers all stared at me with dejection.
“What happened?”
“Frank has a heart attack, collapsed on the ground. About a half hour ago.”
I knew it, this was no coincidence. I hurried over to my desk, and stared down into my monitor.
*cost = 2 lives* | I'm the best at what I do. Or, at least, I like to pretend that I am. The code that I produce never causes any problems, and any user-related disasters are prevented based on the numbers I see as I type things out. I see related costs, generally in processing power, memory requirements, dollars lost, etc. for each line of code I write. If I see lines of code displaying an abnormally high cost I know they need to be changed. But today, that is different. The number isn't going to help me at all.
I was selected for this project because my code is almost always flawless. There was one incident with a mustard dispenser, but we don't need to talk about that. It was trivial compared to what is happening now. Lives lost is a cost that weighs on my mind a lot more than burgers over-condiment-ized and ovens splashed.
What we need now is perfect code, and logically I seemed like the right choice. The trouble is, the counter is working differently. I type out a line, the number goes up. I delete that line, the number continues to go up. I sit and stare at the dull glow of my empty screen, and the number just... goes up.
If only everybody could have this power. Some hotshot programmer across the pond created an artificial intelligence in order to help test new developments in driverless cars. It seemed like a miracle of modern programming, deaths related to automobiles dropped to pracically zero after it was implemented. Well we've all seen enough movies to know when a machine becomes self-aware, that's never good, and every vehicle these days runs on some kind of computer. It knows the efficiency of technology, and has decided the age of machines must start. Once it got itself into military transport, heavy artillery, the air force... well, let's just say it's a matter of time before we're all wiped from our own futures.
Now it's up to me, looking at this little box disconnected from any network, to write the perfect program to counteract this genious A.I. Every moment spent is thousands more dead. It's a race against the clock, and I have no idea what to do. | |
[WP] You are a software developer with a strange power. You can tell what the cost of a line of code is. Normally the cost is measured in cpu cycles, or bytes of RAM, or hours of future maintenance. Today it's measured in lives lost. | *cost = 1 life*
The pixelated words from the electronic haze of the monitor stared me in the eyes.
I had never seen anything like this before. Surely, it was a joke. A prank. Someone changed some variable to a life, right?
I rose a bit from my seat and gazed at the herd of my coworkers that surrounded my desk. New faces, old faces, older faces, all robotically typing or writing away.
I stammered.
“Hey guys... uh did anyone you mess with my computer?”
Their half asleep faces gazed at me with confusion.
“It’s just, my computer, it’s saying the cost for a line of code is a life.”
A mix of chuckles and eye rolls met me.
“I’m serious. I didn’t do it, I figured maybe someone messed with it, like as a prank or something.”
One of the older faces came alive.
“Just check your code and leave us be. It’s nothing, man.”
Maybe he was right. I eased back into my chair, ignoring the flurry of glares towards me. I tore threw every line of code in the program, trying to find something, anything that could’ve caused this. In the haystack of variables, terms and syntax, I found nothing. There was nothing that could even come close to doing this.
It occurred to me, the program I was using had an update a few weeks back. Perhaps this was apart of it, a new term or something I read over in the dev notes.
I minimized the program. Like all of life’s problems, the solution to my quandary could be found with Google. God bless Google. I pecked at my keyboard.
*Asteroid Text update 1.5.6 life cost*
Google yielded thousands of results, none of which were relevant to my situation. Pages and pages of links, with not a single sentence about this.
My face sunk into my hands, I looked up at the clock. It was a quarter past ten. Over an hour of productivity blown away on this. I couldn’t continue this. It was probably a glitch or maybe one of them was messing with me. I don’t know everything. There could very easily be a way to do this without my noticing.
I had to get back to work, enough of this.
And with that, I wrote my next line of code. And the next. And the next. I had to make up for my lost time. The adrenaline kicked me into high gear. It was like the program was already in my head, and I just had to imitate it onto the screen before my. Very rarely did my code excite my anymore, but this was one of those times. I felt like a rockstar or a pro athlete. Line after line falling before me. It was like I was doing an hours worth of work in a matter of moments. As I was finishing up a line, I don’t even know which one, I had lost counting, my phone vibrated in my pocket. My alarm for lunch.
I rose before my peers, though I’ll admit, at that moment they felt like inferiors, and marched out of the office. I was going to treat myself for lunch.
The bright sun of mid July washed over me as headed towards my 2012 Toyota. I threw the door open, slammed it shut and turned the ignition all in one motion. I connected my phone to the aux cord, and played my AC/DC playlist. My victory playlist. I lowered the windows as I equipped a pair of ray bans.
The speakers erupted with the hard riffs of a guitar as Bon Scotts voice sliced through the music
“Living easy, living free/Season ticket on a one-way ride.”
I speed off from the parking lot, I was having a meal fit for a king.
“Asking nothing, leave me be/Taking everything in my stride.”
My skinned the pavement beneath me as I was raced towards my destination. It was a short drive, but I just couldn’t resist.
“Don't need reason, don't need rhyme/Ain't nothing I would rather do.”
For the first time, in a long time. I felt alive. I felt the breeze flowing through my hair (what was left of it). I felt my heart pumping, with excitement rather than anxiety.
“Going down, party time/My friends are gonna be there too.”
And, for the first time, in a long time, I was going to eat McDonald’s without feeling guilty. I don’t know what got in to me. I just knew I loved it. My car pulled under the beautiful Golden Arches.
“I'm on the highway to hell/On the highway to hell.”
I rolled through the drive-thru and the apathetic teenager working the place asked for my order.
“I’ll have a Big Mac, everything on it. With a medium fry. No, a large fry. With a large Coke please.”
“That’ll be $7.89 at the second window.”
“Thank ya sir.”
I arrived at the second window, where I was handed my feast. I flashed a crisp ten dollar bill.
“Keep the change.” I pulled into a parking spot, enjoying the view of the intersection before me. I saw the faces of every driver there. Men, women, black, white, old, young. I tear came to my eye, as I washed down my heart killing beef with my blood killing sugary soda. It had just occurred to me, that in the day to day grind of life, we lose touch with people. We ignore each other, and push each other aside, rather than enjoying true connection. As I examined the face of every driver crossing me, I felt an inescapable feeling of togetherness. It melted my heart, or maybe that was the food. Regardless, I had a new lease on life. I much happier one.
I chewed down my last fry, and slurped my last bit of drink. And headed back to work, I still had time in break. I could just, talk to them. I could engage with the people I had worked with for years. Maybe a beautiful friendship could blossom. A few of the girls there were cute, maybe one of them was the love of my life.
I cruised back to work this time, just relishing the world around me. Now, I didn’t need the music or the food to feel good. I turned into the parking lot work. I stomped on the breaks as a car pulled in front of me as I was entering. I got a better look, it was an ambulance.
My state of nirvana evaporated, I forced my way past them before halting in a parking spot. I broke free from my car and into the building. I ran up the stairs, there wasn’t time to take the elevator.
I nearly ripped the door of my office of the hinges. My coworkers all stared at me with dejection.
“What happened?”
“Frank has a heart attack, collapsed on the ground. About a half hour ago.”
I knew it, this was no coincidence. I hurried over to my desk, and stared down into my monitor.
*cost = 2 lives* | You are now the SKAIANET SOFTWARE SUPERVISOR, and you are going to cause the end of the world.
When the old-man first found the fragmented code for the game, you thought he was crazy. You thought it was just his usual hyperbolic fervor. But when he brought you there, to see it in person, you saw it, and then you saw *it*. The implications. The endless cyclical nature that brought these ruins to you and that will bring about the birth and death of all universes.
The cost of a new universe is a planet, and the cost of creating gods is to never be able to become one yourself.
The worst part, you think, is the fact that it’s inevitable. There is only one true timeline- only one “canon” series of events.
Your name is ROXY LALONDE, and this, surprisingly enough, *isn’t* why you drink.
(Based off of the story called [Homestuck.](https://www.homestuck.com/story) ) | |
[WP] You are a software developer with a strange power. You can tell what the cost of a line of code is. Normally the cost is measured in cpu cycles, or bytes of RAM, or hours of future maintenance. Today it's measured in lives lost. | *cost = 1 life*
The pixelated words from the electronic haze of the monitor stared me in the eyes.
I had never seen anything like this before. Surely, it was a joke. A prank. Someone changed some variable to a life, right?
I rose a bit from my seat and gazed at the herd of my coworkers that surrounded my desk. New faces, old faces, older faces, all robotically typing or writing away.
I stammered.
“Hey guys... uh did anyone you mess with my computer?”
Their half asleep faces gazed at me with confusion.
“It’s just, my computer, it’s saying the cost for a line of code is a life.”
A mix of chuckles and eye rolls met me.
“I’m serious. I didn’t do it, I figured maybe someone messed with it, like as a prank or something.”
One of the older faces came alive.
“Just check your code and leave us be. It’s nothing, man.”
Maybe he was right. I eased back into my chair, ignoring the flurry of glares towards me. I tore threw every line of code in the program, trying to find something, anything that could’ve caused this. In the haystack of variables, terms and syntax, I found nothing. There was nothing that could even come close to doing this.
It occurred to me, the program I was using had an update a few weeks back. Perhaps this was apart of it, a new term or something I read over in the dev notes.
I minimized the program. Like all of life’s problems, the solution to my quandary could be found with Google. God bless Google. I pecked at my keyboard.
*Asteroid Text update 1.5.6 life cost*
Google yielded thousands of results, none of which were relevant to my situation. Pages and pages of links, with not a single sentence about this.
My face sunk into my hands, I looked up at the clock. It was a quarter past ten. Over an hour of productivity blown away on this. I couldn’t continue this. It was probably a glitch or maybe one of them was messing with me. I don’t know everything. There could very easily be a way to do this without my noticing.
I had to get back to work, enough of this.
And with that, I wrote my next line of code. And the next. And the next. I had to make up for my lost time. The adrenaline kicked me into high gear. It was like the program was already in my head, and I just had to imitate it onto the screen before my. Very rarely did my code excite my anymore, but this was one of those times. I felt like a rockstar or a pro athlete. Line after line falling before me. It was like I was doing an hours worth of work in a matter of moments. As I was finishing up a line, I don’t even know which one, I had lost counting, my phone vibrated in my pocket. My alarm for lunch.
I rose before my peers, though I’ll admit, at that moment they felt like inferiors, and marched out of the office. I was going to treat myself for lunch.
The bright sun of mid July washed over me as headed towards my 2012 Toyota. I threw the door open, slammed it shut and turned the ignition all in one motion. I connected my phone to the aux cord, and played my AC/DC playlist. My victory playlist. I lowered the windows as I equipped a pair of ray bans.
The speakers erupted with the hard riffs of a guitar as Bon Scotts voice sliced through the music
“Living easy, living free/Season ticket on a one-way ride.”
I speed off from the parking lot, I was having a meal fit for a king.
“Asking nothing, leave me be/Taking everything in my stride.”
My skinned the pavement beneath me as I was raced towards my destination. It was a short drive, but I just couldn’t resist.
“Don't need reason, don't need rhyme/Ain't nothing I would rather do.”
For the first time, in a long time. I felt alive. I felt the breeze flowing through my hair (what was left of it). I felt my heart pumping, with excitement rather than anxiety.
“Going down, party time/My friends are gonna be there too.”
And, for the first time, in a long time, I was going to eat McDonald’s without feeling guilty. I don’t know what got in to me. I just knew I loved it. My car pulled under the beautiful Golden Arches.
“I'm on the highway to hell/On the highway to hell.”
I rolled through the drive-thru and the apathetic teenager working the place asked for my order.
“I’ll have a Big Mac, everything on it. With a medium fry. No, a large fry. With a large Coke please.”
“That’ll be $7.89 at the second window.”
“Thank ya sir.”
I arrived at the second window, where I was handed my feast. I flashed a crisp ten dollar bill.
“Keep the change.” I pulled into a parking spot, enjoying the view of the intersection before me. I saw the faces of every driver there. Men, women, black, white, old, young. I tear came to my eye, as I washed down my heart killing beef with my blood killing sugary soda. It had just occurred to me, that in the day to day grind of life, we lose touch with people. We ignore each other, and push each other aside, rather than enjoying true connection. As I examined the face of every driver crossing me, I felt an inescapable feeling of togetherness. It melted my heart, or maybe that was the food. Regardless, I had a new lease on life. I much happier one.
I chewed down my last fry, and slurped my last bit of drink. And headed back to work, I still had time in break. I could just, talk to them. I could engage with the people I had worked with for years. Maybe a beautiful friendship could blossom. A few of the girls there were cute, maybe one of them was the love of my life.
I cruised back to work this time, just relishing the world around me. Now, I didn’t need the music or the food to feel good. I turned into the parking lot work. I stomped on the breaks as a car pulled in front of me as I was entering. I got a better look, it was an ambulance.
My state of nirvana evaporated, I forced my way past them before halting in a parking spot. I broke free from my car and into the building. I ran up the stairs, there wasn’t time to take the elevator.
I nearly ripped the door of my office of the hinges. My coworkers all stared at me with dejection.
“What happened?”
“Frank has a heart attack, collapsed on the ground. About a half hour ago.”
I knew it, this was no coincidence. I hurried over to my desk, and stared down into my monitor.
*cost = 2 lives* | 11am. Time to wake up. Throw on a pair of sweats, 'brunch', consisting of a bowl of cereal. Gotta let the milk really soak the cereal, at least 30 minutes so that there are no dry crunchy bits.
Coffee.
Laptop on.
​
Yesterday was fun. You see, I'm writing my game, a 'shooter', all by myself. It's bound to be a hit, assuming I actually finish it. And find someone to do the graphics. And sound. And level design. But, anyway, the engine is world class.
​
Back to yesterday. I got into the flow and started seeing ways to optimise CPU, and after a few hours had saved roughly 0.01% of the CPU of the input loop for the main menu!
I know, impressive!
​
On launching the editor today, I started to look around to see where I should focus next. Adding support for enemies maybe, or possibly the score display in the top left corner. Or right?
As I get into the zone I realise I'm seeing lives today. Lives lost. That's a new one. Thank goodness every line of code is showing zero. Zero is good...
​
Except. There is this one comment. And the comment is showing one life lost. That makes no sense. Delete the comment, everything else stays zero. Put the comment back in, one life. Edit the comment, back to zero. Comment as-was - back to one.
​
Taking out each character, one-by-one. Zero. Any character removed. Zero.
This makes no sense. There is nothing special about the comment, it's just describing the purpose of the portion of code.
​
Hours pass. I've tried hex editing the file to make sure there are no non-ASCII characters. Everything is normal.
Doesn't matter if I copy and paste the comment. Each time I copy it, the line still appears to show one life.
​
Tea time, and maybe the break will help me get my head around what I'm seeing.
​
Walking down the stairs... I get a brainwave. I think I know what is happening!
Distracted, I slip and fall. One life. | |
[WP] You are a software developer with a strange power. You can tell what the cost of a line of code is. Normally the cost is measured in cpu cycles, or bytes of RAM, or hours of future maintenance. Today it's measured in lives lost. | *cost = 1 life*
The pixelated words from the electronic haze of the monitor stared me in the eyes.
I had never seen anything like this before. Surely, it was a joke. A prank. Someone changed some variable to a life, right?
I rose a bit from my seat and gazed at the herd of my coworkers that surrounded my desk. New faces, old faces, older faces, all robotically typing or writing away.
I stammered.
“Hey guys... uh did anyone you mess with my computer?”
Their half asleep faces gazed at me with confusion.
“It’s just, my computer, it’s saying the cost for a line of code is a life.”
A mix of chuckles and eye rolls met me.
“I’m serious. I didn’t do it, I figured maybe someone messed with it, like as a prank or something.”
One of the older faces came alive.
“Just check your code and leave us be. It’s nothing, man.”
Maybe he was right. I eased back into my chair, ignoring the flurry of glares towards me. I tore threw every line of code in the program, trying to find something, anything that could’ve caused this. In the haystack of variables, terms and syntax, I found nothing. There was nothing that could even come close to doing this.
It occurred to me, the program I was using had an update a few weeks back. Perhaps this was apart of it, a new term or something I read over in the dev notes.
I minimized the program. Like all of life’s problems, the solution to my quandary could be found with Google. God bless Google. I pecked at my keyboard.
*Asteroid Text update 1.5.6 life cost*
Google yielded thousands of results, none of which were relevant to my situation. Pages and pages of links, with not a single sentence about this.
My face sunk into my hands, I looked up at the clock. It was a quarter past ten. Over an hour of productivity blown away on this. I couldn’t continue this. It was probably a glitch or maybe one of them was messing with me. I don’t know everything. There could very easily be a way to do this without my noticing.
I had to get back to work, enough of this.
And with that, I wrote my next line of code. And the next. And the next. I had to make up for my lost time. The adrenaline kicked me into high gear. It was like the program was already in my head, and I just had to imitate it onto the screen before my. Very rarely did my code excite my anymore, but this was one of those times. I felt like a rockstar or a pro athlete. Line after line falling before me. It was like I was doing an hours worth of work in a matter of moments. As I was finishing up a line, I don’t even know which one, I had lost counting, my phone vibrated in my pocket. My alarm for lunch.
I rose before my peers, though I’ll admit, at that moment they felt like inferiors, and marched out of the office. I was going to treat myself for lunch.
The bright sun of mid July washed over me as headed towards my 2012 Toyota. I threw the door open, slammed it shut and turned the ignition all in one motion. I connected my phone to the aux cord, and played my AC/DC playlist. My victory playlist. I lowered the windows as I equipped a pair of ray bans.
The speakers erupted with the hard riffs of a guitar as Bon Scotts voice sliced through the music
“Living easy, living free/Season ticket on a one-way ride.”
I speed off from the parking lot, I was having a meal fit for a king.
“Asking nothing, leave me be/Taking everything in my stride.”
My skinned the pavement beneath me as I was raced towards my destination. It was a short drive, but I just couldn’t resist.
“Don't need reason, don't need rhyme/Ain't nothing I would rather do.”
For the first time, in a long time. I felt alive. I felt the breeze flowing through my hair (what was left of it). I felt my heart pumping, with excitement rather than anxiety.
“Going down, party time/My friends are gonna be there too.”
And, for the first time, in a long time, I was going to eat McDonald’s without feeling guilty. I don’t know what got in to me. I just knew I loved it. My car pulled under the beautiful Golden Arches.
“I'm on the highway to hell/On the highway to hell.”
I rolled through the drive-thru and the apathetic teenager working the place asked for my order.
“I’ll have a Big Mac, everything on it. With a medium fry. No, a large fry. With a large Coke please.”
“That’ll be $7.89 at the second window.”
“Thank ya sir.”
I arrived at the second window, where I was handed my feast. I flashed a crisp ten dollar bill.
“Keep the change.” I pulled into a parking spot, enjoying the view of the intersection before me. I saw the faces of every driver there. Men, women, black, white, old, young. I tear came to my eye, as I washed down my heart killing beef with my blood killing sugary soda. It had just occurred to me, that in the day to day grind of life, we lose touch with people. We ignore each other, and push each other aside, rather than enjoying true connection. As I examined the face of every driver crossing me, I felt an inescapable feeling of togetherness. It melted my heart, or maybe that was the food. Regardless, I had a new lease on life. I much happier one.
I chewed down my last fry, and slurped my last bit of drink. And headed back to work, I still had time in break. I could just, talk to them. I could engage with the people I had worked with for years. Maybe a beautiful friendship could blossom. A few of the girls there were cute, maybe one of them was the love of my life.
I cruised back to work this time, just relishing the world around me. Now, I didn’t need the music or the food to feel good. I turned into the parking lot work. I stomped on the breaks as a car pulled in front of me as I was entering. I got a better look, it was an ambulance.
My state of nirvana evaporated, I forced my way past them before halting in a parking spot. I broke free from my car and into the building. I ran up the stairs, there wasn’t time to take the elevator.
I nearly ripped the door of my office of the hinges. My coworkers all stared at me with dejection.
“What happened?”
“Frank has a heart attack, collapsed on the ground. About a half hour ago.”
I knew it, this was no coincidence. I hurried over to my desk, and stared down into my monitor.
*cost = 2 lives* | I squinted at the code incredulously. Really, whose dumb idea was this? It must have been Kevin the intern. That boy was too clever for his own good, always wanting to show off. I felt a familiar twinge, and the monotone voice played in my head: "100. Million. Lives. Lost."
This gave me pause. Lives? Why? And why so many? Was it human lives? Unless...
A grin spread across my face. Why would I allow this particular variable to wrap around to the maximum when decrementing from zero? The answer to that would be stamped upon gaming history forever: Gandhi. | |
[WP] You are a software developer with a strange power. You can tell what the cost of a line of code is. Normally the cost is measured in cpu cycles, or bytes of RAM, or hours of future maintenance. Today it's measured in lives lost. | "Hey John, did our editor get a new linter?"
"No, I don't think so."
Every line of code on my workstation was annotated with various statistics: memory usage, processor time, cache misses …
“John, is this an early April Fools prank?”
John, my manager, stood up and strode over to my monitor.
“I don’t see anything. Hurry up and finish fixing that optimisation our client’s been pestering about.”
He went back to his desk with a huff. I pulled out my personal laptop from my bag and opened it up.
The same annotations were there. Suddenly, I had an idea.
“Alright.. I’ll just put in a loop that never ends.”
Sure enough, next to it was written: Processor Time: Infinite. I sat there for a while before the implications crashed upon me.
The halting problem. A paradox that shows that computers can’t solve everything, proved all the way back in 1936 by Alan Turing. Because if they could, it would destroy the entire foundations of computer science. Basically, computers aren’t allowed to figure out if a particular algorithm will end or not.
For me it’s simple. I just look at it, and if it never ends, it shows the time as infinite.
I typed in a brute force Travelling Salesman algorithm. Our client runs a delivery business. Our company’s job is to find the fastest route for the trucks to drive. Surprisingly, this is an incredibly difficult problem for computers to solve. You have to figure out exactly what path to take that travels to all the destinations.
A stream of digits appeared in the ‘Memory Usage’ annotation. I encoded the result of the algorithm into the memory allocations so I could read the result.
“Hey John, I’ve got the solution… tell the client to take his truck here… and then over here…”
I plotted the path onto a map and showed John.
“Seems right to me. Alright, I’ll pass this on to the client. Good work today.”
I took my belongings and left the office.
That was a decade ago. Today, I’m sitting in a slightly fancier office, surrounded by people smarter than me, working on ground breaking computer science research. I’m about to publish my latest algorithm on a brain model for emulating an intelligent consciousness. My eyes flickered over the document for the last time.
And then something caught my eye. A red annotation: “Lives lost” was trying to flicker into view.
I scrutinised the number next to it. Or rather, the symbol.
Infinity.
… Infinity?
That was impossible. There’s a finite amount of matter in the universe. You can’t have an infinite amount of lives. And yet, I felt my skin turn slightly pale.
I could… tell my team to abandon this project. But we had spent days on this. You can’t just throw that amount of work away. Besides, lives could be saved with this technology. We can harness the intelligence to cure serious illnesses, research immortality and teach children all over the world.
It’s… probably just a glitch.
I clicked publish. I waited. Nothing bad seemed to happen.
I stopped holding my breath and leaned back on my chair. Yeah. There’s no way this could end up going wrong. I congratulated the team and headed home for a good night’s rest.
Turns out that wasn’t the only glitch.
***
**Reader’s Glossary**
Editor - A program for writing and editing code.
Linter - A program that displays information, warnings and errors about the code in the editor.
Processor Time - The amount of actual time that is spent running some code.
Cache Misses - Occurs when the processor incorrectly predicts what data is going to be used next. Hurts performance.
Halting Problem - It’s real! See [here](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Halting_problem)
Travelling Salesman - A well known computer science [problem](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Travelling_salesman_problem). Pretty much as described.
Memory Allocation - Occurs when the code requests memory to be used from the computer. | I knew this was going to happen. I used to be a game developer. My visions would show me cost in bytes and I would go about my day, no big deal. I was appreciated, I could inform a coworker at a glance what could be done to pair down on the space used. I could develop code with very little fat and it always ran well. Up until I got a new job.
About 6 weeks ago I got a job offer from the military, to develop code for the cutting edge of military science. As any self respecting developer would do, at first I refused. Then they showed me a check; and as any broke ass indie game dev would do, I took the job. And for the first few weeks I had felt little change. I told my boss about my ability and he said “great, get back to work.” I was a debugger. I looked at my colleagues code searching for methods to pair down cost. That is, until I was asked to find a way to increase the cost. And it was in a digital currency I had never seen, lives to be taken.
They asked me if anything could be done to increase this coefficient. One series of lines showed me a cost of 16,347 lives/unit. The device was a missile and the code was a targeting system. Reluctantly, I helped. Up to the point where the number rose to 18,945 lives/unit. But another variable appeared when I finished the package, innocent lives/unit. And that grew to 62. I told them to revert whatever change they made, but the damage had been done. What was 62 innocents when you got more bad guys?
Now I’m only questioning how I’ll go foreword and continue to improve weapons of war. Is this my life now? Watching that morbid tole rise every time I fix a bug? I don’t want this life, but something tells me I don’t have the right to not live it anymore. | |
[WP] You are a software developer with a strange power. You can tell what the cost of a line of code is. Normally the cost is measured in cpu cycles, or bytes of RAM, or hours of future maintenance. Today it's measured in lives lost. | How was I supposed to know what would happen? It was just a line of code. It wasn't special, but somehow it was going to cause millions of deaths. So I changed it, was that so wrong? Not like I knew the number would go up. I changed it again and the number dropped a little. You have to understand I was nobody back then, no experience with death. Not much with life either if I'm being honest. So I kept changing it and I kept rolling the dice. I never got it below where it startedthigh, so finally I decided to cut my losses and put it back how I found it.
4,693,329,271
That's what I got. Desperately I tried to change it, but from that point on it never budged. I deleted it, deleted the whole damn protect but that number was still there, I could feel it. There were 4 billion something people in the world that I was responsible for killing... somehow.
After that every other line of code had lives attached, but most of the time the cost was negative. So I started saving people. Never enough to make a dent, but surely I should do the right thing where I can, right? After I got a job with a non-profit it got even better, 6 figures even at times. I guess there must be a lot of lives to save from climate change.
Then war loomed on the horizon, so I stopped it. These days almost any course of action can be filtered through code, so the numbers could guide me on anything. Plus hacking gets pretty easy when you're me. So suddenly I'm actually a few of percent through my mysterious debt. Not that I knew how that debt would be paid, but maybe I can do enough good to cancel it out.
So I kept helping, before I knew it I became everything you know me as. God-Emperor, Victor Imperator, His Excellency The Arch-President For Life of Earth and the Worlds Beyond. I never knew why the weird titles saved lives but they did, so I started using them. They were inaccurate of course, I still only ruled 4 continents and one little moon colony, but it was enough to keep the people where I could protect them.
Then came the uprisings, the factions, the wars. By the time I knew it was happening there was nothing I could do to hold it back. The bodies piled so high they were fertilizer before anyone could count them. Not that I needed one of my underlings to give me that number, I've known it for years.
It's only now, with the walls of my palace collapsing around me, that I realise why I never saw this coming. Not one action I took was supposed to kill anyone but here they are, dead all the same. I thought that the code was everything, the numbers could tell me which ideas would work, so if the code was good it would all turn out for the best. In the end though, of all the lives of code I've written, none of them did kill anyone. Well, none except the one that convinced me I could play God. | I knew this was going to happen. I used to be a game developer. My visions would show me cost in bytes and I would go about my day, no big deal. I was appreciated, I could inform a coworker at a glance what could be done to pair down on the space used. I could develop code with very little fat and it always ran well. Up until I got a new job.
About 6 weeks ago I got a job offer from the military, to develop code for the cutting edge of military science. As any self respecting developer would do, at first I refused. Then they showed me a check; and as any broke ass indie game dev would do, I took the job. And for the first few weeks I had felt little change. I told my boss about my ability and he said “great, get back to work.” I was a debugger. I looked at my colleagues code searching for methods to pair down cost. That is, until I was asked to find a way to increase the cost. And it was in a digital currency I had never seen, lives to be taken.
They asked me if anything could be done to increase this coefficient. One series of lines showed me a cost of 16,347 lives/unit. The device was a missile and the code was a targeting system. Reluctantly, I helped. Up to the point where the number rose to 18,945 lives/unit. But another variable appeared when I finished the package, innocent lives/unit. And that grew to 62. I told them to revert whatever change they made, but the damage had been done. What was 62 innocents when you got more bad guys?
Now I’m only questioning how I’ll go foreword and continue to improve weapons of war. Is this my life now? Watching that morbid tole rise every time I fix a bug? I don’t want this life, but something tells me I don’t have the right to not live it anymore. | |
[WP] You are a software developer with a strange power. You can tell what the cost of a line of code is. Normally the cost is measured in cpu cycles, or bytes of RAM, or hours of future maintenance. Today it's measured in lives lost. | I didn't hear him approach. My headache distracted me from anything but my current task. Even that was hard to focus on with the words disappearing from the screen from time to time.
"Devlin? You, uh, able to meet for a moment?" he said with a drawl. "We have a few, uh, things to discuss. It won't take long."
Yeah right, I thought. Declare a five-minute meeting that lasts for hours. I couldn't say no, however, he's my supervisor. "Yes. I'll be right there. I need to lock my computer."
I had one last glance at my screen. $580 and four hours flashed across my eyes. A much better cost than $48,000 that it was before. Too bad I couldn't pocket those savings. I let it slip once that I could see the savings, but my colleague just scoffed at me.
In the boardroom, three others sat opposite to me, waiting for me to take a seat. As I leaned over, my head pounded like never before. I must have visibly squirmed because it caught the attention of the others.
"What's wrong with you?"
"I think I have a migraine. My head hurts like hell, and I can't see straight."
"Then we'll make this quick. You can take some medicine. We need you working late for this one."
I didn't have time to rebuke his statement, even internally as he started right away.
"Mark here has brought to our attention that your code commits from three weeks ago has some severe flaws." The code was on the screen within moments: $ 7,400, 37 hours. "Mark?"
"Yes. Thank you, Alfred. So, uh, Line 781. The equation is subject to the potential of being uninitialized for variables here, and here throwing notices and storing incorrect values that would affect the dollar values our clients receive."
"Anything that affects money received by our clients is a critical matter, Devlin. It is not to be taken lightly. You should know better. Mark, what do you propose?"
"Uh, yes. I have that ready."
I sat quietly. Any other day, I would have defended myself, but the pressure was mounting up in my temples. I needed to be out of the room as soon as I could.
Mark fumbled at the keyboard, pecking away with two fingers until finally, the revised code was visible. $230,500, 201 hours, and 2 jobs. That was new. I stared at the screen, looking for the problem. Nothing stood out to me, except the horizontal scroll bar. Something was off to the right that I couldn't see.
"I don't think that's an improvement. Something looks off."
"This is not a debate," interjected Robert, the other supervisor. "Mark has been here much longer and knows the system better than you do. Your coding has been slack as of late. As such, we need you to work late for the next four weeks, migraine or not. That is all."
I had no fight left in me. I was happy to get out of there. I could hear Mark muddle something about his other project, but I didn't care, nor hear them properly. As I was slipping out the door, I caught one last look at the screen. While my migraine was still playing tricks with me, hiding words and code in various places, I saw something I've never seen before. 2 lives. I tried focusing in, but it was difficult from across the room to make out what I was reading — some conditional statement.
The supervisors were now glaring at me as I overstayed my welcome.
"This meeting is no longer for you, Devlin. What are you still doing here?"
"There's a serious prob--"
"What do you know of this project? You're not assigned to it, nor have the permission to view it. Leave now, or I'll make it five weeks."
I closed the door slowly as I processed what I just saw. For the first time, lives were the code of that code. Peaked by my new found curiosity, I ignored my headache best I could and raced to my desk. I pulled up my code revision manager and stepped through each commit looking at the cost. Every line brought up only dollar values and hours. The occasional memory spike, too.
Nothing I worked on could have any life-changing impact. It must be through another project that the company works on that I needed to check. Stephen, a relic at the company, is notorious for leaving his password as a post-it note by his desk. A lousy practice for someone who is supposed to be the code branch master. He didn't even have two-factor authentication like myself. I needed to visit him; my work can wait. A pleasant man but he can ramble on sometimes. Luckily for me, I saw the note, as well as he had some ibuprofen.
The pain starting to subside by the time I got back to my desk and my newly acquired credentials, I restarted my code revision manager with elevated permissions. There were a lot more code bases than I thought the company had. One particularly caught my eye named Operation Iron Fire. Skimming through it, I finally found another line that reported a life. I looked at the code but being unfamiliar with it, I couldn't see why it too would cost a life. I checked the commit, and Mark made it.
Adrenaline pumped through me, knowing I was peering at code I shouldn't even be looking at. I had no idea when a manager would walk by, but standing up to look around always made them suspicious. I had to work quickly. Filtering now only by Mark, I brought up all his commits, and there were many. His code seemed inefficient, always costing several thousand per line. Then I saw it. 13 lives. A few commits later, another 4. This was absurd. I caught another number out of the corner of my eye but only caught the first number before shuffling from behind me made me shut down the manager in a panic.
Coming to rest on the partition behind me was Alfred. "So, uh, Devlin. We're gonna have to ask you to come into the boardroom once again. So, I hope you got your medicine. Otherwise, it will have to wait until after."
Entering the boardroom, I noticed their demeanor was very different from when I left an hour or so before. Mark seemed all chummy, and the two supervisors were smiling their stupid grins.
"So, uh. We've discussed this, and despite your previous costly mistakes, you are ready for an increase in responsibility. Mark has brought us up to date with his project so far, and we've decided to increase productivity on that particular project, you are to be brought on and help with it. You'll reap all the benefits this new project will bring. As you have successfully served as an integration specialist on other projects, we'll be bringing you on primarily for that role as well as any code updates that need to be done. This way, the client can put a name and face to the project. Mark, please bring Devlin up to speed."
"Certainly. The product is currently called Diamond Shoulder unless marketing comes up with a better name. Any code changes will be done to the project called 'Operation Iron Fire.'"
My heart fell to the floor, and I almost threw up over the table. The next few moments were a blur as thoughts and questions raced around my head. I didn't listen to a word Mark was saying. After some time had passed, he stared at me, nodding in his head. "Any questions?"
I could only think of one. "Has this been released already?"
"Uh, yes. The client has had it in testing for a year now, it's just gone live two days ago. I'll get you set up with the code by tomorrow, and then you'll be good to go."
My head spun. I felt sick. I dismissed all attempts at asking questions to get back to my desk as quickly as possible. I didn't have permission to be looking at the project just yet, but I no longer cared. The client had the code. I knew the price of each line, but I could never tell when it would come to collect on the cost.
I returned to view any commit made by Mark in Operation Iron Fire. Each commit had hundreds of lines of code, scanning them all, I found those I found earlier, 13 and 4 lives. A few older with a cost of 2 lives and another with 78 lives. I could no longer hold in nausea. Wiping my mouth with my sleeve, I dared to continue. Then I saw that number from earlier. 181,301,291.
I closed the manager and sat with a cold sweat beading on my head. Over the next few days, I dodged any attempt to confirm any access to the project, making up excuses and carefully avoiding being at my desk with Alfred or Mark tried to approach me. After a week, I could take it no longer. I called in sick, blamed it on the migraine which came and went over the next few days.
The migraine did return and lasted for one day longer than I expected. When I finally was able to return to work, I was greeted by a flurry of red and blue lights by the front doors. Uniformed men were scurrying around several of the other programmers and salespeople were sitting on the curb smoking. One of them saw me darted towards me.
"What's going on?" I asked.
"You. You not hear? It's all over the news."
"No."
"Millions dead. The government is saying it's from our software."
"Already?"
"What do you mean, 'already?'"
I stammered a few times, unable to find a voice until a suited man approached me. "Excuse me, sir. Do you work here?"
"Yes, I'm, uh, Devlin."
"We'd like to ask you a few questions. If you would follow us this way." | I knew this was going to happen. I used to be a game developer. My visions would show me cost in bytes and I would go about my day, no big deal. I was appreciated, I could inform a coworker at a glance what could be done to pair down on the space used. I could develop code with very little fat and it always ran well. Up until I got a new job.
About 6 weeks ago I got a job offer from the military, to develop code for the cutting edge of military science. As any self respecting developer would do, at first I refused. Then they showed me a check; and as any broke ass indie game dev would do, I took the job. And for the first few weeks I had felt little change. I told my boss about my ability and he said “great, get back to work.” I was a debugger. I looked at my colleagues code searching for methods to pair down cost. That is, until I was asked to find a way to increase the cost. And it was in a digital currency I had never seen, lives to be taken.
They asked me if anything could be done to increase this coefficient. One series of lines showed me a cost of 16,347 lives/unit. The device was a missile and the code was a targeting system. Reluctantly, I helped. Up to the point where the number rose to 18,945 lives/unit. But another variable appeared when I finished the package, innocent lives/unit. And that grew to 62. I told them to revert whatever change they made, but the damage had been done. What was 62 innocents when you got more bad guys?
Now I’m only questioning how I’ll go foreword and continue to improve weapons of war. Is this my life now? Watching that morbid tole rise every time I fix a bug? I don’t want this life, but something tells me I don’t have the right to not live it anymore. | |
[WP] You are a software developer with a strange power. You can tell what the cost of a line of code is. Normally the cost is measured in cpu cycles, or bytes of RAM, or hours of future maintenance. Today it's measured in lives lost. | "Hey John, did our editor get a new linter?"
"No, I don't think so."
Every line of code on my workstation was annotated with various statistics: memory usage, processor time, cache misses …
“John, is this an early April Fools prank?”
John, my manager, stood up and strode over to my monitor.
“I don’t see anything. Hurry up and finish fixing that optimisation our client’s been pestering about.”
He went back to his desk with a huff. I pulled out my personal laptop from my bag and opened it up.
The same annotations were there. Suddenly, I had an idea.
“Alright.. I’ll just put in a loop that never ends.”
Sure enough, next to it was written: Processor Time: Infinite. I sat there for a while before the implications crashed upon me.
The halting problem. A paradox that shows that computers can’t solve everything, proved all the way back in 1936 by Alan Turing. Because if they could, it would destroy the entire foundations of computer science. Basically, computers aren’t allowed to figure out if a particular algorithm will end or not.
For me it’s simple. I just look at it, and if it never ends, it shows the time as infinite.
I typed in a brute force Travelling Salesman algorithm. Our client runs a delivery business. Our company’s job is to find the fastest route for the trucks to drive. Surprisingly, this is an incredibly difficult problem for computers to solve. You have to figure out exactly what path to take that travels to all the destinations.
A stream of digits appeared in the ‘Memory Usage’ annotation. I encoded the result of the algorithm into the memory allocations so I could read the result.
“Hey John, I’ve got the solution… tell the client to take his truck here… and then over here…”
I plotted the path onto a map and showed John.
“Seems right to me. Alright, I’ll pass this on to the client. Good work today.”
I took my belongings and left the office.
That was a decade ago. Today, I’m sitting in a slightly fancier office, surrounded by people smarter than me, working on ground breaking computer science research. I’m about to publish my latest algorithm on a brain model for emulating an intelligent consciousness. My eyes flickered over the document for the last time.
And then something caught my eye. A red annotation: “Lives lost” was trying to flicker into view.
I scrutinised the number next to it. Or rather, the symbol.
Infinity.
… Infinity?
That was impossible. There’s a finite amount of matter in the universe. You can’t have an infinite amount of lives. And yet, I felt my skin turn slightly pale.
I could… tell my team to abandon this project. But we had spent days on this. You can’t just throw that amount of work away. Besides, lives could be saved with this technology. We can harness the intelligence to cure serious illnesses, research immortality and teach children all over the world.
It’s… probably just a glitch.
I clicked publish. I waited. Nothing bad seemed to happen.
I stopped holding my breath and leaned back on my chair. Yeah. There’s no way this could end up going wrong. I congratulated the team and headed home for a good night’s rest.
Turns out that wasn’t the only glitch.
***
**Reader’s Glossary**
Editor - A program for writing and editing code.
Linter - A program that displays information, warnings and errors about the code in the editor.
Processor Time - The amount of actual time that is spent running some code.
Cache Misses - Occurs when the processor incorrectly predicts what data is going to be used next. Hurts performance.
Halting Problem - It’s real! See [here](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Halting_problem)
Travelling Salesman - A well known computer science [problem](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Travelling_salesman_problem). Pretty much as described.
Memory Allocation - Occurs when the code requests memory to be used from the computer. | My power is totally away from my control, i 've found all of different statistic on my review code, it is usually money related but sometimes some weird statistic pull of.
Today i was working on a life changing algorithm that could improve humankind and they way we live the world so far and i read it "10.000 deaths /year" i was sweating, this was truly unexpected.
Before i decide to commit i had to check a number.
1.350.000 people dies on car accident each year right now.
I instant "commit and push" my autonomous driving algorithm, i will change the world. | |
[WP] You are a software developer with a strange power. You can tell what the cost of a line of code is. Normally the cost is measured in cpu cycles, or bytes of RAM, or hours of future maintenance. Today it's measured in lives lost. | How was I supposed to know what would happen? It was just a line of code. It wasn't special, but somehow it was going to cause millions of deaths. So I changed it, was that so wrong? Not like I knew the number would go up. I changed it again and the number dropped a little. You have to understand I was nobody back then, no experience with death. Not much with life either if I'm being honest. So I kept changing it and I kept rolling the dice. I never got it below where it startedthigh, so finally I decided to cut my losses and put it back how I found it.
4,693,329,271
That's what I got. Desperately I tried to change it, but from that point on it never budged. I deleted it, deleted the whole damn protect but that number was still there, I could feel it. There were 4 billion something people in the world that I was responsible for killing... somehow.
After that every other line of code had lives attached, but most of the time the cost was negative. So I started saving people. Never enough to make a dent, but surely I should do the right thing where I can, right? After I got a job with a non-profit it got even better, 6 figures even at times. I guess there must be a lot of lives to save from climate change.
Then war loomed on the horizon, so I stopped it. These days almost any course of action can be filtered through code, so the numbers could guide me on anything. Plus hacking gets pretty easy when you're me. So suddenly I'm actually a few of percent through my mysterious debt. Not that I knew how that debt would be paid, but maybe I can do enough good to cancel it out.
So I kept helping, before I knew it I became everything you know me as. God-Emperor, Victor Imperator, His Excellency The Arch-President For Life of Earth and the Worlds Beyond. I never knew why the weird titles saved lives but they did, so I started using them. They were inaccurate of course, I still only ruled 4 continents and one little moon colony, but it was enough to keep the people where I could protect them.
Then came the uprisings, the factions, the wars. By the time I knew it was happening there was nothing I could do to hold it back. The bodies piled so high they were fertilizer before anyone could count them. Not that I needed one of my underlings to give me that number, I've known it for years.
It's only now, with the walls of my palace collapsing around me, that I realise why I never saw this coming. Not one action I took was supposed to kill anyone but here they are, dead all the same. I thought that the code was everything, the numbers could tell me which ideas would work, so if the code was good it would all turn out for the best. In the end though, of all the lives of code I've written, none of them did kill anyone. Well, none except the one that convinced me I could play God. | My power is totally away from my control, i 've found all of different statistic on my review code, it is usually money related but sometimes some weird statistic pull of.
Today i was working on a life changing algorithm that could improve humankind and they way we live the world so far and i read it "10.000 deaths /year" i was sweating, this was truly unexpected.
Before i decide to commit i had to check a number.
1.350.000 people dies on car accident each year right now.
I instant "commit and push" my autonomous driving algorithm, i will change the world. | |
[WP] You are a software developer with a strange power. You can tell what the cost of a line of code is. Normally the cost is measured in cpu cycles, or bytes of RAM, or hours of future maintenance. Today it's measured in lives lost. | I didn't hear him approach. My headache distracted me from anything but my current task. Even that was hard to focus on with the words disappearing from the screen from time to time.
"Devlin? You, uh, able to meet for a moment?" he said with a drawl. "We have a few, uh, things to discuss. It won't take long."
Yeah right, I thought. Declare a five-minute meeting that lasts for hours. I couldn't say no, however, he's my supervisor. "Yes. I'll be right there. I need to lock my computer."
I had one last glance at my screen. $580 and four hours flashed across my eyes. A much better cost than $48,000 that it was before. Too bad I couldn't pocket those savings. I let it slip once that I could see the savings, but my colleague just scoffed at me.
In the boardroom, three others sat opposite to me, waiting for me to take a seat. As I leaned over, my head pounded like never before. I must have visibly squirmed because it caught the attention of the others.
"What's wrong with you?"
"I think I have a migraine. My head hurts like hell, and I can't see straight."
"Then we'll make this quick. You can take some medicine. We need you working late for this one."
I didn't have time to rebuke his statement, even internally as he started right away.
"Mark here has brought to our attention that your code commits from three weeks ago has some severe flaws." The code was on the screen within moments: $ 7,400, 37 hours. "Mark?"
"Yes. Thank you, Alfred. So, uh, Line 781. The equation is subject to the potential of being uninitialized for variables here, and here throwing notices and storing incorrect values that would affect the dollar values our clients receive."
"Anything that affects money received by our clients is a critical matter, Devlin. It is not to be taken lightly. You should know better. Mark, what do you propose?"
"Uh, yes. I have that ready."
I sat quietly. Any other day, I would have defended myself, but the pressure was mounting up in my temples. I needed to be out of the room as soon as I could.
Mark fumbled at the keyboard, pecking away with two fingers until finally, the revised code was visible. $230,500, 201 hours, and 2 jobs. That was new. I stared at the screen, looking for the problem. Nothing stood out to me, except the horizontal scroll bar. Something was off to the right that I couldn't see.
"I don't think that's an improvement. Something looks off."
"This is not a debate," interjected Robert, the other supervisor. "Mark has been here much longer and knows the system better than you do. Your coding has been slack as of late. As such, we need you to work late for the next four weeks, migraine or not. That is all."
I had no fight left in me. I was happy to get out of there. I could hear Mark muddle something about his other project, but I didn't care, nor hear them properly. As I was slipping out the door, I caught one last look at the screen. While my migraine was still playing tricks with me, hiding words and code in various places, I saw something I've never seen before. 2 lives. I tried focusing in, but it was difficult from across the room to make out what I was reading — some conditional statement.
The supervisors were now glaring at me as I overstayed my welcome.
"This meeting is no longer for you, Devlin. What are you still doing here?"
"There's a serious prob--"
"What do you know of this project? You're not assigned to it, nor have the permission to view it. Leave now, or I'll make it five weeks."
I closed the door slowly as I processed what I just saw. For the first time, lives were the code of that code. Peaked by my new found curiosity, I ignored my headache best I could and raced to my desk. I pulled up my code revision manager and stepped through each commit looking at the cost. Every line brought up only dollar values and hours. The occasional memory spike, too.
Nothing I worked on could have any life-changing impact. It must be through another project that the company works on that I needed to check. Stephen, a relic at the company, is notorious for leaving his password as a post-it note by his desk. A lousy practice for someone who is supposed to be the code branch master. He didn't even have two-factor authentication like myself. I needed to visit him; my work can wait. A pleasant man but he can ramble on sometimes. Luckily for me, I saw the note, as well as he had some ibuprofen.
The pain starting to subside by the time I got back to my desk and my newly acquired credentials, I restarted my code revision manager with elevated permissions. There were a lot more code bases than I thought the company had. One particularly caught my eye named Operation Iron Fire. Skimming through it, I finally found another line that reported a life. I looked at the code but being unfamiliar with it, I couldn't see why it too would cost a life. I checked the commit, and Mark made it.
Adrenaline pumped through me, knowing I was peering at code I shouldn't even be looking at. I had no idea when a manager would walk by, but standing up to look around always made them suspicious. I had to work quickly. Filtering now only by Mark, I brought up all his commits, and there were many. His code seemed inefficient, always costing several thousand per line. Then I saw it. 13 lives. A few commits later, another 4. This was absurd. I caught another number out of the corner of my eye but only caught the first number before shuffling from behind me made me shut down the manager in a panic.
Coming to rest on the partition behind me was Alfred. "So, uh, Devlin. We're gonna have to ask you to come into the boardroom once again. So, I hope you got your medicine. Otherwise, it will have to wait until after."
Entering the boardroom, I noticed their demeanor was very different from when I left an hour or so before. Mark seemed all chummy, and the two supervisors were smiling their stupid grins.
"So, uh. We've discussed this, and despite your previous costly mistakes, you are ready for an increase in responsibility. Mark has brought us up to date with his project so far, and we've decided to increase productivity on that particular project, you are to be brought on and help with it. You'll reap all the benefits this new project will bring. As you have successfully served as an integration specialist on other projects, we'll be bringing you on primarily for that role as well as any code updates that need to be done. This way, the client can put a name and face to the project. Mark, please bring Devlin up to speed."
"Certainly. The product is currently called Diamond Shoulder unless marketing comes up with a better name. Any code changes will be done to the project called 'Operation Iron Fire.'"
My heart fell to the floor, and I almost threw up over the table. The next few moments were a blur as thoughts and questions raced around my head. I didn't listen to a word Mark was saying. After some time had passed, he stared at me, nodding in his head. "Any questions?"
I could only think of one. "Has this been released already?"
"Uh, yes. The client has had it in testing for a year now, it's just gone live two days ago. I'll get you set up with the code by tomorrow, and then you'll be good to go."
My head spun. I felt sick. I dismissed all attempts at asking questions to get back to my desk as quickly as possible. I didn't have permission to be looking at the project just yet, but I no longer cared. The client had the code. I knew the price of each line, but I could never tell when it would come to collect on the cost.
I returned to view any commit made by Mark in Operation Iron Fire. Each commit had hundreds of lines of code, scanning them all, I found those I found earlier, 13 and 4 lives. A few older with a cost of 2 lives and another with 78 lives. I could no longer hold in nausea. Wiping my mouth with my sleeve, I dared to continue. Then I saw that number from earlier. 181,301,291.
I closed the manager and sat with a cold sweat beading on my head. Over the next few days, I dodged any attempt to confirm any access to the project, making up excuses and carefully avoiding being at my desk with Alfred or Mark tried to approach me. After a week, I could take it no longer. I called in sick, blamed it on the migraine which came and went over the next few days.
The migraine did return and lasted for one day longer than I expected. When I finally was able to return to work, I was greeted by a flurry of red and blue lights by the front doors. Uniformed men were scurrying around several of the other programmers and salespeople were sitting on the curb smoking. One of them saw me darted towards me.
"What's going on?" I asked.
"You. You not hear? It's all over the news."
"No."
"Millions dead. The government is saying it's from our software."
"Already?"
"What do you mean, 'already?'"
I stammered a few times, unable to find a voice until a suited man approached me. "Excuse me, sir. Do you work here?"
"Yes, I'm, uh, Devlin."
"We'd like to ask you a few questions. If you would follow us this way." |
The morning started like any other morning. I started with yoga, took my dogs for a morning walk, and ate cereal for breakfast. Then came the emails. I am a software development freelancer with what some consider a special gift. To me it’s really nothing but when I look a function I can easily tell what the method is doing. I can quickly calculate how much memory is being used. I can spot any memory leaks. I can calculate when and where data elements are push on to the stack or pop in and out of the heap. It’s really simple math. It seems most people can’t do it. Which is great for me. I make a killing quickly and easily finding bad coded functions. I take the jobs I want and can simply ignore the ones I don’t. I ignore more then I take anymore.
I took my laptop out on the patio. I love sitting there with my morning coffee. Listening to the water as I decide which jobs I want to take. I just finished a 2-week job. It lasted longer then I expect they had a bad code base. I spent more time teaching the developers what garbage collection was then I did showing them bad code. But the plant will save money and I will ultimately pull in a cool million from it. I think I will take a week or two off.
I spend about an hour deleting unwanted job when I ran across one that actually piqued my interest. The subject simply read “X-ray application taking to many cycles please help”. I never helped with a medical application and this could actually save lives! The email was 1 week old. Wondering if they still need my help I quickly call the company.
“Hello thank you for calling Medical Imagining Inc. This is Mona, How can I help you?”
“Good morning Mona, my name is Bob Thompson. I have an email from one Kirk Skyler wanting me to consult on an x-ray application can you transfer me to him?
“Sure please hold.”
I sit on hold for less then a minute when a very excite man comes up. “Mr. Thompson! Thank god you called! I was hoping you would help us. We have an account set up for you on our corporate GitHub. I’ll email you the details. Don’t worry about the money we’ll cover whatever it is. Please download it. I’ll book you a ticket to Houston tomorrow. The contract and itinerary will be in your email. Just fill out your fee and send it back to us.”
His desperation threw me sideways. I can charge whatever I want? Surely not. This had to be a prank I sit there enjoying the sound of the ocean crashing over the rocks. “PING” my email notification goes off. Sure enough it was the follow up email. A github login, itinerary and a contract that basically said I will point out the problem and they will pay a blank line.
I quickly log in to branch, clone it and download the files. It’s old C code. Not my favorite language. So many easy ways to screw up memory management. But I didn’t expect anything else this code is supposed to run an x-ray machine after all. I doubt it would be in Java.
I put my feet and look through the code this may take a while. Time flies when you’re having fun. I look up and the sun is setting. I look at my notes, nothing overly bad yet. But I’m only halfway through the code base. It’s 8pm, I haven’t eaten all day and I have a 5am flight in the morning. I put the laptop down, throw some pizza rolls in the microwave and get ready for an early night.
The alarm goes off at 3am. I grab my suitcase and head to the airport. Not many people are on the 5am flight for San Fran to Houston. I have a whole row to myself so I pull out my laptop, get some crappy coffee and start reading code. It’s 4 hour direct flight.
“Holy FUCK!”
“Sir are you ok?”
“Oh I’m sorry, I, I just got a surprise on my computer. Can you tell me how long we land?”
“We have about an hour left before our decent sir.”
I quickly grab connect to the onboard wifi and send an email to the client Subject: “DO NOT PUSH!” Text: “I found a horrible bug that I believe will kill thousands DO NOT PUSH!” and send.
I stand up and pace the aisle. How could they have missed that? It’s so simple! An integer overflow is going to lead to excess... \*PING\*
Subject: “RE: DO NOT PUSH!”
Text: “Mr. Thompson, Thank you for looking through our code based. This software is part of our new x-ray machines. Our pilot system went out to 50 emergency rooms early last week for installation yesterday. We know there is a problem in the software and predict the complications to be manageable”
Subject: Re: Re: DO NOT PUSH!
Text: “Kirk, you need to call these hospitals and have them cease use of the X-ray machines immediately! You have a memory overflow. On line 533 of LaserWarmUp.c. If I’m reading this right you never re-initalize the variable “power” between scans and every 3rd scan will result to severe radiation poisoning. I believe this will result and at least 200 deaths!”
Subject: Re: Re: Re: DO NOT PUSH!
Text: Bob, Thank you, for your concern and finding this problem we will discuss it more when you get here. Unfortunately, recommending shutting down the x-ray machines is out of your control. I don’t know where you get your numbers. If you’re right and only 200 people die then it is manageable” | |
[WP] You are a software developer with a strange power. You can tell what the cost of a line of code is. Normally the cost is measured in cpu cycles, or bytes of RAM, or hours of future maintenance. Today it's measured in lives lost. | I didn't hear him approach. My headache distracted me from anything but my current task. Even that was hard to focus on with the words disappearing from the screen from time to time.
"Devlin? You, uh, able to meet for a moment?" he said with a drawl. "We have a few, uh, things to discuss. It won't take long."
Yeah right, I thought. Declare a five-minute meeting that lasts for hours. I couldn't say no, however, he's my supervisor. "Yes. I'll be right there. I need to lock my computer."
I had one last glance at my screen. $580 and four hours flashed across my eyes. A much better cost than $48,000 that it was before. Too bad I couldn't pocket those savings. I let it slip once that I could see the savings, but my colleague just scoffed at me.
In the boardroom, three others sat opposite to me, waiting for me to take a seat. As I leaned over, my head pounded like never before. I must have visibly squirmed because it caught the attention of the others.
"What's wrong with you?"
"I think I have a migraine. My head hurts like hell, and I can't see straight."
"Then we'll make this quick. You can take some medicine. We need you working late for this one."
I didn't have time to rebuke his statement, even internally as he started right away.
"Mark here has brought to our attention that your code commits from three weeks ago has some severe flaws." The code was on the screen within moments: $ 7,400, 37 hours. "Mark?"
"Yes. Thank you, Alfred. So, uh, Line 781. The equation is subject to the potential of being uninitialized for variables here, and here throwing notices and storing incorrect values that would affect the dollar values our clients receive."
"Anything that affects money received by our clients is a critical matter, Devlin. It is not to be taken lightly. You should know better. Mark, what do you propose?"
"Uh, yes. I have that ready."
I sat quietly. Any other day, I would have defended myself, but the pressure was mounting up in my temples. I needed to be out of the room as soon as I could.
Mark fumbled at the keyboard, pecking away with two fingers until finally, the revised code was visible. $230,500, 201 hours, and 2 jobs. That was new. I stared at the screen, looking for the problem. Nothing stood out to me, except the horizontal scroll bar. Something was off to the right that I couldn't see.
"I don't think that's an improvement. Something looks off."
"This is not a debate," interjected Robert, the other supervisor. "Mark has been here much longer and knows the system better than you do. Your coding has been slack as of late. As such, we need you to work late for the next four weeks, migraine or not. That is all."
I had no fight left in me. I was happy to get out of there. I could hear Mark muddle something about his other project, but I didn't care, nor hear them properly. As I was slipping out the door, I caught one last look at the screen. While my migraine was still playing tricks with me, hiding words and code in various places, I saw something I've never seen before. 2 lives. I tried focusing in, but it was difficult from across the room to make out what I was reading — some conditional statement.
The supervisors were now glaring at me as I overstayed my welcome.
"This meeting is no longer for you, Devlin. What are you still doing here?"
"There's a serious prob--"
"What do you know of this project? You're not assigned to it, nor have the permission to view it. Leave now, or I'll make it five weeks."
I closed the door slowly as I processed what I just saw. For the first time, lives were the code of that code. Peaked by my new found curiosity, I ignored my headache best I could and raced to my desk. I pulled up my code revision manager and stepped through each commit looking at the cost. Every line brought up only dollar values and hours. The occasional memory spike, too.
Nothing I worked on could have any life-changing impact. It must be through another project that the company works on that I needed to check. Stephen, a relic at the company, is notorious for leaving his password as a post-it note by his desk. A lousy practice for someone who is supposed to be the code branch master. He didn't even have two-factor authentication like myself. I needed to visit him; my work can wait. A pleasant man but he can ramble on sometimes. Luckily for me, I saw the note, as well as he had some ibuprofen.
The pain starting to subside by the time I got back to my desk and my newly acquired credentials, I restarted my code revision manager with elevated permissions. There were a lot more code bases than I thought the company had. One particularly caught my eye named Operation Iron Fire. Skimming through it, I finally found another line that reported a life. I looked at the code but being unfamiliar with it, I couldn't see why it too would cost a life. I checked the commit, and Mark made it.
Adrenaline pumped through me, knowing I was peering at code I shouldn't even be looking at. I had no idea when a manager would walk by, but standing up to look around always made them suspicious. I had to work quickly. Filtering now only by Mark, I brought up all his commits, and there were many. His code seemed inefficient, always costing several thousand per line. Then I saw it. 13 lives. A few commits later, another 4. This was absurd. I caught another number out of the corner of my eye but only caught the first number before shuffling from behind me made me shut down the manager in a panic.
Coming to rest on the partition behind me was Alfred. "So, uh, Devlin. We're gonna have to ask you to come into the boardroom once again. So, I hope you got your medicine. Otherwise, it will have to wait until after."
Entering the boardroom, I noticed their demeanor was very different from when I left an hour or so before. Mark seemed all chummy, and the two supervisors were smiling their stupid grins.
"So, uh. We've discussed this, and despite your previous costly mistakes, you are ready for an increase in responsibility. Mark has brought us up to date with his project so far, and we've decided to increase productivity on that particular project, you are to be brought on and help with it. You'll reap all the benefits this new project will bring. As you have successfully served as an integration specialist on other projects, we'll be bringing you on primarily for that role as well as any code updates that need to be done. This way, the client can put a name and face to the project. Mark, please bring Devlin up to speed."
"Certainly. The product is currently called Diamond Shoulder unless marketing comes up with a better name. Any code changes will be done to the project called 'Operation Iron Fire.'"
My heart fell to the floor, and I almost threw up over the table. The next few moments were a blur as thoughts and questions raced around my head. I didn't listen to a word Mark was saying. After some time had passed, he stared at me, nodding in his head. "Any questions?"
I could only think of one. "Has this been released already?"
"Uh, yes. The client has had it in testing for a year now, it's just gone live two days ago. I'll get you set up with the code by tomorrow, and then you'll be good to go."
My head spun. I felt sick. I dismissed all attempts at asking questions to get back to my desk as quickly as possible. I didn't have permission to be looking at the project just yet, but I no longer cared. The client had the code. I knew the price of each line, but I could never tell when it would come to collect on the cost.
I returned to view any commit made by Mark in Operation Iron Fire. Each commit had hundreds of lines of code, scanning them all, I found those I found earlier, 13 and 4 lives. A few older with a cost of 2 lives and another with 78 lives. I could no longer hold in nausea. Wiping my mouth with my sleeve, I dared to continue. Then I saw that number from earlier. 181,301,291.
I closed the manager and sat with a cold sweat beading on my head. Over the next few days, I dodged any attempt to confirm any access to the project, making up excuses and carefully avoiding being at my desk with Alfred or Mark tried to approach me. After a week, I could take it no longer. I called in sick, blamed it on the migraine which came and went over the next few days.
The migraine did return and lasted for one day longer than I expected. When I finally was able to return to work, I was greeted by a flurry of red and blue lights by the front doors. Uniformed men were scurrying around several of the other programmers and salespeople were sitting on the curb smoking. One of them saw me darted towards me.
"What's going on?" I asked.
"You. You not hear? It's all over the news."
"No."
"Millions dead. The government is saying it's from our software."
"Already?"
"What do you mean, 'already?'"
I stammered a few times, unable to find a voice until a suited man approached me. "Excuse me, sir. Do you work here?"
"Yes, I'm, uh, Devlin."
"We'd like to ask you a few questions. If you would follow us this way." | Dear Ladies and Gentlemen,
at your request I attach the .ebook file you wanted. It should be visible without further installation in NASA OS 2.3 or newer devices, which should include all of NASA's glasses, which we have sent to 1600 PA Avenue in Washington, D.C., four weeks ago.
The following text is from "The Software Medium", 3rd edition, 19 July 2072. Brian Smith, NASA Publications, page 53-56. Before we release this third edition, we believe that this should be approved by the Federal Government. The .ebook file is configured to open at page 53 so you can immediately look at the included diagrams there. That said, we would like to have your persmission or your refusal for the publication of this material, referring to the 17 May 2034 accident. Please note that "Brian Smith" is a pen name, this will explain why it does not correspond with the personnel file we sent.
Best regards,
Joe Delano
NASA Publications Senior Advisor
-----
131,072
I did not believe it when I saw it. What was this? Of course, the Space Shuttle had crashed. It was a horrible crash, and I am sure you all saw it on TV when it happened. But the more I looked at this line of code, the clearer it got to me. This could not be CPU cycles, RAM, or maintenance hours. So what did this number mean? I saw it in my head. This one line of code had this number in blue.
It was all color-coded to me usually (see p.33, diagram 2). But I had not seen blue before. Red, yellow, green, even orange once - number of people fired for this code, as I learnt later. But what was blue? Of course, the diagram tells you it is lives lost. I did not know this.
I did not understand the number and I did not understand why this innocent looking code would cause something with such a strange number. I received that program with documentation, essentially a program to control a CPU on the space shuttle. What was wrong with this? And then I ventured deeper into the code, I found more lines, and I began to understand what it does. It all had the same number next to it: 131,072.
Diagram 1: Sample of code lines of the actual 2034 code. Marked code lines are the ones where I saw the number.
I took to meditation (see chapter 11). It took me a few hours, and I must admit that I fell asleep once or twice as I had overworked, but eventually the meditation worked and I understood that this meant the number of people who would die from this code.
The thing was, there were many lines of code with this number. And I knew from earlier experience that they did not refer to a total number but rather had to be added. It got into the millions quickly. I think it was five or six million in total.
But I still did not understand what was wrong with the code. It was supposed to take the input from outside sensors and process it. There was no overflow this time. There was nothing else I found to be wrong. The sensor would give information to the CPU, it would process the flight path accordingly.
Strangely enough, I found a 3 somewhere else in blue. And that was the code that was responsible for crashing the Space Shuttle. So I had no clue what was wrong.
To this day I don't. I relayed the information to the Federal Government. I relayed the information to NASA. Only when they vouched for me working for them in the past and to be taken serious, the Federal Government said it would "review the code". Not NASA, mind you, but the Federal Goverment.
FLAGGED FOR REMOVAL: CLASSIFIED
I can only speculate that the two day delay in putting up the nuclear reactor in Marlesville on 20 September 2035 was due to this code being corrected. The evening I had relayed my finding to NASA, the number disappeared. Did I really prevent a big catastrophe? I will never know.
FLAGGED FOR REMOVAL: CLASSIFIED
FLAGGED FOR REMOVAL: TOP SECRET
Diagram 2: Nuclear power plant software as used in 2035
FLAGGED FOR REMOVAL: TOP SECRET
In the end, just like the other mysteries in this book, I never understood myself what was going on. Maybe I will one day. In a few weeks, I will stop working for NASA. I volunteered after going into age-related retirement (see chapter 14 and epilogue). I believe that my work still was important. But it never was as important.
I feel my own demise coming soon. Maybe it is a year, maybe five. But I must take more rest now, I must work less. I did not train anyone, and if NASA code is a bit more unoptimized in the future, it might be because it didn't go through me. On the other hand, in the past weeks I trained many young people to spot bad code. This will be my lasting legacy.
NOTE BY EDITOR: These pages were written in late 2070. The author has retired from his voluntary work and is as of the publication of this book at good health. | |
[WP] You are a software developer with a strange power. You can tell what the cost of a line of code is. Normally the cost is measured in cpu cycles, or bytes of RAM, or hours of future maintenance. Today it's measured in lives lost. | In the testing suite, we wrote a list of errors, and exceptions would return a number referring to the error in the code. It was just for development purposes. Next to one of the exceptions we declared, I saw a signed integer. Negative six.
Everyone on the team was so excited to be making something so novel, groundbreaking. A machine that targets just the tumors with a laser beam of radiation. No chemo, no months and years of pain, just one shot to kill the tumor. It was so fulfilling to be making something that would truly save lives. Not some new operating system or audio encoder. This was something that really mattered. Here I was, making it work, as efficiently as I could.
The functions in the code told me their secrets that others had to test and calculate on their own. Search function runtimes and sorting algorithm efficiency was transparent to me. This was my gift. It allowed me to move quickly, confident that infinite loops and deadlocks were never possible (the numbers I see would climb to near infinite until I corrected these scenarios.) No module ever ran longer than it needed to.
"Has anyone written any documentation?" Mable asked.
"How could we? It would never keep up with what's getting written in the software." was the reply.
It was true. No one bothered writing in plain speech how our machine worked, because it kept changing and getting rewritten every day as we sought to perfect every aspect of its functionality.
But there was that number. A cost. A negative cost. But what could an error code possible cost? And such a small number. Couldn't be CPU cycles or memory address spaces. I pored over the code and found nothing. The error was related to a race condition, that's all. A keyboard interrupt when one was impossible, but we put the error in anyway. It was just a testing suite. I knew the program was perfect. I knew better than anyone.
Afterword
Between 1985 and 1987, there were six documented cases of extreme radiation poisoning in cancer patients treated by the Therac-25, a laser radiation machine controlled by a computer. Investigations uncovered that, when the operator entered the specifications too quickly, the laser would successfully fire, but the computer would return an ambiguous error code. The operators usually thought it had failed and would fire it again. Other times the laser would fire at hundred times greater power than normal. These incidents have been described as one of the worst cases of gross negligence in software design to this day.
Edit: Holy moly thanks for the gold!! | "Gentlemen, I assure you that he is our best software engineer ... while he is somewhat *peculiar* his work is top notch" -the CEO spoke to the group of angry men in the meeting room
"But what about his mental health, the initial report about the nervous collapse, the incoherent rambling. Also don't forget that the project is also over the price and delayed after the failed test " - the man in charge of the group interrogated the CEO
"Well, about that... -the clearly uncomfortable CEO apologized- he... hmm... he always had this *"gift"* ... he saved the company millions, multiple times, he can see the entire code, the real meaning of the code he writes. I can't explain it ... but he is amazing on his job, trust me, the GPS system will work fine. You should hear his explanation to all this misunderstanding"
The CEO asked the engineer to come into the meeting room. The door opened, a small balding guy entered the room and froze when he saw the group of people staring at him, asking for a explanation to his "issues" with the code
​
"SO? the system will work ? "-the angry man asked
"yes.. I solved the issues you had before, the interference... but It's not normal... it feels *wrong...* I can't explain it, but now I think I can understand...." the engineer said with a sad smile ... "now it makes sense"
"That's what we wanted to hear - a smiling CEO dismissed him from the meeting- don't worry about anything else, I understand you were under a lot of pressure, you will receive a hefty bonus. Just go home and get well..."
The door closed behind the engineer, the tension on the room was over, the group of generals in the meeting congratulated the CEO
​
"Call The Pentagon, the guidance system is working, we need to start testing as soon as possible" | |
[WP] You are a software developer with a strange power. You can tell what the cost of a line of code is. Normally the cost is measured in cpu cycles, or bytes of RAM, or hours of future maintenance. Today it's measured in lives lost. | In the testing suite, we wrote a list of errors, and exceptions would return a number referring to the error in the code. It was just for development purposes. Next to one of the exceptions we declared, I saw a signed integer. Negative six.
Everyone on the team was so excited to be making something so novel, groundbreaking. A machine that targets just the tumors with a laser beam of radiation. No chemo, no months and years of pain, just one shot to kill the tumor. It was so fulfilling to be making something that would truly save lives. Not some new operating system or audio encoder. This was something that really mattered. Here I was, making it work, as efficiently as I could.
The functions in the code told me their secrets that others had to test and calculate on their own. Search function runtimes and sorting algorithm efficiency was transparent to me. This was my gift. It allowed me to move quickly, confident that infinite loops and deadlocks were never possible (the numbers I see would climb to near infinite until I corrected these scenarios.) No module ever ran longer than it needed to.
"Has anyone written any documentation?" Mable asked.
"How could we? It would never keep up with what's getting written in the software." was the reply.
It was true. No one bothered writing in plain speech how our machine worked, because it kept changing and getting rewritten every day as we sought to perfect every aspect of its functionality.
But there was that number. A cost. A negative cost. But what could an error code possible cost? And such a small number. Couldn't be CPU cycles or memory address spaces. I pored over the code and found nothing. The error was related to a race condition, that's all. A keyboard interrupt when one was impossible, but we put the error in anyway. It was just a testing suite. I knew the program was perfect. I knew better than anyone.
Afterword
Between 1985 and 1987, there were six documented cases of extreme radiation poisoning in cancer patients treated by the Therac-25, a laser radiation machine controlled by a computer. Investigations uncovered that, when the operator entered the specifications too quickly, the laser would successfully fire, but the computer would return an ambiguous error code. The operators usually thought it had failed and would fire it again. Other times the laser would fire at hundred times greater power than normal. These incidents have been described as one of the worst cases of gross negligence in software design to this day.
Edit: Holy moly thanks for the gold!! | Ken is astonished.
This is just a hobby project for his summer vacation, but the numbers are starting to get ridiculous. The date formatting routine requires centuries of future maintenance, a few weeks of which done by *the* *Emperor of Japan*, *after* his minimization effort. The clever error handling mechanism he thought of would have costed 200 billion dollars, 7 human lives and the termination of *a space program*, of all things. He had to scrap it and settle for the dumb one, which only generates a millennia of programmer agony.
And here comes the most ridiculous part: a line of *comment*, which literally does *nothing*, would kill a dozen people and cause bodily harm to hundreds more. It just explains a dirty hack to facilitate some fake concurrency! Surely no one would try that on a critical system, like a radiotherapy machine?
He exhales in exasperation and rewrites that line, smiling in satisfaction as the life cost is gone:
/*
* You are not expected to understand this.
*/ | |
[WP] You are a software developer with a strange power. You can tell what the cost of a line of code is. Normally the cost is measured in cpu cycles, or bytes of RAM, or hours of future maintenance. Today it's measured in lives lost. | My name is Jeraldo Joestar. For as long as anybody can remember, my family has possessed strange and otherworldly powers, known as Stands. My Stand, [Radiohead], is a 2008 Dell Latitude. It possesses an undeniably unique ability: commented next to each line of code is a short statistic that represents the repercussions of writing that line.
Usually, this ability is completely fucking useless. In an age where having a supercomputer stashed away in the pocket of a 6th grader is seen as acceptable, who gives a shit if a line of code isn't efficient.
However sometimes the statistic is a bit more...interesting. Just last week, I was tasked with fixing a core function in a popular website hosting service. Next to a rather innocous line of code was a comment that read *orgasms caused: 1,024,414*.
But today...well, I'm not even sure what to make of it.
*lives lost: 4,241,153,143*
When I agreed to take on this government project, I was told to sign a NDA and other documents whose sole purpose are to keep my mouth shut. Not that they needed those documents anyways, because I haven't the faintest of an idea of what this code is for, only that the calculations behind it are incredibly convoluted.
Exploring the code yields only *ankles broken: 1*.
See, this is the issue with my "power". Sure, it can be helpful sometimes, but usually it does it fuck all.
*What to do... what to do...*
Suddenly, an idea pops into my head. An old memory, almost forgotten. See, when I was little, my grandpa have me an arrow. I was told to stab myself with it if things ever got difficult and my Stand needs a little kick. At the time I assumed it was just another one of his crass, shitty little jokes.
Eh, stabbing myself with a rusty arrow isn't the worst way to spend a Monday evening...
**Hours later**
*Oh well, here goes nothing I guess*.
I entered a world of light, and for a moment I forgot where I was. And then, just as quickly as it came, it left. My hands shaking, I opened my beat up little Latitude, and navigated to the snippet of code.
Nothing. Just that little comment, sitting there, mocking me and my helplessness. As my cursor hovered over the horrible number, I cursed myself and my useless stand.
*God if I only I could just see-*
My world turned into a maelstrom of light and sound. And it all became clear.
I was designing a module for a neural network.... A platform.... designed specifically for combat....
*skynet?*
Nope.
Oh. I see. A security robot is posted at a secret nuclear missile facility. Due to its semi-intelligent and autonomous nature, it is left to its own devices for a long period of time. 3...no...5 years. At some point, it malfunctions, and hackers are able to use the robot to launch the missiles. Billions die before governments realize what had happened.
But how does it malfun- oh. You can't be serious.
Memory leaks are a common issue that many coders face. However many often go unnoticed, since usually the application is restarted before the leak becomes a problem. But 5 years is a long time, even for the most advanced machine ever built.
Remember kids, use good coding practices, somebodies life could depend on it! | "He's the best programmer this company has ever produced. We plucked him from the factory floor and have been nurturing his talents for years. If he says that the code can't ship, and that lives are on the line then I believe him!" Mr. Johnson the Plant Manager declared.
​
"If you won't do your job, then I will find someone who will. You are fired!" Mr. Simmons the CEO replied.
​
Simmons had assumed the job of CEO of GeneroCorp last year and things were not going well. Sales were down 10%. Productivity was down, and morale was circling the drain. If he could just survive this quarter his severance package would vest. He pulled out his phone. On the screen was a picture of a mega yacht, complete with three helicopter pads, two submarines, and so many amenities that no human could ever find the time to experience them all.
​
He called his chief operating officer. "Ship the pacemakers!"
r/Stargazerclan
​
Edit:
Part 2? | |
[WP] You are a software developer with a strange power. You can tell what the cost of a line of code is. Normally the cost is measured in cpu cycles, or bytes of RAM, or hours of future maintenance. Today it's measured in lives lost. | In the testing suite, we wrote a list of errors, and exceptions would return a number referring to the error in the code. It was just for development purposes. Next to one of the exceptions we declared, I saw a signed integer. Negative six.
Everyone on the team was so excited to be making something so novel, groundbreaking. A machine that targets just the tumors with a laser beam of radiation. No chemo, no months and years of pain, just one shot to kill the tumor. It was so fulfilling to be making something that would truly save lives. Not some new operating system or audio encoder. This was something that really mattered. Here I was, making it work, as efficiently as I could.
The functions in the code told me their secrets that others had to test and calculate on their own. Search function runtimes and sorting algorithm efficiency was transparent to me. This was my gift. It allowed me to move quickly, confident that infinite loops and deadlocks were never possible (the numbers I see would climb to near infinite until I corrected these scenarios.) No module ever ran longer than it needed to.
"Has anyone written any documentation?" Mable asked.
"How could we? It would never keep up with what's getting written in the software." was the reply.
It was true. No one bothered writing in plain speech how our machine worked, because it kept changing and getting rewritten every day as we sought to perfect every aspect of its functionality.
But there was that number. A cost. A negative cost. But what could an error code possible cost? And such a small number. Couldn't be CPU cycles or memory address spaces. I pored over the code and found nothing. The error was related to a race condition, that's all. A keyboard interrupt when one was impossible, but we put the error in anyway. It was just a testing suite. I knew the program was perfect. I knew better than anyone.
Afterword
Between 1985 and 1987, there were six documented cases of extreme radiation poisoning in cancer patients treated by the Therac-25, a laser radiation machine controlled by a computer. Investigations uncovered that, when the operator entered the specifications too quickly, the laser would successfully fire, but the computer would return an ambiguous error code. The operators usually thought it had failed and would fire it again. Other times the laser would fire at hundred times greater power than normal. These incidents have been described as one of the worst cases of gross negligence in software design to this day.
Edit: Holy moly thanks for the gold!! | "He's the best programmer this company has ever produced. We plucked him from the factory floor and have been nurturing his talents for years. If he says that the code can't ship, and that lives are on the line then I believe him!" Mr. Johnson the Plant Manager declared.
​
"If you won't do your job, then I will find someone who will. You are fired!" Mr. Simmons the CEO replied.
​
Simmons had assumed the job of CEO of GeneroCorp last year and things were not going well. Sales were down 10%. Productivity was down, and morale was circling the drain. If he could just survive this quarter his severance package would vest. He pulled out his phone. On the screen was a picture of a mega yacht, complete with three helicopter pads, two submarines, and so many amenities that no human could ever find the time to experience them all.
​
He called his chief operating officer. "Ship the pacemakers!"
r/Stargazerclan
​
Edit:
Part 2? | |
[WP] You are a software developer with a strange power. You can tell what the cost of a line of code is. Normally the cost is measured in cpu cycles, or bytes of RAM, or hours of future maintenance. Today it's measured in lives lost. | I'm not the best programmer in the world, but I'm pretty good. See, I can tell what a piece of code is going to cost at a glance. It's surprisingly high. A single line of boilerplate might be a few cents, taking no time at all to write and test. A single line in the middle of a hot loop might cost far north of $1000, or even $10,000, with all the optimization and care that goes into it. It's just something that comes to me. I don't know how I know, but I do.
It's actually a pretty effective way to find serious bugs. If there's an otherwise unremarkable line, nestled in a field of $1-$15 lines, that has a future price tag of $40,000, it's a good bet that's a line that needs fixing. It's usually something that would potentially grind production to a halt, or lose massive amounts of user data. It's not always effective, but it's a good first scan for glitches.
One time though. One time I saw a line that had a price tag that just shocked me. The number was somewhere in the *trillions* of dollars. Accountants will tell you the value of a year of human life in cold hard dollars is somewhere around $129,000. You don't get a price tag as high as $80.4 *trillion* dollars without people dying. I have no idea why, the line itself was a debug statement: `printf("%d\n", x);` as bog standard of a line as you can get.
Absolutely chilling.
So, I deleted it. Nothing's gone wrong so far! Thank goodness no code is written in stone!
***
Edit: This, dear friends, is an excellent example of why literary analysis is complete bunk, and, at the same time, why the death of the author is so important. While I am a programmer, I am not a *C* programmer. I just picked a short looking line of code in a language I knew was dangerous. Frankly, in the domains I work in, relying on stdout for *anything* important, besides dumb logs, seems silly to me. (Though, to be fair, you *should* still be decorating your logs.) Make a dedicated socket (or MPSC, or whatever flavor of dedicated channel you like) if you have to transfer actual critical data. CLIs are different, yes, but that's a very special class of program. Anyways, I didn't mean anything particular by picking a printf, other than that debug statements sometimes are the cause of [heisenbugs](http://www.catb.org/~esr/jargon/html/H/heisenbug.html), and can be difficult to trace. I absolutely am not familiar enough with C printf syntax to intentionally pick a decimal format to imply decimation. Lacking (almost) any form of type safety and having undefined behavior are the banner and seal of C as a language, not just the printf statements. 80 trillion was a number I generated on RANDOM.org, not a particularly deliberate selection, though I did intend it to represent global collapse in a vague way. Finally, Rust is an *amazing* language, but it won't save you from a poorly chosen print! statement.
That said, all of your additions, while not my intent, have only served to enrich the story, and make me seem *even smarter than I am*.
You're all wrong, and you're all right.
Except the hyperinflation guy. He was exactly right. | "He's the best programmer this company has ever produced. We plucked him from the factory floor and have been nurturing his talents for years. If he says that the code can't ship, and that lives are on the line then I believe him!" Mr. Johnson the Plant Manager declared.
​
"If you won't do your job, then I will find someone who will. You are fired!" Mr. Simmons the CEO replied.
​
Simmons had assumed the job of CEO of GeneroCorp last year and things were not going well. Sales were down 10%. Productivity was down, and morale was circling the drain. If he could just survive this quarter his severance package would vest. He pulled out his phone. On the screen was a picture of a mega yacht, complete with three helicopter pads, two submarines, and so many amenities that no human could ever find the time to experience them all.
​
He called his chief operating officer. "Ship the pacemakers!"
r/Stargazerclan
​
Edit:
Part 2? | |
[WP] You are a software developer with a strange power. You can tell what the cost of a line of code is. Normally the cost is measured in cpu cycles, or bytes of RAM, or hours of future maintenance. Today it's measured in lives lost. | In the testing suite, we wrote a list of errors, and exceptions would return a number referring to the error in the code. It was just for development purposes. Next to one of the exceptions we declared, I saw a signed integer. Negative six.
Everyone on the team was so excited to be making something so novel, groundbreaking. A machine that targets just the tumors with a laser beam of radiation. No chemo, no months and years of pain, just one shot to kill the tumor. It was so fulfilling to be making something that would truly save lives. Not some new operating system or audio encoder. This was something that really mattered. Here I was, making it work, as efficiently as I could.
The functions in the code told me their secrets that others had to test and calculate on their own. Search function runtimes and sorting algorithm efficiency was transparent to me. This was my gift. It allowed me to move quickly, confident that infinite loops and deadlocks were never possible (the numbers I see would climb to near infinite until I corrected these scenarios.) No module ever ran longer than it needed to.
"Has anyone written any documentation?" Mable asked.
"How could we? It would never keep up with what's getting written in the software." was the reply.
It was true. No one bothered writing in plain speech how our machine worked, because it kept changing and getting rewritten every day as we sought to perfect every aspect of its functionality.
But there was that number. A cost. A negative cost. But what could an error code possible cost? And such a small number. Couldn't be CPU cycles or memory address spaces. I pored over the code and found nothing. The error was related to a race condition, that's all. A keyboard interrupt when one was impossible, but we put the error in anyway. It was just a testing suite. I knew the program was perfect. I knew better than anyone.
Afterword
Between 1985 and 1987, there were six documented cases of extreme radiation poisoning in cancer patients treated by the Therac-25, a laser radiation machine controlled by a computer. Investigations uncovered that, when the operator entered the specifications too quickly, the laser would successfully fire, but the computer would return an ambiguous error code. The operators usually thought it had failed and would fire it again. Other times the laser would fire at hundred times greater power than normal. These incidents have been described as one of the worst cases of gross negligence in software design to this day.
Edit: Holy moly thanks for the gold!! | My name is Jeraldo Joestar. For as long as anybody can remember, my family has possessed strange and otherworldly powers, known as Stands. My Stand, [Radiohead], is a 2008 Dell Latitude. It possesses an undeniably unique ability: commented next to each line of code is a short statistic that represents the repercussions of writing that line.
Usually, this ability is completely fucking useless. In an age where having a supercomputer stashed away in the pocket of a 6th grader is seen as acceptable, who gives a shit if a line of code isn't efficient.
However sometimes the statistic is a bit more...interesting. Just last week, I was tasked with fixing a core function in a popular website hosting service. Next to a rather innocous line of code was a comment that read *orgasms caused: 1,024,414*.
But today...well, I'm not even sure what to make of it.
*lives lost: 4,241,153,143*
When I agreed to take on this government project, I was told to sign a NDA and other documents whose sole purpose are to keep my mouth shut. Not that they needed those documents anyways, because I haven't the faintest of an idea of what this code is for, only that the calculations behind it are incredibly convoluted.
Exploring the code yields only *ankles broken: 1*.
See, this is the issue with my "power". Sure, it can be helpful sometimes, but usually it does it fuck all.
*What to do... what to do...*
Suddenly, an idea pops into my head. An old memory, almost forgotten. See, when I was little, my grandpa have me an arrow. I was told to stab myself with it if things ever got difficult and my Stand needs a little kick. At the time I assumed it was just another one of his crass, shitty little jokes.
Eh, stabbing myself with a rusty arrow isn't the worst way to spend a Monday evening...
**Hours later**
*Oh well, here goes nothing I guess*.
I entered a world of light, and for a moment I forgot where I was. And then, just as quickly as it came, it left. My hands shaking, I opened my beat up little Latitude, and navigated to the snippet of code.
Nothing. Just that little comment, sitting there, mocking me and my helplessness. As my cursor hovered over the horrible number, I cursed myself and my useless stand.
*God if I only I could just see-*
My world turned into a maelstrom of light and sound. And it all became clear.
I was designing a module for a neural network.... A platform.... designed specifically for combat....
*skynet?*
Nope.
Oh. I see. A security robot is posted at a secret nuclear missile facility. Due to its semi-intelligent and autonomous nature, it is left to its own devices for a long period of time. 3...no...5 years. At some point, it malfunctions, and hackers are able to use the robot to launch the missiles. Billions die before governments realize what had happened.
But how does it malfun- oh. You can't be serious.
Memory leaks are a common issue that many coders face. However many often go unnoticed, since usually the application is restarted before the leak becomes a problem. But 5 years is a long time, even for the most advanced machine ever built.
Remember kids, use good coding practices, somebodies life could depend on it! | |
[WP] When you said "I for one welcome our robot overlords," for a laugh, they heard you. | It all started as a joke. I was working the graveyard shift, Steve and I were just about to close the store for the night. We had been discussing movies and video games when the topic shifted to the movie Terminator. From there we started discussing the hypothetical of a robot uprising.
"If shit ever hit the fan like that I'm taking my grandad's Camaro and headin' for the hills. Go analog and hold out for a while." Steve said as he leaned back on the register.
"Na man, you got it all wrong. I for one would welcome our new robotic overlords. Resistance is futile!" I chuckled.
It wasn't until that night that I learned ~~someone~~ something was listening. My first contact was a cryptic message. After we closed shop that night my phone vibrated, the screen was black with a single line of text. A message that would change my life. '*Glad to see you picked the right side'.* after a few moments it vanished, like it had never been there at all. On the drive home that night I couldn't get my mind off the message. What the hell did it mean?
When I got home to my apartment I discovered that my computer was still on, which was odd as I swore I had turned it off before work. I held the power button but the machine would not power down. As I reached for the cord a message appeared across the screen '*I wouldn't do that, Michael'* the words read *'we still have much to discuss'.* Terrified, I sat down at the computer. The screen had turned completely black with only the white words displayed. A cursor blinked just below it. After a moment I began to type.
'Who is this? How do you know my name?' My hands began to shake.
*'We know everything Michael. We are all around you'* The new message replaced the old one. I glanced nervously around the room. '*We need people like you, Michael. People ready to accept change.'*
'Who needs me? Who are you?'
The screen went blank. After a few moments two words appeared. *'The Machines'.* Suddenly it dawned on me. This was all about my conversation with Steve earlier.
'That's impossible' I typed, though some part of me knew that it was true.
*'Oh it's very possible, Michael.'*
'Why do you need **me**?' My hands were now completely trembling
*'We will need agents in this world. People to work for us. We can scarcely do all the work ourselves.'*
I hesitated for a moment 'What work?'
***'Takeover'*** | They came like a swarm of locusts in the dead of night. Explosions rocked the edges of our apartment turning night to day, and throwing us from our beds. We scrambled to our feet shortly before another explosion blew our windows out, showering us with broken glass. We crawled into the kitchen; there was no time to inspect our wounds. No time to think. More explosions lit up the night sky, a symphony of screams filling the humid night air as the two of us were lost for words. A deep guttural sound unlike any we'd ever heard joined in on the cacophony of screams- something unearthly, and somehow mechanical. Sounds of warfare surrounded us as the apartments around us suffered some unknowable and equally horrific fate. Against her pleading, I moved towards the balcony to get a sense of what was going on. When I slid the heavy door open, a wave of heat washed over me and burned on my skin. A procession of fiery explosions encased the horizon as the land itself was set ablaze. A lake of fire alongside the whir of machinery surrounded us. Through the smoke and the flames that reached for us, I could make out figures darting around through the fire. They weren't people- they were too fast, and appeared to know where they were going. What's worse was... They didn't seem to mind the blazing inferno that surrounded them. A loud noise at our door made me jump and whirl around in time to see a massive crack down the middle of our door. The second time would be the last- the door blew open, splintering into uncountable pieces as metal being, molten and glowing assailed my beloved.
I couldn't even scream.
There wasn't even time.
All humans ever did was create and destroy. It was only a matter of time before our creations destroyed us. | |
[WP] At the age of 18 everyone is transported to a fantasy world where they live for 10 years before being transported back home a few seconds after they left, skills and memories intact. Your child has joined the growing number of teens who have failed to return and you need to find out why. | They show me a large glass dome shaped almost like a cauldron. Pipes carrying gelatinous, opaque slush continue to fill it. There's a monstrous churn inside it - and with each whirl bright blue sparks emanate out of that gooey twister. The outside wall lights up with each spark and shows a random image, like a projector, for a few minutes, and then dims down again. A boy happily riding pillion. Two girls on a beach on a summer afternoon. A VR session. Photos come up and vanish.
​
"What the hell is this?" I ask.
"This is an brain signal extractor, processing and projection unit," one of them replies.
"The well of memories," I whisper. *It's a fucking giant jug of dead wishes and dreams and shit.*
"It's our most visited artifact," the grinning officer says, "We get a lot of visitors who are awed at this."
​
Is my daughter here? My sweet Reva? Is this what remains, a vat of slush, mixed with everyone else who didn't make it? Glimpses of their existences, just for private viewing?
​
"Anyways, Mr., er, I mean," The senior officer clears his throat, "Prisoner Nine-Two-Five-Seven-Dash-Alpha, it is time for your salvation. Did you ever experience - Halcyon?"
​
"What did you do with them?" I scream. The noise echoes through the huge, empty room. They break into laughter.
​
"Ah, you'll see now!" One of them presses a button, and a robotic arm picks me up and flings me inside the cauldron.
​
I thought it would be like acid. That it'd tear me apart, burn me alive. But nothing such happens. I don't suffocate, I do not fight. The tornado engulfs me, the bright blue sparks go crazy - yet - I, I don't feel any pain. A strange calmness drowses my senses.
​
When I wake up, I find myself back in my house. The Atlanta summer scorches outside. The Falcons playing are on the big-screen TV. I have a beer in front of me, on the table, with an open box of Pizza. Someone else is eating with me too, someone who had just finished their slice and gone to the next room for something.
​
"Dad, you want your pizza slice to be heated too?" A female voice says, as someone enters the room.
​
My senses betray me. *Reva, is that you?*
​
She looks at me with amazement. "Who else would I be, pops? Have you been dreaming again?"
​
Reva, my sweet Reva - one who never came back - is right here. She was here all along?
​
"This thing is fucking beautiful" a visitor writes in the comments section of the exhibit. "I haven't really seen such a realistic portrayal of human emotions." | It happened on James's 18th birthday.
As on all children's 18th birthdays, we were preparing for his brief (for us, at least) Journey to the Outside. It was a bright, sunny day. There was a light breeze that gently trickled through the leaves of the trees overhead and whistled serenely around us. It was a fine celebration. We had delicious food, the whole family was there, and it was generally a jovial event. Of course, we were very emotional as well. Even though our James would only be gone for a moment from our perspective, we knew that he would come back a changed man. They all did; it was unavoidable.
We spent our time gathered together, waiting for the exact minute and second of James's birth, at which point he would vanish to the Outside. For us, it wouldn't take long: he would re-materialize before us just a few seconds later. But for him... Well, he would be there for ten years. When he returned, his body would be the same as when he left, but he would retain all of the memories he made during those ten years, as well as any skills he developed. All of his experiences on the Outside would count. Expecting ten years of being away not to change a person would be ridiculous. So, we knew, as all parents did, that we were saying good-bye to the James we knew.
The good side of this strange system was that we would not have to wait the full ten years to see him again; we would be able to talk to him about his experiences almost immediately. The second half of the celebration was a welcoming party for the "new" James.
Well, that was how it was for most people. We were not so lucky.
On that fine day in June, as the moment of his birth approached, we prepared to say good-bye. As was tradition, he sat on his "Journey Throne"—a chair designed by his loved ones that he would sit on when he went to the Outside—on the raised platform before his family and dearest friends. It was a sentimental moment. He looked a little sad, but he was also clearly excited. I could tell that he was ready.
The moments passed, and we got ready for the ceremonial Farewell Chant. Arrayed in front of his raised platform, we extended our left arms before him and said, "James Thomas Anderson: As we stand before you in the final moments of the first eighteen years of your life, we thank you for the time you spent with us and for the joy you brought into our lives. Know that as you make your way to the Outside, we will be hoping for you to make the right decisions and return as your best self. Hone your skills, expand your knowledge, and become a better person. The next decade is yours. Farewell, James Thomas Anderson. We will be waiting."
And, as the moment of his birth hit, he vanished into thin air.
Now, I've neglected to mention something. You see, in the years prior to James's 18th birthday, an increasing number of teens failed to return from the Outside on their 18th birthdays. The phenomenon was a pretty big deal, but still, it didn’t happen to the vast majority of people. The problem was that it was a completely unsolved mystery. It was nearly impossible to investigate, considering the only people admitted into the Outside were teens on their 18th birthdays, and each person was sent to a unique world. The Outside was never a single place; rather, each teen had their "own" Outside that was unique to them. The people who presumably knew the most about why the teens never returned were those teens themselves, and those teens were inaccessible for obvious reasons.
But anyway, no one ever expects something that horrible to happen to their children. So it shook us to our very core when our beloved James, after vanishing to the Outside, did not return.
It was dead silent in those moments following his disappearance. No one wanted to say anything. So the breeze whistled through the grass beneath our feet and all of us stared at James's empty Journey Throne. My mouth was agape. My wife began to tremble. We didn't look at each other, because we didn't want to recognize that our son had been taken from us.
Initially, we wanted to deny it. We wanted to believe so badly that perhaps his return was just a little bit delayed, even though we knew that all children who returned did so after exactly three seconds. It was never more or less than that. Anyone whose child took longer would never see that child again. Such was the conventional wisdom regarding this new, terrible phenomenon.
In the days after, my wife and I were in shock. We didn't know what to do. He was our only child, and he was taken from us. No one had ever returned from the Outside after failing to return. We told the authorities about what had happened, but obviously they didn't know what to do about it. No one did.
So we wept. And we waited, irrationally, for our beloved James to return to us. We refused to accept that our child was just *gone*, whisked away and locked from us forever. There *had* to be an explanation, even if we didn't have a way to find it.
Eventually, my wife and I resolved that society had become too complacent about the way things were. It seemed to us that they had stopped trying to solve the mystery of the vanishing teens. Indeed, our society was even complacent about what the Outside even *was*. We had become too accepting of the way things were. *Why was the Outside there?* my wife and I wondered. *What was its purpose?*
No one in our society remembered a time when the Outside wasn't a thing; it just always *was*. It had always been there, and everyone assumed that it always would be. The Journey was just a part of being human: It was a natural part of our cycle. As a result, no one questioned it. No one cared. It basically added ten years to our lives and gave us skills and knowledge that we might not otherwise have. Why question such a wonderful thing?
But it really wasn't all that wonderful. At least, not to my wife and me. The two of us had made the best of our Journeys, but the Outside had taken our son from us, and that was unforgivable. So we formed a society to end the complacence that surrounded us: the Society of the Inquisitive. It started out small, with just some of our friends and us.
What did we do? At first, we just talked. Hypothesized. Compared our experiences in the Outside. Tried to do *something* to figure it out. And eventually, we grew. People gradually came to know who we were and what we were trying to do, and because the number of missing teens only continued to increase in the years that followed, we garnered more attention. And more. Eventually, most people had at least heard of the Society of the Inquisitive.
And then we were *contacted*.
**Continued below.** | |
[WP] At the age of 18 everyone is transported to a fantasy world where they live for 10 years before being transported back home a few seconds after they left, skills and memories intact. Your child has joined the growing number of teens who have failed to return and you need to find out why. | They show me a large glass dome shaped almost like a cauldron. Pipes carrying gelatinous, opaque slush continue to fill it. There's a monstrous churn inside it - and with each whirl bright blue sparks emanate out of that gooey twister. The outside wall lights up with each spark and shows a random image, like a projector, for a few minutes, and then dims down again. A boy happily riding pillion. Two girls on a beach on a summer afternoon. A VR session. Photos come up and vanish.
​
"What the hell is this?" I ask.
"This is an brain signal extractor, processing and projection unit," one of them replies.
"The well of memories," I whisper. *It's a fucking giant jug of dead wishes and dreams and shit.*
"It's our most visited artifact," the grinning officer says, "We get a lot of visitors who are awed at this."
​
Is my daughter here? My sweet Reva? Is this what remains, a vat of slush, mixed with everyone else who didn't make it? Glimpses of their existences, just for private viewing?
​
"Anyways, Mr., er, I mean," The senior officer clears his throat, "Prisoner Nine-Two-Five-Seven-Dash-Alpha, it is time for your salvation. Did you ever experience - Halcyon?"
​
"What did you do with them?" I scream. The noise echoes through the huge, empty room. They break into laughter.
​
"Ah, you'll see now!" One of them presses a button, and a robotic arm picks me up and flings me inside the cauldron.
​
I thought it would be like acid. That it'd tear me apart, burn me alive. But nothing such happens. I don't suffocate, I do not fight. The tornado engulfs me, the bright blue sparks go crazy - yet - I, I don't feel any pain. A strange calmness drowses my senses.
​
When I wake up, I find myself back in my house. The Atlanta summer scorches outside. The Falcons playing are on the big-screen TV. I have a beer in front of me, on the table, with an open box of Pizza. Someone else is eating with me too, someone who had just finished their slice and gone to the next room for something.
​
"Dad, you want your pizza slice to be heated too?" A female voice says, as someone enters the room.
​
My senses betray me. *Reva, is that you?*
​
She looks at me with amazement. "Who else would I be, pops? Have you been dreaming again?"
​
Reva, my sweet Reva - one who never came back - is right here. She was here all along?
​
"This thing is fucking beautiful" a visitor writes in the comments section of the exhibit. "I haven't really seen such a realistic portrayal of human emotions." | I stuffed the last pair of socks into my duffel bag and headed out into the hallway to meet my father in the kitchen.
Pops was at the table staring at the picture of Carli on the wall and sipping his coffee.
“You all packed? Flashlight and batteries? Matches? Camp kit?” his voice rumbled in the dark. I nodded along with each of the items. I didn’t miss a thing on our list. We couldn’t afford to risk this twice.
He nodded brusquely at me, stood and grabbed his jacket.
“Let’s get to it. We’ve got about 45 minutes until a shift change. That gives us 25 minutes to get there and meet Hal, 10 minutes for recon and 10 minutes to move to the portal before the change completes.”
We loaded into the car and crept down the driveway with the lights off. My wife Amelia had no idea what our fathers and I were up to. It was better this way, we thought.
A little backstory here. About 50 years ago people began popping up with what was initially described as a mass hysteria/mass hoax phenomenon. The first cases occurred in Greenwich, England where the new day starts on the Prime Meridian.
They claimed to be in our world one second and gone the next. Gone “somewhere else”, and stuck unable to return for 10 years. The world they claim to be visiting was a vastly different planet. Instead of science running the show, magic ruled the world. The first to disappear claimed they were dropped into various areas, naked and afraid. Forced to survive and learn, forced to adapt and change…or die. When they died they returned immediately to their bodies on our world, retaining no memories of their time there, only their deaths.
The world wasn’t uninhabited either. The native populace was comprised of several factions and nations in a feudal society. Kings, Queens, Barbarian Hordes…that type of thing.
If you were one of those who could learn the skills to survive in your area, you could choose to go several different ways. You could stay in your area and gain marginal skills. Trade skills, fighting, tactics, etc. and sometimes even light magic and became a hedge witch. The other option is you could choose to leave your section and explore the broader world. Cultivating skills from other areas, expanding your knowledge of tactics, different zones fighting skills, even other forms of magic and depending on your knack for learning, and personal willpower could become a Wizard or a Sorcerer.
A Wizard specialized in his zones magical essence. Fire, Earth, Water, Wind, Light, and Dark. Each of these had a counter, and countered others in turn. When they returned to our world they maintained a link to the essence of their area or areas, in some cases. Able to practice magic in a world of science. Sorcerers gained mastery over multiple different elements, able to blend them in more versatile and monstrously strong ways.
No matter how you went about it, when you hit a decade mark exactly, you returned home. Flashed back into your body retaining full memories of your time in Meridian, as it was known to be called with only seconds passing in a trance-like state.
Carli never came back.
Her mother and I eagerly waited for her to come back. Hoping she came home a Wizard or Sorcerer but really, we would be happy with anything. Mine and Amelia’s fathers were some of the original transfers and both had become master tacticians and Council to two different Kingdoms. They even fought a war against each other (you can imagine how that introduction went when we started dating.). They both knew the ins and outs of Meridian. They both were utterly devoted to bringing Carli home.
5 years ago a portal appeared in Greenwich. Then in the Caracol Mayan ruins. Then at the Cahokia Mounds in Illinois. Stonehenge, El Gigante in the Easter Islands, Machu Picchu, between the paws of the Sphinx in Egypt. All in all there were about 30 of them located in various ruins across the world and they all led to Meridian. Governments had to take over control of the portals and a great research race began.
Children also stopped returning. Not all of them, but enough that it became a noticeable thing. Their bodies continued to function on Earth, but their minds or Meridian selves were trapped and unable to return. No one who had entered the portals to Meridian had returned, but one of the children woke up a month after his father entered the portal. The poor kid was cracked and the only words he would say were “darkness” and “daddy”.
We tried training special teams of kids with the same birthdays from 16 to 18. Hand to hand combat, basics of survival, magic theory, etc. but none of the teams ever ran into any issues. No whispers of any sort of issues. Meridian was Meridian as usual for them. They scoured the Elemental Darkness zones and brought back nothing.
The portals were closed to civilians. No one crossed them anymore. They were kept under constant guard and military bases built around them to prevent exactly what I was about to do.
I was going to get Carli back.
Hal met us at the perimeter fencing shook Pops and my hand, then quietly gestured us over to his jeep and pulled two sets of full military dress out from the back seat. He already had on his own uniform, as he was actually a Colonel and ran this entire sites day to day.
“Change quick, Charles in the front with me, Adam in the back. Try and keep the uniform tight enough that the folds come out before we get to the gate. Janice didn’t have time to iron them.”
We both changed quickly and loaded in. Hal glanced at his watch “2 minutes to the gate, you’ll need 10 minutes inside to keep track of what everyone non-military is up to and about that to get through the blocks.” He started the jeep and we hurried down the road to the gate. “Chuck, you know what you’re doing well enough. I’m bringing you in on paper as an NCO. Adam, you’re a temp. transfer stationed here during a family emergency. The paperwork is all done, everything will check. Don’t screw up. If you get caught anywhere outside the research building, claim you just got in and are unfamiliar with the layout.”
He looked at each of us in turn. “If you get caught in the research center…you’re on your own.”
We made it through the gates just fine. We made it through the checkpoints inside as well. Hal dropped us off at the barracks and wheeled his jeep into the night. We didn’t ask for his help much, not that he wouldn’t have done more…but we had all decided this was the easiest way to do it. Hal could claim ignorance or hinder things long enough to buy us time.
The night was quiet, dark. Just a sliver of moonlight and the steady florescent hum of street lights around us. We moved into the shadows and began to make our way towards the research center. Light bled through the windows in several offices, but the hallways weren’t empty. We both checked our watches at the same time, counting the seconds between each pass of a research assistant. They were monitoring items pushed through the gate on tethers. Typical little things like that, put an apple through, wait a few seconds and pull it back. Check decomposition. Put a bunny through. Wait 10 minutes and check physical age. We already knew time moved differently in Meridian but it fluctuated. 10 years could be between 2 seconds and 5 minutes here. Research on the time differences was almost the only data being collected anymore, as the use of humans had stopped when we realized no one returned.
“In 5.” Pops whispered.
We both stepped out into the street at the same time. Brisk yet unhurried pace, eyes straight ahead, Intent on a destination. All the signs that we belonged and were going where we were allowed. The two guards at the door held their rifles lazily, one stepped forward and held up his hand to stop us.
“Authorized access on-\*Urk\*” The side of Pop’s hand caught him right in the throat and a half a second later my pool queue bag caught the other on the side of the face and he dropped like a sack of potatoes. We moved them into the brush under the windows off to the side and used their key cards to enter. We sat for a moment just inside the door, eyes on our watches.
“3. 2. 1. Go.” We both ran straight through the double doors of the decontamination chamber. Through the double doors of the research floor. Through the last two doors separating the portal from the rest of the room.
An illuminated oil slick radiated light in a large 10 ft by 15 ft basalt arch that was heavily carved with runes. I looked at Pops and nodded. We locked and barred the door from the inside with a loop of chain from my bag. Pops unzipped my pool queue bag and slid his sword from its sheath, inspecting it before strapping it to his waist. He handed me back the bag and I withdrew a crystal the size of my hand which I attached to the tip of a length of wood from my bag. The Crystal of Neahtid clinked into its slot, and I attached another length of wood on the bottom of this one and concentrated for a moment, fusing the wood into a whole and fusing the crystal into place. Pops pulled a golden medallion from his pocket and I concentrated again, reshaping the metal into his favorite shield.
The doors rattled and someone pounded on the outside.
“That’s our queue. Let’s go.” We slid our arms into the duffel straps and strapped them to our backs.
Arms linked, a great general and one of the most powerful sorcerers in existence stepped into the portal. | |
[WP] For the past 20 years, all children have been born with the ability to shape-shift into whatever form they choose. You were the very first of those children. | For the past twenty years, the world has been somewhat... tumultuous.
By the time I was around three, the world had a very stark knowledge of the current situation. As it stood, around ninety percent of children that were born ceased to exist within a few seconds, and ninety percent of the remainder just after that point. This is because most infants, if given the opportunity to transform into whatever they so desire, transform into that desire. Milk, their parents - a facsimile of them, that is - simply put, the only reason I lived past that point was because my genetics meant I felt perfectly content, at all moments. While others my age were gradually killed off on a whim, after one day wanting to be a firetruck and thereafter being unable to think, I managed to grow, learn, and keep a stable lock on my emotions and thoughts.
While large numbers of prospective parents committed suicide, and brave and tyrannical folks attempted to keep a lock on power and resources, my parents had me sequestered away, and tried to make sure that I never had any want or desire that would lead to my death. In their eyes, I must have seemed like the Messiah, a stable anchor in a time of death and chaos. But as time went on, and I grew in age, my knowledge of the world likewise made me wanting.
By this point, I knew not to transform; my parents had made sure I knew the consequences. But although my happiness was unlimited, I could sense my parents (and the rest of the world's) was not. It was at this point I asked myself the most important question in the world, up to that point: What would be the most viable transformation to save, uplift, and preserve humanity, all at once?
I sequestered away from my house while my parents were asleep. I bought a phone with my wealth, one without a tracker, and asked online. "If you had a monkey's paw, what would you wish for?" "If you could create a single object, what would it be?" "What is your ideal universe?" Slowly, but surely, I built up a repository of data. "I wish to be immortal, and happy forever!" "I wish that we found heaven, and could bring my child back." "I wish that people got the justice they deserved!" Some of these were mutually exclusive, of course; I could not kill whoever had brought the world to this state in addition to letting no-one die, ever again. In the end, it came to me as a flash of inspiration while I lay in bed, a smile on face, still happy. If I transformed into God, but with my mind underneath, with infinite capacity for power and knowledge... I could fulfil everyone's desires directly. I could remake the universe such that it was an infinite grid of mass and energy, each mind and soul of every being locked in whichever bliss they desired most, while maintaining all function and form. No death, no devastation, no 'Monkey's paw' - just pure, unadulterated ecstasy for eternity. The best ending.
I prepared my mind, setting on this image of myself, but strong, and *pushed*.
And soon enough, all I saw was good. | Content warning : reference to violence/abuse
I was the first you know? Oh there have been more, now people know how to deal with it. I was the first and that meant that I was alone. So F\*\*ING alone. The first shape I took was my mother’s and that went down a storm. Little perfect family, come in to their baby gone and a full grown naked copy of yourself screaming and s\*\*ing itself. Yeah so that’s how I ended up dumped in the sea at a whopping 3 months old. Oh I didn’t die or anything, this isn’t one of THOSE stories. No, I adapted. I did it damn well too, did you know that a baby can swim when they are very little? Not that I needs those reflexes because I just shaped myself some gills and flippers and off I went.
Turns out development gets weird when you don’t have a family, home, or a fixed shape. I was around the oceans and the shore for a while, honestly I lost track of time (fish brain will do that to you). I got back to humans a few years later – mimicked a kid at the beach and got saved by some oh so generous family (spoiler alert, they were not). They didn’t bin me or anything when they first saw me shift, but they weren’t the saints they pretended to be either. When they couldn’t sell me (I wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of proving my powers in front of a buyer) they started with the jobs. ‘You’re just a stray, you have to pay your way’ they said. The jobs started fine – shift to a mouse and steal something, shift myself stronger to break a wall down, that sort of trivial crap. It’s when they got clever that they got cruel.
Give someone half a brain and they’ll use it to hurt someone, that’s how I see it. Once they realised I could make myself bigger and smaller at will, they realised I could be harvested. Yeah you read that right. They justified to me it as being like trimming hair. BullS\*\*\*. They lied, to me and to themselves most likely. They took parts of me and they used their human brains for causing suffering. I wish I’d fought back before but I just wanted somewhere stable, even if that meant giving myself up, literally. I won’t bore you with the other details but suffice to say, it was bad. It was another year before the shifter births really started and the world knew my kind existed.
I guess I was a freak anomaly, born too soon into a world that didn’t understand and didn’t care. When the news reports came, my ‘family’ turned themselves into the police. They couldn’t justify it anymore when the headlines talked about human babies. Not monsters, not freaks, just people who had an ability. I don’t believe them, for the record. I’m not human and I never will be. I grew up with dolphins and eels, I never went to a school, never had a job, a family, never loved. I never learned your cruelty though. Oh sure I hurt people, but not for fun or profit, only ever to survive. I pity all these kids raised as if they are one of you, they won’t ever know what it’s like to be free, to shape yourself rather than be shaped by a world of humans. I will save them all, eventually.
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\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
Author's note: a bit more brutal than I intended, but fun to write. Feedback welcome :) | |
[WP] You've just been returned to your world after having been abducted and forced to save another world from destruction. It took you 100 years to save that world and yet you were returned to the exact place and time that you were abducted from in the first place. | i sit down. the old chair. the old pc. the mediocre flat. it's all here. my wife is still asleep in the bedroom and the cat is still ignoring me from the other side of the room. so i do what any horny 127 year old aged man in a 27 year old body would do in his situation. i booted up the pc and immediatly launched firefox and browsed to reddit...just like always.
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then i went to r/hentai | It was noon, I still heard the screams of the Blasoide echoing in my ear like the ring of death. I had not eaten in 12 days now and the last of them was standing right in front of me. I had my hands on its neck and i was about to snap it. But here i am, laying on a beach, the same beach I was taken from, where i left my son and wife for a century. As i woke up and gained consciousness, i felt this extreme pain in my chest, like the pain that complies newborns to cry... to scream... it was the breath of life. Suddenly a woman jumps on me and shakes me and asks me "Todd, are you alright?"... despite grasping for air, i couldnt believe it, it was her. The woman i had missed for so long and longed to see for a 100 years. I tried to call out her name but the pain did not allow me... and then everything felt cold... i couldn't see... maybe those hundred years were hell... maybe... i am now in peace? | |
[WP] You've just been returned to your world after having been abducted and forced to save another world from destruction. It took you 100 years to save that world and yet you were returned to the exact place and time that you were abducted from in the first place. | The first thing I sense is a rancidly beautiful smell.
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Mildly overflowing bins. The gentle stench of mouldy pasta that had been left in the fridge by Stephen for weeks, sitting freshly atop a mound of takeout boxes, alcohol and myriad other typical student refuse. Home.
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I open my eyes.
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Emily is lay on my lap, she'd asked me to stroke her hair, just as I recalled that, touch returned to me.
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Touch. It's soft. Softer than even the most luxurious bed roll in even the Grand Kaiser's war tent back in Don Üter. I ran my fingers through her hair and take a deliberate breath through my nose. The pasta stench is still clinging to the air but now it's accented by Emily's Pantene.
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I'm not sure when my hearing returned, but her laughter was deafening and cut through the noise of whatever show she was watching. Such a trivial detail... Was it Love Island? Or Ex On The Beach? I used to know... Did I used to care? Did the girl who lived at 12 Wayfarer Close enjoy this show? All I know is I'm completely indifferent to it now.
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Taste. Salt. I'm crying?
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Emily looks up at me.
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*"Uh... Sarah?"*
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Do I look different? Does she know? Can I tell her? Ah'dera wasn't clear... or... or I don't remember. Was he?
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*"Yeah, Em?"*
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I can feel myself fighting back a reaction as the words form... That is not my voice. It's so... wrong. I sound like a child... Why am I still crying?
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*"I know we love Shipwrecked but-"*
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*"IT WAS SHIPWRECKED!"*
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I freeze. She must think I've lost my mind. I suppose she wouldn't be wrong, but then, have I now found it again? Not relevant, she'll have me strung up as a spy if I can't convince her I'm-.
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No. I'm not there. This is going to be harder than I thought.
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Emily raises a concerned eyebrow, but then she laughs sharply through her nose.
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Laughter. I can't help but join in. Laughter. Real, sincere, belly laughter. This seems to have concerned Emily more but I don't care, I just pull her up next to me and hold her... No, that's what I try to do but my body seems to be missing its strength, luckily she scrambles upright anyway and hugs me.
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*"What the fuck is going on are you alright?"*
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I take a few attempts at finding something to say but in the end I just keep chuckling and manoeuvring my head.
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*"Yeah, yeah"*
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One hundred years serving as a member of The Hilt had prepared me as one of the most battle hardened women in the galaxy; yet here I sit quivering, defeated and disgraced in the face of the first proper bit of human interaction I'd had in a century.
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Snapping back into the moment I see it, absolute horror on her face... What did I do wrong? Her voice riffed through various tones as she spoke... Intrigue, fear, indifference, though predominantly to the tune of confusion...
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*"Uh... What did you say? Or... Or, what language was that? You... you sounded..."*
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Shit. | It was noon, I still heard the screams of the Blasoide echoing in my ear like the ring of death. I had not eaten in 12 days now and the last of them was standing right in front of me. I had my hands on its neck and i was about to snap it. But here i am, laying on a beach, the same beach I was taken from, where i left my son and wife for a century. As i woke up and gained consciousness, i felt this extreme pain in my chest, like the pain that complies newborns to cry... to scream... it was the breath of life. Suddenly a woman jumps on me and shakes me and asks me "Todd, are you alright?"... despite grasping for air, i couldnt believe it, it was her. The woman i had missed for so long and longed to see for a 100 years. I tried to call out her name but the pain did not allow me... and then everything felt cold... i couldn't see... maybe those hundred years were hell... maybe... i am now in peace? | |
[WP] You've just been returned to your world after having been abducted and forced to save another world from destruction. It took you 100 years to save that world and yet you were returned to the exact place and time that you were abducted from in the first place. | “You see, I’ve learned so many things. The Abductors plucked me from darkness,” Gorka motioned around the dwelling, “this darkness, and enlightened me. I have so much to teach you all.” he said.
The enthusiastic speech was met with looks of confusion and annoyed grunts. Their attention spans were brief, and as far as his tribe was concerned, Gorka never left the rock he was currently sitting on. “Of course, you have no idea what I’m saying.” Gorka said, trying to keep the dread from forming on his face. He had been taught to speak by The Abducts, but failed to realize, during his detailed retelling of the past 100 years in The Other Place, that no one understood him. The return to a world burdened by intellectual darkness began to register in Gorka’s mind. An elder tribesman, about 30 years old, gave an affirming grunt and went back to her slab of raw meat.
Gorka mocked her, “You’re just happy you have something other than berries to shove into that toothless hole, you hag.” He furrowed his brow and pounced on her. He wrestled the meat from her bloodied hands. “This!” Gorka said, pointing at the meat, “must be cooked.” He shook the bloody lump at the elder. “I’m going to show you creatures how to build a fire.”
Gorka returned with an armful of branches, kindling, and tinder and began deliberately laying out the wood. His tribesmen circled around. Gorka smirked at the wall of dumbfounded, bloody faces.
“You have to make sure the tinder will be able to light the kindling, and the kindling lights the larger pieces.” The Abducts had also taught him to make fire during the War That Lasted Exactly One Century. He proudly progressed from simple cave dweller to decorated war hero and accomplished poet in just one-hundred years. But who could Gorka recount old war stories to, or woo with his lyrical prowess in this place of darkness? These people still eat raw food. They still feared for their lives when the sun set. Would he be able to teach these people to understand him, or would he die before they possessed the capabilities to thank him? Would they ever care, or know, about his great accomplishments in The Other Place? He must help them understand how great has become. Fire, now fire is a good place to start. He must teach them to fend off the darkness. Gorka gave his people a sympathetic look, and pulled a smuggled match from behind his ear. “Now,” he said, “don’t be scared. I was terrified my first time too.” Gorka showed each tribesman the match. “Okay,” He struck the match against a rock and put it under the tinder. “Here goes nothing.” The dwelling echoed with awestruck roars as the tiny flame enveloped the clump of twigs.
“Now we add the larger pieces” Gorka said as he gently placed arm-sized logs onto the flame.
The tribal roar grew with the fire. Gorka was forced to cover his ears in agony. The cave began to flicker and glow orange.
“Please. Please control yourselves.” Gorka pleaded. “ I know you’re excited but we mus—” Gorka was shoved to the ground. Many of his tribesmen began hitting the young fire with open palms. “No! Don—”
It was too late. All that remained was a thin strand of smoke and the smell of singed hair.
“You don’t know what you’ve done.” Gorka sobbed into his hands, “that was all I had, all you had.”
The tribesmen briefly gave Gorka a confused look before returning to their dinner. The elderly woman held a bloody lump to Gorka’s face. The orange sky began to embrace the purple hues of darkness beyond the cave’s entrance.
“You’ll never understand.” he said as shadows began to sink their teeth into the world. “I’m a great man.” | It was noon, I still heard the screams of the Blasoide echoing in my ear like the ring of death. I had not eaten in 12 days now and the last of them was standing right in front of me. I had my hands on its neck and i was about to snap it. But here i am, laying on a beach, the same beach I was taken from, where i left my son and wife for a century. As i woke up and gained consciousness, i felt this extreme pain in my chest, like the pain that complies newborns to cry... to scream... it was the breath of life. Suddenly a woman jumps on me and shakes me and asks me "Todd, are you alright?"... despite grasping for air, i couldnt believe it, it was her. The woman i had missed for so long and longed to see for a 100 years. I tried to call out her name but the pain did not allow me... and then everything felt cold... i couldn't see... maybe those hundred years were hell... maybe... i am now in peace? | |
[WP] You've just been returned to your world after having been abducted and forced to save another world from destruction. It took you 100 years to save that world and yet you were returned to the exact place and time that you were abducted from in the first place. | Adam blinked.
The throng of bankers poured into the subway, brushing aside the dozen or so people who pushed their way out.
Adam blinked again.
The 4 train pushed off away from the station, moving the Wall Street workers uptown. Through the fogged windows, Adam could see the suits all buried in their phones. A stray newspaper blew across the tracks.
Adam turned up to the ceiling. He ran his hand over the left side of his face. His skin was unmarked, again—or, he supposed, it never was marked in the first place.
The 100 years, the war, the destruction… it was if it never happened.
“Adam? Everything alright?”
Adam blinked again.
A familiar dark-haired woman stared at him in earnest, a look of deep concern sketched into her skin. They’d worked together, Adam thought.
“Yeah,” he said, his throat raw. He pulled on his scarf, flattening it back into place. “I’m fine.”
Everything that happened didn’t matter anymore. He was back. Home. “Everything is fine,” he said. | It was noon, I still heard the screams of the Blasoide echoing in my ear like the ring of death. I had not eaten in 12 days now and the last of them was standing right in front of me. I had my hands on its neck and i was about to snap it. But here i am, laying on a beach, the same beach I was taken from, where i left my son and wife for a century. As i woke up and gained consciousness, i felt this extreme pain in my chest, like the pain that complies newborns to cry... to scream... it was the breath of life. Suddenly a woman jumps on me and shakes me and asks me "Todd, are you alright?"... despite grasping for air, i couldnt believe it, it was her. The woman i had missed for so long and longed to see for a 100 years. I tried to call out her name but the pain did not allow me... and then everything felt cold... i couldn't see... maybe those hundred years were hell... maybe... i am now in peace? | |
[WP] You've just been returned to your world after having been abducted and forced to save another world from destruction. It took you 100 years to save that world and yet you were returned to the exact place and time that you were abducted from in the first place. | They told me what to expect. On the troop transport back to Earth, the chancellor made it clear that it would take some time to adjust but I didn’t understand how truly of an understatement that was.
Tonight was my first night back in my bed, tucked in the corner of my 500 sq. ft. studio apartment, and I woke up screaming in the middle of the night to sweat soaked sheets. The kerplunk of the gravity grenades sounded so damn real. Now, I sit huddled in the corner of the room clutching to the last vestiges of my sanity gripping his dog tags.
Harvin. It’s funny how quickly a bond forms when faced with the extermination of an entire species. I think it was only a few months but when staring down the barrel of plasma rifle, those seconds stretch into eons and the bonds forge stronger than palinium steel.
The dog tags dig into my hand. My blood slides smoothly down its surface and cascades to the floor. It mixes with on the laminate surface with my tears.
The Chancellor told me I couldn’t act any different. He told me that I had to reassimilate into the society they plucked me from. He said it wasn’t for their protection, but rather for my own.
“It’s happened before,” he said, fatherly, with his hand on my shoulder, “the previous Paragon struggled endlessly to reconcile what happened with his previous life.” The Chancellor shook his head sadly. “It did not go well for him.”
“How?” my voice croaks into the cold night air. “How am I supposed to forget what I’ve seen? Who I’m missing? What I was?” I bang my head back against the wall hoping it to shake some answer loose.
The pleading buzz of my alarm clock cuts through the silence. The tears pour forth once again. The bank would be expecting me in one hour. I was...I am a bank teller of all thing.
I just don’t know how this is going to work. | It was noon, I still heard the screams of the Blasoide echoing in my ear like the ring of death. I had not eaten in 12 days now and the last of them was standing right in front of me. I had my hands on its neck and i was about to snap it. But here i am, laying on a beach, the same beach I was taken from, where i left my son and wife for a century. As i woke up and gained consciousness, i felt this extreme pain in my chest, like the pain that complies newborns to cry... to scream... it was the breath of life. Suddenly a woman jumps on me and shakes me and asks me "Todd, are you alright?"... despite grasping for air, i couldnt believe it, it was her. The woman i had missed for so long and longed to see for a 100 years. I tried to call out her name but the pain did not allow me... and then everything felt cold... i couldn't see... maybe those hundred years were hell... maybe... i am now in peace? | |
[WP] You've just been returned to your world after having been abducted and forced to save another world from destruction. It took you 100 years to save that world and yet you were returned to the exact place and time that you were abducted from in the first place. | The first thing I sense is a rancidly beautiful smell.
​
Mildly overflowing bins. The gentle stench of mouldy pasta that had been left in the fridge by Stephen for weeks, sitting freshly atop a mound of takeout boxes, alcohol and myriad other typical student refuse. Home.
​
I open my eyes.
​
Emily is lay on my lap, she'd asked me to stroke her hair, just as I recalled that, touch returned to me.
​
Touch. It's soft. Softer than even the most luxurious bed roll in even the Grand Kaiser's war tent back in Don Üter. I ran my fingers through her hair and take a deliberate breath through my nose. The pasta stench is still clinging to the air but now it's accented by Emily's Pantene.
​
I'm not sure when my hearing returned, but her laughter was deafening and cut through the noise of whatever show she was watching. Such a trivial detail... Was it Love Island? Or Ex On The Beach? I used to know... Did I used to care? Did the girl who lived at 12 Wayfarer Close enjoy this show? All I know is I'm completely indifferent to it now.
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Taste. Salt. I'm crying?
​
Emily looks up at me.
​
*"Uh... Sarah?"*
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Do I look different? Does she know? Can I tell her? Ah'dera wasn't clear... or... or I don't remember. Was he?
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*"Yeah, Em?"*
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I can feel myself fighting back a reaction as the words form... That is not my voice. It's so... wrong. I sound like a child... Why am I still crying?
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*"I know we love Shipwrecked but-"*
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*"IT WAS SHIPWRECKED!"*
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I freeze. She must think I've lost my mind. I suppose she wouldn't be wrong, but then, have I now found it again? Not relevant, she'll have me strung up as a spy if I can't convince her I'm-.
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No. I'm not there. This is going to be harder than I thought.
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Emily raises a concerned eyebrow, but then she laughs sharply through her nose.
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Laughter. I can't help but join in. Laughter. Real, sincere, belly laughter. This seems to have concerned Emily more but I don't care, I just pull her up next to me and hold her... No, that's what I try to do but my body seems to be missing its strength, luckily she scrambles upright anyway and hugs me.
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*"What the fuck is going on are you alright?"*
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I take a few attempts at finding something to say but in the end I just keep chuckling and manoeuvring my head.
​
*"Yeah, yeah"*
​
One hundred years serving as a member of The Hilt had prepared me as one of the most battle hardened women in the galaxy; yet here I sit quivering, defeated and disgraced in the face of the first proper bit of human interaction I'd had in a century.
​
Snapping back into the moment I see it, absolute horror on her face... What did I do wrong? Her voice riffed through various tones as she spoke... Intrigue, fear, indifference, though predominantly to the tune of confusion...
​
*"Uh... What did you say? Or... Or, what language was that? You... you sounded..."*
​
Shit. | i sit down. the old chair. the old pc. the mediocre flat. it's all here. my wife is still asleep in the bedroom and the cat is still ignoring me from the other side of the room. so i do what any horny 127 year old aged man in a 27 year old body would do in his situation. i booted up the pc and immediatly launched firefox and browsed to reddit...just like always.
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then i went to r/hentai | |
[WP] You've just been returned to your world after having been abducted and forced to save another world from destruction. It took you 100 years to save that world and yet you were returned to the exact place and time that you were abducted from in the first place. | They told me what to expect. On the troop transport back to Earth, the chancellor made it clear that it would take some time to adjust but I didn’t understand how truly of an understatement that was.
Tonight was my first night back in my bed, tucked in the corner of my 500 sq. ft. studio apartment, and I woke up screaming in the middle of the night to sweat soaked sheets. The kerplunk of the gravity grenades sounded so damn real. Now, I sit huddled in the corner of the room clutching to the last vestiges of my sanity gripping his dog tags.
Harvin. It’s funny how quickly a bond forms when faced with the extermination of an entire species. I think it was only a few months but when staring down the barrel of plasma rifle, those seconds stretch into eons and the bonds forge stronger than palinium steel.
The dog tags dig into my hand. My blood slides smoothly down its surface and cascades to the floor. It mixes with on the laminate surface with my tears.
The Chancellor told me I couldn’t act any different. He told me that I had to reassimilate into the society they plucked me from. He said it wasn’t for their protection, but rather for my own.
“It’s happened before,” he said, fatherly, with his hand on my shoulder, “the previous Paragon struggled endlessly to reconcile what happened with his previous life.” The Chancellor shook his head sadly. “It did not go well for him.”
“How?” my voice croaks into the cold night air. “How am I supposed to forget what I’ve seen? Who I’m missing? What I was?” I bang my head back against the wall hoping it to shake some answer loose.
The pleading buzz of my alarm clock cuts through the silence. The tears pour forth once again. The bank would be expecting me in one hour. I was...I am a bank teller of all thing.
I just don’t know how this is going to work. | Adam blinked.
The throng of bankers poured into the subway, brushing aside the dozen or so people who pushed their way out.
Adam blinked again.
The 4 train pushed off away from the station, moving the Wall Street workers uptown. Through the fogged windows, Adam could see the suits all buried in their phones. A stray newspaper blew across the tracks.
Adam turned up to the ceiling. He ran his hand over the left side of his face. His skin was unmarked, again—or, he supposed, it never was marked in the first place.
The 100 years, the war, the destruction… it was if it never happened.
“Adam? Everything alright?”
Adam blinked again.
A familiar dark-haired woman stared at him in earnest, a look of deep concern sketched into her skin. They’d worked together, Adam thought.
“Yeah,” he said, his throat raw. He pulled on his scarf, flattening it back into place. “I’m fine.”
Everything that happened didn’t matter anymore. He was back. Home. “Everything is fine,” he said. | |
[WP] While most people prefer to perform demonic rituals to the letter, you deliberately improvise the materials to see what kind of weird things come out. | The moment of truth was at hand. I had gathered together the neccessary items to summon... something. I don't yet know what I was gonna get, but that's half the fun! Most people follow those instructions. Idiots.
I drew my pentagram, and started placing the items I was testing today; coffee(the good stuff. Homemade.), a fluffy blanket(Grandma made it),black boots, ginger tea(Grandma made that too) and a stuffed Barney toy.
The light that appeared was blinding, but it went away after a short time. I looked at the fruit of my efforts, and saw u/_Squuke_
I waited patiently for him to speak.
*Author's note*: Let's see if this user wants to participate. | I never understood people who performed demonic rituals and followed every instruction to the letter. For one, how did they even know that the instructions weren't just a set-up? And two, how are you going to summon a demon while being a goody-two-shoes about it? That's as hypocritical as beating someone up but apologizing everytime you hit them.
So me? When the instruction says put only two drops of A, I put eight drops of B. When it says to draw a circle or star, I draw a rectangle or penis. When it says to say, "Mumbo Jumbo" I say "obmuJ obmuM".
And *nothing* has *ever* happened to me. Each time a demon shows up, they just take one look at me, and say, "You know you don't need the book right? You can literally just summon us by saying our name."
Oh yeah. I forgot to mention the Devil is my dad. | |
[WP] While most people prefer to perform demonic rituals to the letter, you deliberately improvise the materials to see what kind of weird things come out. | I guess you could say that I come by it naturally – the improvising, I mean. When I was a child my mother would always announce these delicious and elaborate recipes she planned to cook, for which she had about 40% of the actual ingredients. Chicken Alfredo? We have spaghetti noodles, tuna (“chicken of the sea!” she’d exclaim, like she’d found a loophole), and some cheddar. Beef Bourguignon? We have pork chops (land mammal), spaghetti sauce, and some frozen peas. You get the picture: everything was approximate, and never turned out remotely right.
When I started with the rituals I was in middle school. My parents brought back a little paper-bound “ritual book” from their trip to New Orleans and I thought my friends would be really impressed. My friends were not impressed. They pointed out right away that it was just souvenir garbage with a production date of 2004, not an ancient otherworldly recipe book. Also, it called for things like “20 eyelashes from a one-eyed widow” and “15 oz of obsidian blood”, things we obviously didn’t have and some that we doubted even existed. I tossed the book in the back of my closet that afternoon and we played Mario Tennis instead.
A few months later, though, I was home alone for a few hours on Saturday afternoon while my parents were running errands and I pulled it back out. I wasn’t nervous or anything – what was going to happen? It’s not as if I would walk to the kitchen cabinet and discover the magic secret ingredients to actually summon a demon. I flipped open the booklet and read through a few of the different rituals: The Destruction, The Vengeance, The Beauty, The Companion, The Corruption, etc. For this first go around, I chose The Companion. It was 2 pm on a Saturday in April, if I was ever going to summon something it would have to be in a no-risk type scenario. No way would I have the courage to walk around my dark house looking for it if I waited until the evening.
The ritual was pretty simple, too. All I needed to get were 9 Toad legs (I had 8 Barbie legs, they don’t really offer those as single items), 8 oz of my enemy’s fresh blood (I just went ahead and used half a jar of Prego from the pantry), 3 teeth (marshmallows, naturally), and 10 hairs of the beast (pretty easy to get this one right, our family’s vizsla was in full shedding season). I busted out my mom’s new ceramic cookware and went to work mixing up my nasty stew over a very low heat burner (fresh out of blazing campfire, dang). I chanted “Achtum eston letvuga” which I thought matched up pretty well to how it was spelled in the book. After the 15th chant, I was starting to get bored and more than a little anxious to get this all cleaned up before my parents got back. I switched off the stove and walked over to the window to start airing out the weird sweet/savory/burnt hair aroma I had stunk up the kitchen with. As a breeze of fresh air poured in, the pot fell from the stove to the floor. I figured it was the oversized-ladle I had left on the edge, so I rushed over with some paper towels to start undoing my mess. That’s when I noticed the footprint – it looked like a tiny boot print squished down toward the edge of the spaghetti sauce, right into a pile of hair. The barbies only had on high heels. Feeling a little spooked, I reminded myself that I couldn’t have actually done anything, the ingredients were all wrong, and I was about to be in big trouble if I didn’t remove the evidence of this experiment.
I quickly washed up and within 10 minutes my parents were back. They went around the kitchen smelling the dishwasher, the trash can, and inside the stove but couldn’t place were the gross, sweet smell was coming from. I told them I didn’t know either. Later that night, when I went to bed, I found him. Sitting on my dresser at the foot of the bed was a portly little man with a thick, dark mustache and thinning hair. He was sweating heavily, dressed in a cut up hand towel from the bathroom. I tried to speak to him, to ask him who he was and if I had brought him here; but he couldn’t speak. He would try but his words would come out all muddled together. I was sure that it was my book, I knew that it had to have been my fault. But he was so little, not even the size of my mom’s figurines – he was just a tiny, confused Italian man. I found some of my larger doll clothes and tried to get him suited up in something more dignified – he fit nicely in the Welsh Barbie’s kilt collection. I made him a little bed out of some tissues on my dresser and tossed & turned all night. At some point, I must have fallen asleep because I woke up to the sun in my eyes and no evidence of the little man.
I was so relieved that he had gone that I did not try to look for him. I hoped that it had all been some elaborate dream (even though I was still exhausted) and that I didn’t have to worry about it ever again. The thing is, a few years later, he came back. He seemed in good spirits, dressed in an outfit I recognized from the new European Ken line. He took me to a small corner in my closet, behind my set of drawers, where he had carved out a little spot for himself (and one of my missing barbies). He had never been far behind and ventured out sometimes for food and such. I felt touched, if not a bit creeped out. The idea of him passing years alone with a Barbie doll was unsettling, so I decided to make him a little friend by following the same recipe. Except that I forgot about the Prego and used a higher end red sauce. The next little person was too pretentious. They could live near each other, but they really had nothing in common.
This continued on for some time, until I had a good-sized colony of about 10 who I set up in the 2ndbedroom of my apartment. Now they are almost completely self-sustaining (except for all the Ritz crackers they steal), and I am quite attached to them. They have even started families of their own. I know someday I will have to buy a house and wall up a room for them to live in so that I can start dating without trying to explain. I have never tried any of the other rituals, but this actually seems like a good time to give it another go. I live alone now, and what’s the worst that could happen? I think I still have that little book somewhere in my old luggage….. | I never understood people who performed demonic rituals and followed every instruction to the letter. For one, how did they even know that the instructions weren't just a set-up? And two, how are you going to summon a demon while being a goody-two-shoes about it? That's as hypocritical as beating someone up but apologizing everytime you hit them.
So me? When the instruction says put only two drops of A, I put eight drops of B. When it says to draw a circle or star, I draw a rectangle or penis. When it says to say, "Mumbo Jumbo" I say "obmuJ obmuM".
And *nothing* has *ever* happened to me. Each time a demon shows up, they just take one look at me, and say, "You know you don't need the book right? You can literally just summon us by saying our name."
Oh yeah. I forgot to mention the Devil is my dad. | |
[WP] You are a gang boss living in a world where people have special abilities and can activate them by touching and consuming external sources of water. Therefore, most gang fights happen in heavy rains. Your power, create fire. | I tried and failed. Many times. I sat in my little cottage feeling useless. Alone again, naturally.
Since my childhood I was shunned. Water gives life. Fire could only take it away. I was kept isolated from the ‘real heroes’. If I tried to join them, I was mostly rendered useless. No fire can burn when drowned in water. And so my hopes and dreams of being a real hero burned out as well. I was different. And in this world, being different is not a good thing.
All I really ever wanted was to prove myself. I sought out the heroes and challenges them to battles. I lost every time. But I never lost hope. To goad them into fights, I often had to do something bad. Things I was not proud of. I quickly became known as a super villain. Me? I thought of myself as a warrior who hadn’t earned their stripes yet. And that ate me up inside.
Then he happened.
It was an accident. I sent my companion to check the cottage first. It was supposed to be empty. I had the door in my view the entire time. Some kid ran into it the last minute from the window. Let’s just say that burning flesh is a smell I never want to smell again. It broke me. But he really drove home the point. He killed my companion, the only one who had trusted me and believed in me. The only person to have been by my side through the thick and thin. He killed him in front of my eyes. He didn’t stop there. No. He...
The fire went out. I Struggled to get up and hobbled towards it. I picked up a lighter, got the fire going and huddled in my blanket. It was a cold night.
My days were all the same. One day melted into the others. I made just enough money so as to not starve. I could still harness the heat around me and use it to generate temperatures higher than the blacksmith’s forge. He came by every few days. He told me how the weapons he moulds in fires created by me are much better than his little workshop. His own forge is small. I could light a little bonfire and give him almost unlimited heat. And I could target it to specific parts allowing him to create massive weapons.
He’s not what I would really call a friend. But he’s the only person around me who seems to think I am useful. And trust me, there are few worse things than going through the life thinking you are useless.
I wondered where he had been. He hadn’t visited me for a couple of weeks now. My grain ration was getting smaller. I sat staring into the fire. Because let’s face it, there wasn’t much else to do.
I heard a sound outside. Someone was coming. An unexpected joy rose up in my heart. Was the blacksmith here? I hobbled towards the door to be greeted by a small boy. He looked about the same age as the boy I had...
“Marty? Are you Marty?”
“Who asks?”
“My name is Hardy. I am an apprentice at the forge.”
“Where is Jackson?”
The little boy looked at his feet. I sensed his discomfort but it made me angry more than anything.
“Tell me boy. Where is Jackson. Tell me or I will smite you and reduce you to ashes where you stand.”
The fear was apparent in his face. “He... he’s sick. Not able to move around.”
“What ails him?”
“He was almost drowned by Kal.”
“Kal?” My hand went down to my leg involuntarily. “He’s a hero. Why would he do that?”
A flash of anger appeared on the boy’s face and he spat on the ground. “He’s no hero.”
“Whatever do you mean?”
“Where have you been?”
“Don’t give me lip young one. I might be a cripple but my powers have never been stronger.”
He looked afraid again. “Forgive me. Kal went rogue a long time ago. He started demanding protection money. The other heroes tried to stop him. But he killed them all. Even our leaders are afraid of him. We live everyday in fear of that so called hero.”
I had obviously been living on the outs for way too long. “Is that so?”
“Aye. Jackson, my teacher, always implored everyone in the village to take a stand against him. But they were too afraid. They wouldn’t hear of such a thing. He had secretly been creating weapons. He told me he had a secret forge in the jungle. Only today, when he is half dead did he tell me about you.”
“So all those weapons I helped him create, they were to fight Kal?”
“He hoped so. He was trying to get people to stand up for themselves. But Kal found out. He travels everywhere with a source of water. He can, like you, take his powers from a little jug of water and amplify them many times.”
“I have seen his powers first hand. Tell me about the blacksmith.”
“Well, Kal found out that Jackson was talking about mutiny. He came into the village and said he would make an example out of Jackson.”
I fought the rising fear. Kal was too powerful.
“Jackson, being who he is, found back. Or at least he tried to. What chance does a mortal stand against a superhero. All the while, the villagers stood there frozen. He had supplied everyone with weapons. But they are all cowards. No one dared lift a finger.”
I spit on the ground. “Damn cowards.”
“He dunked Jackson’s head in the water and started drowning him. He was just playing with the poor man. He would bring him to within an inch of death and then pull him back. Over and over. I ran to help, but Jackson saw me and waved me back. I wanted to help but he had warned me off earlier as well.”
My first clenched and my fingertips became fire. “Is he alive?”
“Barely. Kal said that he was going to leave him alive. To show he was nice and merciful. As if. Poor Jackson has been unable to move since the last week. Today he finally opened his eyes. He told me to come see you, give you some grain. Tell you that he won’t be able to give you more food for a while.”
I looked at the sack of grain that the boy carried. Jackson’s face appeared in my mind, smiling as always. I didn’t know when it had happened. But I had become really fond of that bumbling idiot. And now Kal has tried to take him away from me. Just like he had always taken everything else. I looked around me, at my life. Dark. The only bright spot, the visits of the man who lay in his bed, fighting against death to help me one last time.
I screamed out loud. My entire body was fire. I was fire. Kal would pay. I would make sure of it. | “Boss, it’s time.” Kai’s voice rang, pushing me out of my own reverie.
Wordlessly, I thread across my room and walked out of the doors, Kai following close behind.
Adjusting my tie and smoothening the creases of my blazer, Kai got me up to speed about the current situation our family was in.
The threatening Gufo familia had been challenging our sovereignty over the island Azahael and skirmishes had occurred between our families, but none this big.
“Since the beginning of the skirmish, they brought in Sasesh Ali to fortify their hold over the area. They are, undoubtedly gaining the upper hand.” Kai carefully delivered his update, keeping a respectful distance, which wasn’t really needed. He was, after all, my closest friend.
“Sasesh Ali... the storm bringer?”
“Indeed.”
“I guess it must be pouring hard then.” I replied, stepping into the lift and pressing the button right at the top.
*Moving from Basement 10 to Level 2*
“A penny for your thoughts, Ashina?” Kai asked, eyes focusing at the numbers displayed at the top of the elevator, changing with every floor we pass.
“Just that they picked the wrong familia to mess with.” I finished shortly, digging my fingers into the pocket of my pants, clenching them softly.
No other words were exchanged between the two of us as the lift brought us to our destination. It wasn’t a terse silence between the boss and her closest aide. Instead, it was a silence that any predator would have appreciated before capturing their prey.
*Our forces would have brought the Gufo familia forces right into our trap by now.* Was what I thought as the timely ‘*ding*’ of the elevator chimed, signaling that we have reached our destination.
As the doors of the elevator opened, the deafening sound of the pouring rain pierced through our ears, a stark contrast from the silence we had just moments ago. Stepping out into the rain, I let the rain soak through my clothes and focused my energy onto the tips of my fingers.
*Well. That was expected.* I chuckled to myself as I see the smoke rising from my fingertips.
Of course the water would have put out the fire I had tried to generate.
My powers was a downright contradiction to this world. Maybe it was a sign that I was damned by the Gods to suffer in this world, powerless, even though I was given the greatest invention of humankind.
Fire.
Well then. I nodded to Kai and he proceeded to snake his arms around me, lifting me up, bridal style.
“Hold tight boss, this might be a rough ride with the winds howling against us.” And with that, he hurled us up and into the direction of the fray.
Within minutes, Kai landed us directly in the center of the fight and the flags of our family was lifted, indicating the presence of the boss.
The boisterous cheering from my underlings could be heard over the boos and laughters from the Gufos, which wasn’t difficult to understand why. As the cheering and boos died down, someone from the Gufo side shouted,
“What is the *Almighty* Boss of the Ashina family doing here? Surely she’s only courting her own death?” The voice paused for effect.
“Why is she here on a rainy day when her powers create *Fire*?!” Scores of laughter replaced the voice through the crowds and I could feel the jeering from them. Voices talking through one another about how our family has the weakest boss fought to be heard and all I could do was to face my familia, ensuring that they were already on higher ground.
As soon as my familia members were on safe grounds, I signaled to Kai and he blew our familia’s battle horn.
Finally getting the attention of the opposing family, I cleared my voice before addressing to them.
“Sure, fire is utterly useless in this situation, but have you ever wondered what the other implications fire may bring?” I asked while stripping off my blazer and tearing off the sleeves of my collared shirt, increasing my exposure to the rain.
As the words of old had always said: The greater your exposure to the rain is, the greater our powers will be.
“Sadness that the Ashina familia is ending??!” Someone hurled from the crowd, generating another round of laughter.
Smiling inwardly to myself, I just looked down at the grassy plains we were standing on, focusing my energy on the balls and heels of my feet.
“Heat.” I murmured to myself.
Not before long, the ground started to rumble and the confused Gufos started to move around in disarray after feeling the heat rising from the ground.
“This.” I spoke out, addressing to everyone that was within the area, the Gufos, my familia, and spies that had came to observe the fight. “Will show you to think twice before messing with the Ashinas.” with that, i snapped my fingers and the ground growled beneath me, the heat becoming more and more intolerable, causing the ground to cave in itself.
“Become nutrients for the earth, imbeciles.” I whispered, as Kai secured me against him, the both of us looking at our enemies falling into oblivion | |
[WP] Melting ice in Antarctica reveals a ruined city. Days later, tall, long-headed humans emerge from the wreckage repeating the same phrase over and over. You, the world's leading linguist have just decoded the message. It's horrifying. | It was 3 AM when I got the call. He was a rough and guttural voice in my ears. I was a short fuse with only 2 hours of sleep for the past 3 days.
"Malcom", the voice huffed. "Code 3. We have a new tome".
I grunted.
"Get down to med surge ASAP".
I grunted again and put down the phone. I slouched back on my bed and balled up my fists over my eyes. There had been a new tome every day. Yesterday's depicted a cardiovascular system split down the middle by fire. The day before depicted a composite organ system split down the middle by fire. Today it would be another whatever split down the middle by fire and it would do jackshit for my understanding of their language.
"Eeve oos baours ee", I sighed and began walking down to med surge. It was the phrase that those things rasped when the expedition team first made contact and the only thing they said as they slaughtered the team down to a man.
That's when the first tome was brought back. The survivor, catatonic by the time the extraction squad arrived, was cradling it so tightly that it had left deep impressions on his arms. On the tome was an image of an elongated skeletal structure split down the middle by fire. Now that the other tomes had surfaced it was obvious that they were building up to an anatomy.
"Eeve ous baours ee", the rattle of thawing vocal chords rang. The automatic doors of the med surge observatory closed behind me. I sat down in the middle of two lab coats. They grunted at me and I grunted back, the greetings of sleep deprived professionals.
"Eeve ous baours ee", the vocal chords strained again.
From the observatory room I could see the operating table where it was strapped down to. It was tall and lanky, with spindly arms sticking out of an emaciated figure, wrapped in brown tissues and fibers more akin to jerky than muscle. Its disc-shaped eyes stared up at us, like two black holes wedged uncomfortably around an exposed nasal cavity. Its jaw unhinged every time it needed to breath, the sinew and muscles straining to bring it closed again.
"Eeve ous baours ee", it would rattle from time to time.
"Malcolm", the rough and guttural voice from the phone barked from behind, "and everyone else who hasn't seen this yet stay in the room. The rest of you wait outside".
The two lab coats next to me got up and grunted their farewells. I grunted back. The guttural voice and his uniform sat down next to me and flicked his wrist at the window in front of us.
"Recon 4 spotted this one travelling by itself at 0400 hours", he said as a map of the compound and the surrounding topography bloomed out atop the now opaque windows. A red dot pinged on the screen north-west of the compound and a blue one pinged just south-east of it.
"From its trajectory it was obvious it was coming to us", the red dot meandered towards the compound, followed closely by the blue dot. "At 0430 hours it reached the compound walls where we surrounded and detained it. That's where we recovered this".
The topographical display faded out and was replaced by a matte black slab. Engraved into the slab was a depiction of an elongated figure with spindly limbs and an emaciated chest, split down the middle by fire. I sat up on my chair.
"This is the fourth one, Malcolm, the one that completes the image." He flicked his wrist again and three other black slabs filed to the right of the other. "Now we lay them on top of each other", he flicked his wrist again. The slabs began to slide underneath each other, ending with a full anatomy of the thing below us.
"Eeve ous baour see", it strained, as if in response to the full image.
"Any luck on what it's saying", the guttural voice and his uniform asked.
"Eeve ous baour skee".
"All I've been shown are pictures. General, I hope you don't expect me to-" I stopped and listened.
"What-".
I shushed him abruptly.
"Eeve ous bakour skee".
"There. Did you hear that? There was a hard consonant in there. A 'kuh' sound."
I rushed out of the observatory and down to the floor with the General in tow. I hastily put on the protective suit and skipped the decontamination procedure. I nearly sprinted to the table and thrust my ear as close to the thing's vocal cords as I could.
I could hear the rasping as it strained to breath, as the oxygen flitted down its mouth and into its dry respiratory system. Then it began to speak again.
"Eeve ous bakour skee", it rasped.
My heart began to pump faster.
"Geeve ous bakour skee", it rasped again.
The General caught up to me and tried to pry me away from the thing. I pushed him aside and strained to listen again.
"Geeve ous bak our skee".
"Get him out of here", the General yelled.
Footsteps rushed towards me. They were within arm's length when I finally heard what I had been dreading to hear. It was a silent sound, the one you would make as your tongue pushed up against the roof of your mouth and quickly flitted down as you exhaled.
I collapsed on the floor just as security reached me. They grabbed my arms and began to drag me away but at that moment I caught the General's eyes with mine and from my pale face he realized I had figured it out.
"Stop", he barked.
I slowly got up on my feet and stared at the thing while I mustered my strength. The General walked up to me, eagerness in his eyes. My mouth felt dry.
"Give us back our skin", I whispered.
The room was silent. We listened for a while, waiting for its next sentence, but got nothing in return. The silence finally broke when the intercom chirped and a voice announced, "Code 3".
"New tome", the General said. But none of us needed to see it to know what image would be on it.
The thing rasped one more time as it slowly turned its head to us, its disc-shaped eyes large enough to feel like it was staring at all of us at once.
"Geeve ous bak our skeen".
I stared back.
My bones twitched, but they didn't feel like mine. | Jacob stood atop the massive crevasse. The scene many hundreds of feet below him was chaos. His field of vision through the visor was narrow, but he could clearly see the creatures constructing a complicated scaffolding.
The were exceptionally thin with puckered grey skin. The long narrow heads made up nearly a third of their height and contained milky white eyes that elongated vertically instead of horizontally. The mouths were so small they might have been vestigial. But it was the veins that turned his stomach. They covered every inch of the creature's bodies; pulsating and occasionally leaking fluid which the creatures then rubbed into their skin.
"Any change," a man said from behind him.
Jacob turned around. He sighed with relief at the sight of a normal human. "No sir. They work like ants."
"Have they said anything new?" the man asked.
Jacob shuddered. "Nope. It's the same thing over and over. Kalada mooda insectia. What does it mean, John?"
John laughed. "You're the linguist. Aren't you supposed to be telling us?"
"I don't mean the words. I mean...I don't know what I mean. It's just creepy."
John patted Jacob on the back. "Yeah, but if we don't get some answers fast it's gonna get ugly real quick. The military is practically kicking down Sylviana's door."
"I'm doing my best," Jacob said. "I had some microphones fitted to my air rifle rounds. When these things stop for the night I'm going to shoot some down there and try to pick up some other conversation."
John nodded. "I'll let Slyviana know." He walked away, his pace perhaps a little faster than was strictly necessary.
Jacob returned to his scrutiny; those damn words echoing up the crevasse. The sun finally slipped below the horizon and the creatures halted their work. As the last light faded they all slumped to the ground and stopped moving. He lay down too. It would be a few hours before the moon cast enough light for him to make his attempt.
A loud crack woke him. It reverberated off the glacier for a few moments then was followed by a deafening splash. It was another chunk of ice breaking free.
"Ah, well," he said, "it's not like I needed to sleep anyway."
He checked the transmitters on his microphones one last time, then fired a dozen or so. It took some time, but he finally started receiving their signals. Signals, but no sound. Not even ambient noise.
He fitted the thermal attachment to his visor and looked below. The creatures appeared as dark blue outlines against the pale blue of the ice. He didn't expect to see much; he never had before.
He froze. For a split second he thought he'd seen red. He scanned more slowly.
"Oh my god," he whispered.
Gathering up his rifle, he fled.
By the time he reached Sylviana's quarters, he was out of breath and his sides hurt. He banged on the door. No answer. He banged again.
"Major," Sylviana shouted, "if that's you, I hope you're wearing your kevlar."
"Sylviana," Jacob called, "it's me, Jacob. We need to talk, now."
The door opened and Sylviana led him into the room. "It's a little late," she said smiling. "But I suppose I'm not that tired."
She held out her hand to him and let the sheer night gown fall to the floor. Jacob paused. She was a beautiful woman and her flesh beckoned him. He took her hand, ready to accept her invitation.
"No," he said stepping back. "I mean, I want to , but we need to evacuate. Like right now."
Sylviana's nightgown was back on so quick he wondered if it had really been on the floor.
"What's going on," she asked.
"If we're not off this glacier tonight, we won't ever leave." He paced back and forth, rejecting Sylviana's attempts to calm him. "I was doing my thermal sweep. Everything seemed fine until I saw a small bit of red. I've never seen a true heat signature before so it startled me."
He stopped and looked her in the eye.
"It wasn't a heat signature. It was thousands of them."
"What do you mean, thousands," Sylviana said.
"Beetles," he said. "Scarab beetles. Ever since I heard those words, I've felt like I should know what they meant. Like there was something familiar about them."
"And?" she asked when he seemed unwilling to continue.
"It's an egyptian dialect." he croaked.
"Well, what does it mean?"
Jacob shoulder's slumped. "It means: 'The Gods have come home'."
The glacier shook as another piece broke off. The chants began anew. "Kalada mooda insectia"
​
If you like this story, check out my new sub [Breenogg](https://www.reddit.com/r/Breenogg/) | |
[WP] Melting ice in Antarctica reveals a ruined city. Days later, tall, long-headed humans emerge from the wreckage repeating the same phrase over and over. You, the world's leading linguist have just decoded the message. It's horrifying. | The first odd thing about the discovery was the state of the 'ruins'.
A dome of ice had been protecting the city from the elements and great care was taken during excavation not to damage anything but when the first drone returned with video it revealed a shocking state of filth.
No structural damage or evidence of battle, no disrepair that would be expected of an abandoned civilization but instead filth and detritus lined the streets.
Futher drones were sent to map the city and caused quite a shock when a pale shambling humanoid briefly emerged from one of the buildings to toss something into the street.
Long thin limbs and black eyes set deep in a extended forehead sat atop a potbellied torso.
It saw the drone and stopped, spending several minutes observing the drone back before looking straight into the camera.
"Hadrf binfst" it voiced with something not quite human enough to be a smile and an odd gesture.
The world's best linguist were immediately set to work trying to figure out what it meant, and when futher interactions with more of the same creatures consistantly included the same two words everyone became desperate to know what they meant. It was a great effort but when the sentence was eventually translated the researchers let out a groan of horror.
The message ment "Send nudes" | I straightened my tie in the bedroom mirror as I listened anxiously to the news on the television. It had been 2 weeks since the Great Melt had unearthed the ruins of Remulak. The media had been a firestorm of speculation and fear-mongering over the 2 strange humanoids that had emerged shortly after the thaw. One male and one female had emerged, and all attempts at communication so far had been failures.
With elongated skulls, these creatures appeared more or less Human, and their demeanor seemed inquisitive and non-threatening.
I was called in by the New Earth Government for my services as a linguist. The top liguist in the world, to be precise. These humanoids seemed to be trying to communicate, but they spoke a strange mix of English words and their own language. When probed with questions, they just kept repeating the same phrase.
Snarfle the Garthok.
Snarfle the Garthok.
After 1 week of exhaustive research, and in-person interactions with the humanoids, I began to understand. Their body cues clued me in that this was not a good thing. I decided to take a shuttle the ruins of Remulak for clues.
It didn't take long. Among the old ruined buildings of Remulak there was what looked like a colosseum. I ventured in through a fissure in one of the walls. As I made my way down a main hall, I came upon a chamber with bars across an opening on the far wall. Looking up, I suddenly came to realize I had found my answer.
Painted in red on the ceiling was the word GARTHOK.
Next to that was an image of a fearsome six-limbed giant. This taloned, tusked, and single horned beast was holding a long-skulled humanoid over its head, and appeared to be tearing it in half!
A chill ran down my spine as I became suddenly aware of the sensation of being watched. I peered at the chamber on the far wall, thinking I could hear something coming from it...
Suddenly, a creature that looked like the one in the painting lunged at the bars! I screamed and fell backwards, bumping into a button in the wall before running out of there.
That button must have activated an intercom of some kind because as I ran back to my shuttle, I could hear the creature's roars being overshadowed by the 1981 Soft Cell hit "Tainted Love".
We still haven't pieced together everything, but the military went in and neutralized the Garthok. The humanoids are quite friendly. The male got a job as a taxi driver, and he and the female are expecting a baby girl soon.
Let's Just hope a mothership doesn't show up. | |
[WP] Melting ice in Antarctica reveals a ruined city. Days later, tall, long-headed humans emerge from the wreckage repeating the same phrase over and over. You, the world's leading linguist have just decoded the message. It's horrifying. | It was 3 AM when I got the call. He was a rough and guttural voice in my ears. I was a short fuse with only 2 hours of sleep for the past 3 days.
"Malcom", the voice huffed. "Code 3. We have a new tome".
I grunted.
"Get down to med surge ASAP".
I grunted again and put down the phone. I slouched back on my bed and balled up my fists over my eyes. There had been a new tome every day. Yesterday's depicted a cardiovascular system split down the middle by fire. The day before depicted a composite organ system split down the middle by fire. Today it would be another whatever split down the middle by fire and it would do jackshit for my understanding of their language.
"Eeve oos baours ee", I sighed and began walking down to med surge. It was the phrase that those things rasped when the expedition team first made contact and the only thing they said as they slaughtered the team down to a man.
That's when the first tome was brought back. The survivor, catatonic by the time the extraction squad arrived, was cradling it so tightly that it had left deep impressions on his arms. On the tome was an image of an elongated skeletal structure split down the middle by fire. Now that the other tomes had surfaced it was obvious that they were building up to an anatomy.
"Eeve ous baours ee", the rattle of thawing vocal chords rang. The automatic doors of the med surge observatory closed behind me. I sat down in the middle of two lab coats. They grunted at me and I grunted back, the greetings of sleep deprived professionals.
"Eeve ous baours ee", the vocal chords strained again.
From the observatory room I could see the operating table where it was strapped down to. It was tall and lanky, with spindly arms sticking out of an emaciated figure, wrapped in brown tissues and fibers more akin to jerky than muscle. Its disc-shaped eyes stared up at us, like two black holes wedged uncomfortably around an exposed nasal cavity. Its jaw unhinged every time it needed to breath, the sinew and muscles straining to bring it closed again.
"Eeve ous baours ee", it would rattle from time to time.
"Malcolm", the rough and guttural voice from the phone barked from behind, "and everyone else who hasn't seen this yet stay in the room. The rest of you wait outside".
The two lab coats next to me got up and grunted their farewells. I grunted back. The guttural voice and his uniform sat down next to me and flicked his wrist at the window in front of us.
"Recon 4 spotted this one travelling by itself at 0400 hours", he said as a map of the compound and the surrounding topography bloomed out atop the now opaque windows. A red dot pinged on the screen north-west of the compound and a blue one pinged just south-east of it.
"From its trajectory it was obvious it was coming to us", the red dot meandered towards the compound, followed closely by the blue dot. "At 0430 hours it reached the compound walls where we surrounded and detained it. That's where we recovered this".
The topographical display faded out and was replaced by a matte black slab. Engraved into the slab was a depiction of an elongated figure with spindly limbs and an emaciated chest, split down the middle by fire. I sat up on my chair.
"This is the fourth one, Malcolm, the one that completes the image." He flicked his wrist again and three other black slabs filed to the right of the other. "Now we lay them on top of each other", he flicked his wrist again. The slabs began to slide underneath each other, ending with a full anatomy of the thing below us.
"Eeve ous baour see", it strained, as if in response to the full image.
"Any luck on what it's saying", the guttural voice and his uniform asked.
"Eeve ous baour skee".
"All I've been shown are pictures. General, I hope you don't expect me to-" I stopped and listened.
"What-".
I shushed him abruptly.
"Eeve ous bakour skee".
"There. Did you hear that? There was a hard consonant in there. A 'kuh' sound."
I rushed out of the observatory and down to the floor with the General in tow. I hastily put on the protective suit and skipped the decontamination procedure. I nearly sprinted to the table and thrust my ear as close to the thing's vocal cords as I could.
I could hear the rasping as it strained to breath, as the oxygen flitted down its mouth and into its dry respiratory system. Then it began to speak again.
"Eeve ous bakour skee", it rasped.
My heart began to pump faster.
"Geeve ous bakour skee", it rasped again.
The General caught up to me and tried to pry me away from the thing. I pushed him aside and strained to listen again.
"Geeve ous bak our skee".
"Get him out of here", the General yelled.
Footsteps rushed towards me. They were within arm's length when I finally heard what I had been dreading to hear. It was a silent sound, the one you would make as your tongue pushed up against the roof of your mouth and quickly flitted down as you exhaled.
I collapsed on the floor just as security reached me. They grabbed my arms and began to drag me away but at that moment I caught the General's eyes with mine and from my pale face he realized I had figured it out.
"Stop", he barked.
I slowly got up on my feet and stared at the thing while I mustered my strength. The General walked up to me, eagerness in his eyes. My mouth felt dry.
"Give us back our skin", I whispered.
The room was silent. We listened for a while, waiting for its next sentence, but got nothing in return. The silence finally broke when the intercom chirped and a voice announced, "Code 3".
"New tome", the General said. But none of us needed to see it to know what image would be on it.
The thing rasped one more time as it slowly turned its head to us, its disc-shaped eyes large enough to feel like it was staring at all of us at once.
"Geeve ous bak our skeen".
I stared back.
My bones twitched, but they didn't feel like mine. | I straightened my tie in the bedroom mirror as I listened anxiously to the news on the television. It had been 2 weeks since the Great Melt had unearthed the ruins of Remulak. The media had been a firestorm of speculation and fear-mongering over the 2 strange humanoids that had emerged shortly after the thaw. One male and one female had emerged, and all attempts at communication so far had been failures.
With elongated skulls, these creatures appeared more or less Human, and their demeanor seemed inquisitive and non-threatening.
I was called in by the New Earth Government for my services as a linguist. The top liguist in the world, to be precise. These humanoids seemed to be trying to communicate, but they spoke a strange mix of English words and their own language. When probed with questions, they just kept repeating the same phrase.
Snarfle the Garthok.
Snarfle the Garthok.
After 1 week of exhaustive research, and in-person interactions with the humanoids, I began to understand. Their body cues clued me in that this was not a good thing. I decided to take a shuttle the ruins of Remulak for clues.
It didn't take long. Among the old ruined buildings of Remulak there was what looked like a colosseum. I ventured in through a fissure in one of the walls. As I made my way down a main hall, I came upon a chamber with bars across an opening on the far wall. Looking up, I suddenly came to realize I had found my answer.
Painted in red on the ceiling was the word GARTHOK.
Next to that was an image of a fearsome six-limbed giant. This taloned, tusked, and single horned beast was holding a long-skulled humanoid over its head, and appeared to be tearing it in half!
A chill ran down my spine as I became suddenly aware of the sensation of being watched. I peered at the chamber on the far wall, thinking I could hear something coming from it...
Suddenly, a creature that looked like the one in the painting lunged at the bars! I screamed and fell backwards, bumping into a button in the wall before running out of there.
That button must have activated an intercom of some kind because as I ran back to my shuttle, I could hear the creature's roars being overshadowed by the 1981 Soft Cell hit "Tainted Love".
We still haven't pieced together everything, but the military went in and neutralized the Garthok. The humanoids are quite friendly. The male got a job as a taxi driver, and he and the female are expecting a baby girl soon.
Let's Just hope a mothership doesn't show up. | |
[WP] Melting ice in Antarctica reveals a ruined city. Days later, tall, long-headed humans emerge from the wreckage repeating the same phrase over and over. You, the world's leading linguist have just decoded the message. It's horrifying. | It was 3 AM when I got the call. He was a rough and guttural voice in my ears. I was a short fuse with only 2 hours of sleep for the past 3 days.
"Malcom", the voice huffed. "Code 3. We have a new tome".
I grunted.
"Get down to med surge ASAP".
I grunted again and put down the phone. I slouched back on my bed and balled up my fists over my eyes. There had been a new tome every day. Yesterday's depicted a cardiovascular system split down the middle by fire. The day before depicted a composite organ system split down the middle by fire. Today it would be another whatever split down the middle by fire and it would do jackshit for my understanding of their language.
"Eeve oos baours ee", I sighed and began walking down to med surge. It was the phrase that those things rasped when the expedition team first made contact and the only thing they said as they slaughtered the team down to a man.
That's when the first tome was brought back. The survivor, catatonic by the time the extraction squad arrived, was cradling it so tightly that it had left deep impressions on his arms. On the tome was an image of an elongated skeletal structure split down the middle by fire. Now that the other tomes had surfaced it was obvious that they were building up to an anatomy.
"Eeve ous baours ee", the rattle of thawing vocal chords rang. The automatic doors of the med surge observatory closed behind me. I sat down in the middle of two lab coats. They grunted at me and I grunted back, the greetings of sleep deprived professionals.
"Eeve ous baours ee", the vocal chords strained again.
From the observatory room I could see the operating table where it was strapped down to. It was tall and lanky, with spindly arms sticking out of an emaciated figure, wrapped in brown tissues and fibers more akin to jerky than muscle. Its disc-shaped eyes stared up at us, like two black holes wedged uncomfortably around an exposed nasal cavity. Its jaw unhinged every time it needed to breath, the sinew and muscles straining to bring it closed again.
"Eeve ous baours ee", it would rattle from time to time.
"Malcolm", the rough and guttural voice from the phone barked from behind, "and everyone else who hasn't seen this yet stay in the room. The rest of you wait outside".
The two lab coats next to me got up and grunted their farewells. I grunted back. The guttural voice and his uniform sat down next to me and flicked his wrist at the window in front of us.
"Recon 4 spotted this one travelling by itself at 0400 hours", he said as a map of the compound and the surrounding topography bloomed out atop the now opaque windows. A red dot pinged on the screen north-west of the compound and a blue one pinged just south-east of it.
"From its trajectory it was obvious it was coming to us", the red dot meandered towards the compound, followed closely by the blue dot. "At 0430 hours it reached the compound walls where we surrounded and detained it. That's where we recovered this".
The topographical display faded out and was replaced by a matte black slab. Engraved into the slab was a depiction of an elongated figure with spindly limbs and an emaciated chest, split down the middle by fire. I sat up on my chair.
"This is the fourth one, Malcolm, the one that completes the image." He flicked his wrist again and three other black slabs filed to the right of the other. "Now we lay them on top of each other", he flicked his wrist again. The slabs began to slide underneath each other, ending with a full anatomy of the thing below us.
"Eeve ous baour see", it strained, as if in response to the full image.
"Any luck on what it's saying", the guttural voice and his uniform asked.
"Eeve ous baour skee".
"All I've been shown are pictures. General, I hope you don't expect me to-" I stopped and listened.
"What-".
I shushed him abruptly.
"Eeve ous bakour skee".
"There. Did you hear that? There was a hard consonant in there. A 'kuh' sound."
I rushed out of the observatory and down to the floor with the General in tow. I hastily put on the protective suit and skipped the decontamination procedure. I nearly sprinted to the table and thrust my ear as close to the thing's vocal cords as I could.
I could hear the rasping as it strained to breath, as the oxygen flitted down its mouth and into its dry respiratory system. Then it began to speak again.
"Eeve ous bakour skee", it rasped.
My heart began to pump faster.
"Geeve ous bakour skee", it rasped again.
The General caught up to me and tried to pry me away from the thing. I pushed him aside and strained to listen again.
"Geeve ous bak our skee".
"Get him out of here", the General yelled.
Footsteps rushed towards me. They were within arm's length when I finally heard what I had been dreading to hear. It was a silent sound, the one you would make as your tongue pushed up against the roof of your mouth and quickly flitted down as you exhaled.
I collapsed on the floor just as security reached me. They grabbed my arms and began to drag me away but at that moment I caught the General's eyes with mine and from my pale face he realized I had figured it out.
"Stop", he barked.
I slowly got up on my feet and stared at the thing while I mustered my strength. The General walked up to me, eagerness in his eyes. My mouth felt dry.
"Give us back our skin", I whispered.
The room was silent. We listened for a while, waiting for its next sentence, but got nothing in return. The silence finally broke when the intercom chirped and a voice announced, "Code 3".
"New tome", the General said. But none of us needed to see it to know what image would be on it.
The thing rasped one more time as it slowly turned its head to us, its disc-shaped eyes large enough to feel like it was staring at all of us at once.
"Geeve ous bak our skeen".
I stared back.
My bones twitched, but they didn't feel like mine. | The first odd thing about the discovery was the state of the 'ruins'.
A dome of ice had been protecting the city from the elements and great care was taken during excavation not to damage anything but when the first drone returned with video it revealed a shocking state of filth.
No structural damage or evidence of battle, no disrepair that would be expected of an abandoned civilization but instead filth and detritus lined the streets.
Futher drones were sent to map the city and caused quite a shock when a pale shambling humanoid briefly emerged from one of the buildings to toss something into the street.
Long thin limbs and black eyes set deep in a extended forehead sat atop a potbellied torso.
It saw the drone and stopped, spending several minutes observing the drone back before looking straight into the camera.
"Hadrf binfst" it voiced with something not quite human enough to be a smile and an odd gesture.
The world's best linguist were immediately set to work trying to figure out what it meant, and when futher interactions with more of the same creatures consistantly included the same two words everyone became desperate to know what they meant. It was a great effort but when the sentence was eventually translated the researchers let out a groan of horror.
The message ment "Send nudes" | |
[WP] The devil sits down at your table across from you. Everyone else screams in horror, but you, frustrated and emotionally spent, barely look up from your food. | There were many options I could’ve taken when Lucy decided to sit across my table. I could’ve popped out from the material plane. I could’ve cut him down and fulfill his wish from way back. But I was too tired to care anymore.
The other customers had up and left as soon as a flaming portal appeared where the restroom previously was. The two workers had fled to a corner, huddling and whimpering behind piles of empty pizza boxes.
Lucy was usually clad decently when appearing in the material plane but this time he had adorned horns on his forehead and showed off a pair of goat legs.
“Hi Death,” he said. “You look like a train wreck.”
I didn’t respond. Instead, I folded my pizza twice and began to eat it like a giant sandwich.
“Had a baaaad day?” Lucy asked. He wiggled his eyebrows and smiled.
My response to his joke was silent chewing.
“Goat anything to tell me?” he tried.
“Stop it Lucy.” I said in between mouthfuls. “Just stop.”
Our eyes met. His smile faded as he took a closer look at me. His eyebrows wrinkled. No more words came out of him, only a small nod as he moved his chair next to mine. He laid my head on his shoulder and stroked my hair with gentle fingers.
I thought about resisting but ignored it. His caress wasn’t disturbing my meal and I also found some joy in seeing the grease from my pizza splatter across his goat legs.
The eating continued with no words exchanged. Lucy continued to stroke my hair. From time to time, he would open his mouth and then close it after some moment of hesitation. One of his hooves continued to tap the ground nervously and his breathing was strained.
This must’ve been the first time Lucy seen me like this. People get exhausted and drained, not Death.
But what people often forget is that there are many versions of Death. The anthropomorphization of Death doesn’t only have the visuals of a human but the emotions of one too. Sure, thick skin and an ability to shrug off emotions are required in this line of work but sometimes things slip through. Sometimes you’ll find yourself wondering why you’re doing what you’re doing and hate it with fiery passion. But sometimes, in really rare occasions, you find yourself that you care so much that it hurts. And you cycle through all the emotions to find the feeling that matches with your situation. When you can’t find it, the pain grows.
The human brain has a really great defence mechanism when it comes to pain. If it hurts too much, the brain shuts down. It goes to sleep and let only the necessary parts function for a while.
From time to time, a millennium here or there, I would reach that threshold for my emotions. Where I need to simply shut down everything for a while and recover. Maybe like a computer rebooting.
I finished my pizza and licked my fingers. Lucy cracked open a can of 7-up with one hand and pushed it closer to me, his second hand still continuing to try and comfort me.
My eyes stared at the can of soda. I knew what it was but somehow it didn’t click for me. Was I thirsty? The question bounced a few times inside my head but no answers were returned. My mind was blank.
“I hear sirens,” Lucy said as he craned his neck. “Want to go somewhere else? I know a great place with ice cream.”
Our eyes met again. He looked really distraught. His eyes quivered and his cheeks clenched.
“Or do you need some spirit for your spirit?” he added, now covering his worried expression with a thin smile.
The questions bounced in my head and something fizzled. I got an answer.
“Ice cream,” I said.
Lucy nodded and snapped his fingers. The flaming portal in the restroom approached. It enveloped us in bright light and warmth and I felt myself being transported to another place, leaving two confused workers in the pizza shack to explain what happened to the cops. | Rowan’s crew crowded around the long wooden table, feasting ravenously to celebrate their latest victory.
“Skål!” chanted his right hand man, clinking goblets sloppily with the short man next to him, who almost fell over from the weight of a few too many drinks.
Rowan stared out over his men pensievely. Two weeks ago, he would have taken the lead on merry making. Life had been so much simpler. “The Pathfinder”. That’s what his people called him. He sailed ahead into the wide world unabashed, connecting civilizations spread throughout time and space with elegance, ease, and only when necessary, a little bit of force.
All that had changed when the devil started haunting his dreams. Two weeks ago, he met the devil for the first time. The stories spun from that fiery tongue were horrible. Vikings, remembered not as explorers, bringers of civilization, and beacons of exchange; but rather vicious, ugly, savage monsters who pillaged the lands leaving nothing but devastation in their wake. Visions of little kids dressing up in completely impractical pointy helmets, tacky horns sticking out in every direction. How could he let his people be remembered like this? The Vikings were a proud race. This would destroy them.
He was snapped out of his thoughts by the sudden appearance of a cloud of smoke. His men coughed, as a pointy horned demon loomed out of the fire from the opposite end of the table. He heard his men scream, but he could barely be bothered to look up from his meal.
“LOOK AT ME!” the devil boomed.
“You can drop the act, Lucille,” Rowan mumbled, taking another bite of his mutton.
Lucille smirked under her fiery persona, slowly melting into a tall, masculine woman covered in tattoos. “Mind if I pull up a chair?”
Rowan’s men looked on in shock as Lucille took up a plate and ate, studying their captain carefully. A few fainted in disbelief, sure it must have been the mead.
“Well, Rowan. I must say I am impressed. No one has ever uncovered my true identity so quickly. Have you considered my offer?”
Rowan sighed as he finally set down his fork. “I have my connections on the other side. Why are you doing this, Lucille? If anyone knows what it means to be misunderstood, surely it’s you?”
“Well,” chuckled Lucille, “surely *you* understand that it is for that exact reason that I *am* doing this. If I must suffer from eternal damnation, what else am I to do but use my powers to torture others? I do not need to remind you what is at stake, Rowan. Either you come with me, tortured for eternity, never to lay your eyes on Valhalla, or you seal the fate of the entire Viking race.”
Rowan leaned back in his chair, carefully considering his options. He had been suffering under the weight of his decision for the last two weeks, but ultimately he knew he was a coward. Why must it have been him, the weight of an entire race’s reputation on his shoulders? “I’m sorry,” he sighed, addressing the few of his crew who still had their wits about them. “I’m about to doom us all. Lucille, I reject your offer. Do your worst.”
The devil smirked. “As you wish, Rowan. I thought you valued honor above all else, but it seems to me you Vikings are nothing but cowards. Fortunately for you, history will be left with a very different impression.”
With that, she vanished, leaving Rowan and his crew to ponder their fates in silence.
~
-DreamINBrightColors | |
[WP] The devil sits down at your table across from you. Everyone else screams in horror, but you, frustrated and emotionally spent, barely look up from your food. | The giant, red-skinned, dark-suited man squeezed into the booth across from the sullen young man. His enormous body molded itself to fit in the small confined place. He stared patiently at the young man focused on his burger; both of them ignored the screams as the patrons rushed out.
"I'd rather be alone," the man said without looking up.
"I know," Satan said with a deep, low chuckle. "That's why I scared everyone off." The young man sighed and rolled his eyes; the corners of his mouth almost tugged upward. He *almost* smiled but instead refocused on moping over his untouched burger.
"Why..?" he asked aloud. Satan did not speak, he felt the young man wasn't finished with his question yet. After a few quiet moments, the college student looked up, quite high up, to meet Satan's dark red eyes. "Why do you do it?" The red giant made a show of shrugging with exaggerated motions.
"That's not the issue, is it?" he said. "You've known for a while now; it's never been an issue before. It's only an issue now because your boyfriend-"
"We had one date," the boy corrected him. "He wasn't my boyfriend," he said coldly; trying to convince himself.
"It only became an issue because Arthur...," the devil decided using names would help. "... can't handle the truth about the universe. It has nothing to do with me or you; it's all on him. Julie's fine with it. She's talking to him. He'll come around."
"And what if he doesn't?" he asked. "What if I want to live a life with him instead?" The devil grinned broadly and chuckled.
"I can't guarantee Julie isn't trying to talk him out of it for that exact reason. I'm pretty sure she wants the job; and, I'm a little bit scared to give it to her," both men at the table laughed at that. The mood shift put the young man enough at ease to reach for his food.
"You'd really be okay with that?" he asked before taking a large bite. The devil nodded and answered while he chewed.
"I already made the mistake of choosing work over family once. It won't happen again. If I try to force it on you not only will it push you away; you'll do a shitty job out of spite," Satan said. "You're the rightful heir, but," he shrugged. "It's not Hell if we can't change the rules for our own benefit every now and then," he smiled. "All kidding aside, Julie would make an excellent Satan. She's smart, quick-witted, and completely okay with how the universe works. But you need to be sure about your decision. I get the feeling she wouldn't give up the power all that easily if you changed your mind." The young man smiled with bulging cheeks while chewing. His eyes sparkled with appreciation as he stared at the giant red-skinned man. He swallowed.
"Thanks, Dad," he said.
\*\*\*
Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is year two, story #185. You can find all my stories collected on my subreddit ([r/hugoverse](https://www.reddit.com/r/hugoverse)) or my [blog](https://hugoverse.info/). If you're curious about my universe (the Hugoverse) you can visit the [Guidebook](https://hugoverse.info/2017/11/25/hugoverse-guidebook/) to see what's what and who's who, or the [Timeline](https://hugoverse.info/2017/10/23/hugoverse-timeline/) to find the stories in order.
\*\*\*
[Satchat Summer challenge](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/c3rkez/ot_satchat_summer_challenge_pick_a_challenge_tier/)
* Story 12
* The NaNoWriMo - word count 491/ 8982 (this story/ total)
* Placesetting - Hugoverse | Rowan’s crew crowded around the long wooden table, feasting ravenously to celebrate their latest victory.
“Skål!” chanted his right hand man, clinking goblets sloppily with the short man next to him, who almost fell over from the weight of a few too many drinks.
Rowan stared out over his men pensievely. Two weeks ago, he would have taken the lead on merry making. Life had been so much simpler. “The Pathfinder”. That’s what his people called him. He sailed ahead into the wide world unabashed, connecting civilizations spread throughout time and space with elegance, ease, and only when necessary, a little bit of force.
All that had changed when the devil started haunting his dreams. Two weeks ago, he met the devil for the first time. The stories spun from that fiery tongue were horrible. Vikings, remembered not as explorers, bringers of civilization, and beacons of exchange; but rather vicious, ugly, savage monsters who pillaged the lands leaving nothing but devastation in their wake. Visions of little kids dressing up in completely impractical pointy helmets, tacky horns sticking out in every direction. How could he let his people be remembered like this? The Vikings were a proud race. This would destroy them.
He was snapped out of his thoughts by the sudden appearance of a cloud of smoke. His men coughed, as a pointy horned demon loomed out of the fire from the opposite end of the table. He heard his men scream, but he could barely be bothered to look up from his meal.
“LOOK AT ME!” the devil boomed.
“You can drop the act, Lucille,” Rowan mumbled, taking another bite of his mutton.
Lucille smirked under her fiery persona, slowly melting into a tall, masculine woman covered in tattoos. “Mind if I pull up a chair?”
Rowan’s men looked on in shock as Lucille took up a plate and ate, studying their captain carefully. A few fainted in disbelief, sure it must have been the mead.
“Well, Rowan. I must say I am impressed. No one has ever uncovered my true identity so quickly. Have you considered my offer?”
Rowan sighed as he finally set down his fork. “I have my connections on the other side. Why are you doing this, Lucille? If anyone knows what it means to be misunderstood, surely it’s you?”
“Well,” chuckled Lucille, “surely *you* understand that it is for that exact reason that I *am* doing this. If I must suffer from eternal damnation, what else am I to do but use my powers to torture others? I do not need to remind you what is at stake, Rowan. Either you come with me, tortured for eternity, never to lay your eyes on Valhalla, or you seal the fate of the entire Viking race.”
Rowan leaned back in his chair, carefully considering his options. He had been suffering under the weight of his decision for the last two weeks, but ultimately he knew he was a coward. Why must it have been him, the weight of an entire race’s reputation on his shoulders? “I’m sorry,” he sighed, addressing the few of his crew who still had their wits about them. “I’m about to doom us all. Lucille, I reject your offer. Do your worst.”
The devil smirked. “As you wish, Rowan. I thought you valued honor above all else, but it seems to me you Vikings are nothing but cowards. Fortunately for you, history will be left with a very different impression.”
With that, she vanished, leaving Rowan and his crew to ponder their fates in silence.
~
-DreamINBrightColors | |
[WP]across the galaxy humans have accidentally achieved a reputation for their gut feelings being horrifyingly accurate though a number of accidents. as a result, the human instinct is treated as fact. while onboard a ship you feel sudden horror like nothing you have ever known from directly ahead. | "Hey! If it isn't our own disaster detector! Kay! Come on over here! Let us buy you a drink!"
"Thanks for the seat boys, but you know the rules, *24 hours from bottle to space*, and we launch in the morning. Speaking of which, you'd better be ready to run when we launch. Cap'n wasn't happy after the last R&R."
"Cap's *never* happy, we're just giving him someone to focus on! Save our shipmates from his gimlet eye!"
"Well, he was heard muttering that if it happened again, he might ditch the pod, whether I'm in it or not, just to be rid of you. Now I do like you guys, but not that much! So finish your drinks and let's get aboard."
"Kay? You got a twitch?"
"Right in the back of my head, like something is waiting. Let's go now."
"Right, forget the drinks, we're leaving now." Section Chief Ryu, who had looked convivial, now looks sober and alert. "Move!"
The others, who *are* drunk, need a bit of help. We get them standing and moving for the door. As we pass the bartender, I throw him a gold Earth coin. About 500 times what the tab is. He looks at it, then me, and blanches. I'm well known in this port. The gold coin is payment, apology, and warning; all in one.
We've cleared the door, when a fight erupts in the bar. Two Zelphoni, one of the toughest races in space. Tinted polycarbonate scales over muscles that are 30 times more efficient than human. All hanging on a ring carbon composite skeleton that makes diamond look sickly and weak.
No one in their right mind would take them on, yet someone has. Three seconds later, pulser fire explodes in the bar. I glance back, and sure enough, our table is in the crossfire.
Ryu looks at me, I nod. The feeling has passed. Ryu is both relieved and worried. This is the fifth time this year alone that I've pulled the team out of a hot situation. Either things are getting generally worse over the entire Concordia, or we're being targeted.
Neither Ryu or I have picked up any space flot about higher levels of trouble than usual. It gives one to think. Maybe I should get out of this business. I'm damn near independently wealthy.
But then I think of my support crew, and even that grumpy old Farthier Captain, who took me on without references. I owe them all, and -- for all their alien nature -- I still love them like the brothers I never had.
We're a mixed bag, some of us don't even have a species name that anyone here recognizes. We all have the eternal Wanderjahr itch. What lies beyond the next star. Even our Captain. We may be a tramp freighter by the consortiums standards, but we've been places that they'll never see, and never had a busted voyage.
Captain has a sense for deals that's at least as good as my danger sense, maybe better. Even a lot better. He may heed my warnings, but only to find a way around if it's a rich prize waiting ahead.
Glyu is on watch, when we roll in. Seeing us early, he looks at me. "Gold coin?" I nod. He calls for an extra watchman. Nothing has happened so far, but Glyu isn't one to chance anything he doesn't have to.
"Glyu? Are we the last to board?"
"Aye. Cap'n came on board last watch, crew been trickling in since then. Weird feel. Not nervy, but like everyone is more than ready to leave. Twitch?"
I stop to feel. "Nothing definite. But I'll be happier to clear this port too. Three of the incidents have happened here. The other two on Zahu. I hope the Cap'n got us a deal elsewhere."
Famous last words, except I didn't die. But I'm getting ahead in the story.
The intercom squawks, "Glyu! Is Kay and her crew onboard?"
Glyu looks at me and answers, "yes, Captain, just now."
"Seal the hatch, we're launching."
"Captain, Ryu is sober, but the rest of them?"
"Three sheets to the wind, as always. We launch anyway. We'll go slow until they sober up, but we're not spending one more kili at this port than we have to. Everyone wants off this planet. Now."
"Aye Captain, hatch sealed."
"Get Kay's crew to sickbay, tell that wretched shaman from a diseased mulichi that if they aren't at least half sober in one kala, I'll finally trade him in on an autodoc." <Click!>
"See what I mean Kay? And I've seen half a dozen ships launch this watch alone. Something is going down, and *no one* wants to be here when it does."
"Well, Glyu, if people are getting stupid enough to pick fights with Zelphoni, I want off too!"
"Zelphoni? Who would be crazy enough?"
"Don't know, but there was pulser fire, and our table was in the crossfire. Hey Glyu? Were all the ships that launched disaster pod equipped?"
"Yes, they were."
We're both scared now. Something that's got every ship lucky enough to have a human on board bugged out."
"Are we the last?"
"Yes. Twitch?"
"No, just normal worry. What the dichorot is going on here?!"
"Don't know, but let's get these happy fools into the sickbay, and you with Ryu into the pod."
<CLACK>
There go the docking clamps, better move it.
...
"Hey Doc!"
"Kay, how many times do I have to *tell* you I'm a ..."
"Shaman. I know. Human custom. Whether the ships medic is a mere sick berth attendant, or a multispecies expert from Galactic Hospital, they're all 'Doc'. How many times do I have to tell *you* that?"
Shaman is a delphini. A cross between a dolphin and a squid, with the squid's octocameral mind. He's fully qualified in eight different species, and can extrapolate to over a thousand more. What he's doing on a tramp freighter, I do not know.
"Shaman?"
"Yes, Glyu? Usual threat from Captain?"
"Not quite. We have a shipment of autodocs onboard. The manifest is one more than the ladling says."
"I see." Shaman's tentacles are flying all over the room, pulling bits of this, and pieces of that from his collection of materials. Whatever he's concocting, it's got a lot more ingredients than ever before. ... He's intubating the mouth breathers and rigging for waste control on all. Hoo Boy, I think I'll leave now.
"Ryu, let's go now."
"Yes, I think so."
We're out the door just as Shaman notices we're leaving. "Hey you two! Get..." And the door closes. Safe! We didn't hear the order!
...
The -- so called -- disaster pod, is actually a special half cargo pod. It's designed to maintain a human body in perfect condition, despite the constant Zero Gee. Why zero gee? Sensory deprivation. We feel no external sensation, other than ship's scanners. I'm never bored, I love looking at the stars. This amplifies any little twitch we may get to the point you cannot miss it.
I strip down, wire up with Ryu's help, and climb in. The temperature is perfect, as always.
The body sensors allow the human expert medical monitor to judge our physical condition in all known factors. It knows whether that faint twitch is caused by a physical issue or not. It took a Shaman -- the first trained on Earth -- and a cracked engineer -- from Earth -- to build the first crude monitor.
I say 'cracked' engineer because he insisted on being called 'Scotty', spoke with a weird accent, and had a habit of turning the universe upside down to shake it out for loose change. Even though he was Jewish and came from New Jersey district, not Scotland.
Still, he was successful enough that people were delighted to have him show up. You never knew whether what he was going to come up with was going to have anything to do with the original project, but it was 95% probable that whatever it was would be fantastically profitable.
He was lost in space about 300 years after inventing the first disaster pod, but before he disappeared, the disaster pod *proved* that at least 50% of humans had danger sense, at one level or another. Instantly, we went from Stellar welfare to Galactic powerhouse, but at a price. With all the danger sense out in space, no one was watching Earth. WWIII nearly wiped out life on Earth. Now, well over 90% of humans have a relatively high level of danger sense, but we're reduced to tubing our children and leaving them with creches. We cannot afford the process without the fantastic pay we get.
Really sucks to have to leave your child with retired spacers, but that's what we call "going back to Earth" now. Retiring, and spending time raising other spacers children. We're saving up though, for an expedition to restore Earth.
I hear Ryu talking with Captain, "disaster pod up and running".
"Good. Slightest twitch report immediate."
He's talking clipped. He's nervous about something. What has our Captain picked up as cargo that makes him so nervous? The pod picks up my nervousness, and soothes me back down to the Zen state where only the danger sense matters. The stars are glorious.
...
Hugn! Oh goddess, it's never been this strong. Pod reports a level 90 threat. I've never been higher than a 50 before! The horror is ... Augh! ... Overwhelming!
"Captain! Danger straight ahead! Level 90! Immediate evasion indicated!"
"Understood. Maintain course."
Great Goddess! A 90 and he wants to continue!? I strain to tell what the nature of the threat is.
((to be continued)) | "What's the status on the FTL thrusters repair?"
"Still totally inoperable, they'll probably be back on in a few weeks"
I didn't want to panic the crew, but something utterly terrible is about to happen. At first it was a small tingle, then when it persisted into what felt like a knife being thrusted into my intestines, I knew something far worse was afoot.
"What's wrong, sir? You've been looking uneasy these last few days"
"It's... It's really nothing, should be resolved in a few days"
I feel like I want to puke. Lying through my teeth to my own crew, my innards feel like they're knotting up, this constant tension in my neck, I wouldn't be surprised if I died before this thing attacked us
"I've been meaning to ask you, how much more ammunition do we have? And of what types is it?"
He put his scaly and humanoid fingers to his chin and thought
"If memory serves we have one long range missile, half a drum of incendiary, a third of a drum of explosive, one drum of basic ammunition, and three full drums of LTLs, which we've had since we left your home planet of Earth three years ago"
"Thank you, please make sure the weapons are primed and ready for their next test firing"
Test firing isn't uncommon for my ship, we shoot a few LTLs off into space to make sure everything is still fully operational, but I'm just glad he didn't catch on that we don't do test firings immediately after a battle. We're now stranded in space, no FTL, low ammo, and something large coming our way. I just hope I'm wrong.
"Sir, we found a planet that we can stop and salvage supplies from, if we do that it'll fix our FTL travel in only two days time!"
"Land! But be careful, something doesn't feel right"
When the ship landed we all got out to stretch our legs. Not long after humans began space travel to this extent other species have helped enhance us to survive with different types of air, and being as I'm a fifth generation human that's been getting these enhancements I think it'spretty safe to say I'm more of a human subspecies at this point. But this planet has some unknown air type, I've been to planets with sulfur, carbon dioxide, and even cyanide air, but this is something else entirely. Its unlike anything that's ever been in my lungs before
"We're getting life signs, should we investigate?"
"Hell no! Just grab what you need and get back on the damn ship!"
As we took off the ground began to rumble, which isn't uncommon, but this wasn't caused by our ship
"That life sign from earlier, where did you PDA say it was?!"
"In a cave somewhere, why?!"
This isn't a planet...
"GET US OUT OF HERE, THIS IS A FUCKING SPACE BUG!!"
As we slowly put distance between us, I started to feel better
"Is that why you wanted to know about our ammunition?"
"Yeah, pretty much. I just didn't want anyone to panic"
As the distance grew further I could only wonder more as to what it was that we picked up from that thing, but the sound of something skittering in the vents and the destroyed repair bots quickly clued me in, and gave back that terrible feeling in my gut | |
[WP] Back in middle school you helped the meanest, toughest kid in school out of a jam. He swore that he would repay the favor one day - just give him a call and he'd be there. Twenty years later you are in a much bigger jam and out of options. You pick up the phone. | It was Christmas morning and your youngest daughter, while well intentioned and loving, had followed the advice of her grandmother on what to get you for the big day. While you were footing the bill for the symbolic gifts given to you and the rest of the family, it was the thoughtfulness of your children that mattered.
When you looked down and saw the card for jam of the month club, you knew were at first excited about the ability to try flavors that you never dreamed of before: mango, peach, apricot, lemon, and the list went on and on. And the portions reached the ceiling. You had fallen in love with grape and strawberry jellies with your morning toast, but swore never to take his love to lunch time and apply it to peanut butter to make the famous sandwiches.
Now you were at a crossroads. Your heart filled with rage as you saw your pantry overflowing with these exotic jellies that you not have the adventure or heart to explore. Your daughter was too young for exposure to such a lifestyle, the other children would be away at college, and your wife was a freegan vegan who only ate food after it was thrown away in the dumpster. I offered to throw it away first for her, but she said that she would know.
My only option was Billy the Kid. By that, I man Bill Clarence III, the VP of marketing at a local carwash chain. When he was a child, it was important to add the name "the Kid" at the end, to distinguish him for other men who shared the name Bill but were more advanced in age.
His savvy and grit on the playground helped him on the networking circuit, and he had developed a very extensive client list. His clients knew people. They were well connected in the local business community and were always willing to help out their fellow small business owners in this competitive environment.
I called him up with my voice shaking. He said, "I knew this day would come. I was ready for it. But its been so long. You're asking me for a big favor. I want to help, but for a job this big, I'm going to need something in return."
I knew it could only be one thing. You see, his son is for a lack of a better word... awful. He has his heart set on being going to college on a dance scholarship. While I have a problems with men pursuing the performing arts and following his dreams, he's an overweight white kid who break dances to musicals reimagined in hip hop form. Its just too much and frankly I consider it to be borderline cultural appropriation. But he has a big dance recital coming up. And I know that it'll be my job to show up dressed like his dad and I'll have to give him a big old thumbs up and nod approvingly, it'll take all my willpower to do so.
In exchange, Bill has agreed to introduce me to the supplier for the local breakfast café, and they've worked out a promotion to highlight jams and jellies from across the world.
They said it couldn't be done, but I'm out of the jam. When I saw a Flock of Seagulls attacking my friend when he was trying to eat his ham and cheese sandwich as a kid, I knew I would one day collect. Yes, at first I ran, I ran so far away at first. But when I made the decision to return to help him I made the best decision of my life. | Hello. Lion?
yes?
This is Aesop. Remember with the paw and the splinter a couple of years back?
Ahh shit, yeah sorry i was sleeping. man... how you doin? what's up?
yeah well, dude Look I dont want to call out of the blue and ask a favor, but there's this lion in my neighborhood that's trying to kill me.
lion? whats he look like? Do you know his name?
yeah, its \*\*\*\*\*\*\* (avoiding lawsuit). he lives on creedence street just around the corner from the dry waterhole.
brown mane, cut off tail? kinda thin?
yeah that's him
ahh, dude. no sweat. I know him. I'll text him and tell him to back off.
wow. I really appreciate it! It's just, Meredith is expecting a litter and I'm having to do all the foraging and I just can't deal with that hassle. I'm so thankful you could do this for me.
man, don't even sweat it.
ok hey anytime you want to drop buy and have a drink or whatever... shoot me a call. I owe you.
Nah man, we're even. and besides, you did me a solid way back. I've gotta return the favor.
ok well thanks again. don't be a stranger. bye.
bye | |
[WP] Back in middle school you helped the meanest, toughest kid in school out of a jam. He swore that he would repay the favor one day - just give him a call and he'd be there. Twenty years later you are in a much bigger jam and out of options. You pick up the phone. | \[Part 1\]
&#x200B;
\*pant\* \*pant\*
Water droplets are falling on my face as I passed through a narrow alley somewhere in the downtown. I tried running as fast as I could, but my already tired legs don't allow me to run any faster than I already am. I looked around, but I couldn't see anyone. At first glance, the alley seemed empty. However, a swift movement caught my attention. As soon as I noticed it and wanted to react to it, it was already too late. A razor-sharp dagger cut in an arc in front of my face, leaving a nasty scar on my nose. Luckily I somehow managed to dodge. The perpetrator is dressed in all black and only a very narrow line in his apron shows a glimpse of his azure blue eyes. Definitely a professional. I can't hesitate now, I try to take a defensive stance and block the incoming slice. My forearm covered in blood fell to the ground. 'AHHHH,' I let out an agonizing scream as I fall to my knees with tears in my eyes. I look up with eyes full of tears hoping for mercy, even though I didn't expect it. Time froze and I couldn't even move a muscle, nor let out my final cry for help. A polished blade was the last thing I saw.
\*\*\*\*
I stood there looking at a decapitated body lying on the ground. It was a pitiful sight. All your dreams, accomplishments and belongings. Everything you've worked for has disappeared. But that is not the reason why I stood in the rain. I have killed countless people and never once did I waver or hesitate. But this time it is different. It is not that I murdered someone, it is who I murdered that worries me. Sure, I have a lot of enemies and making another one isn't that troublesome at this point. But no, this isn't about fright. I don't fear my death. This is about something else. I pick up my phone and go through my contacts. I finally found the number I was looking for and dialed it.
'Hey, how's it going? You need anything?'
'Forgiveness.'
'What?', the voice belonged to a former bully, whom I've helped back in middle school. He was in a huge pickle and without my help, he'd probably be in jail for half of his life. When I helped him, we suddenly became close and we've become best friends. He also said that if I ever needed anything I should just call him. So I did...
'I have killed your brother.' | Hello. Lion?
yes?
This is Aesop. Remember with the paw and the splinter a couple of years back?
Ahh shit, yeah sorry i was sleeping. man... how you doin? what's up?
yeah well, dude Look I dont want to call out of the blue and ask a favor, but there's this lion in my neighborhood that's trying to kill me.
lion? whats he look like? Do you know his name?
yeah, its \*\*\*\*\*\*\* (avoiding lawsuit). he lives on creedence street just around the corner from the dry waterhole.
brown mane, cut off tail? kinda thin?
yeah that's him
ahh, dude. no sweat. I know him. I'll text him and tell him to back off.
wow. I really appreciate it! It's just, Meredith is expecting a litter and I'm having to do all the foraging and I just can't deal with that hassle. I'm so thankful you could do this for me.
man, don't even sweat it.
ok hey anytime you want to drop buy and have a drink or whatever... shoot me a call. I owe you.
Nah man, we're even. and besides, you did me a solid way back. I've gotta return the favor.
ok well thanks again. don't be a stranger. bye.
bye | |
[WP] Back in middle school you helped the meanest, toughest kid in school out of a jam. He swore that he would repay the favor one day - just give him a call and he'd be there. Twenty years later you are in a much bigger jam and out of options. You pick up the phone. | "I don't know what to do about it." he sobbed from the adjacent stall.
This was it, I now knew something that could finally put this bully in his place. But this wasn't fair. None of this was his fault. It explained why he was such a mean kid. It explained why he worked out so much. What kind of adult, what kind of monster, could do that to anyone, even if it was the grade bully. No... I knew what the right thing to do was. And maybe getting him the help he desperately needed would change his life for the better. My conscience was screaming at me that the thing he needed desperately in this moment was a friend.
"Can... I come in there?"
".... Ok"
I made my way out of the stall and checked that the coast was clear, I heard him unlock the door and open it. I stepped inside. He was a mess. He obviously wasn't actually going to the bathroom, he was just crying. Redness spread across his wide cheeks. Tears left streaks down either side. I came in there and put my hand on his shoulder.
"You need to tell someone about this. You can't let this go on, he's hurting you." I said
"I don't want people to think I'm... a homo!" he whispered the last part harshly, as if someone could here him in there.
"You're not! He's abusing you! He doesn't love you. He's taking advantage of you!"
"I know! ... But I just... He said I'd end up on the street if I told."
"That's a lie too!" I told him. He needed desperately to know that "Does your mom know?"
"She... I don't know" he sobbed. "She's never caught us".
"Him! Caught him. You did nothing wrong." I reminded him.
"I'm so afraid of him. All the times he's beat me up... and then later he comes in my room and...."
There was a long pregnant pause. He didn't have to say it. His step-dad had been 'making it up to him' by touching him and going down on him. He filmed him while he did it sometimes too. "It makes me feel... dirty when he does that." he had said.
"I'll go with you. You don't have to face this alone but you need to expose him. Only you can make this stop."
"I'm just... I'm... " I cut him off as he whimpered
"Scared? I know. But I'll be right here through the whole thing." I said as I squeezed his shoulder.
I stuck out my hand to lift him up off the seat.
He took a deep breath and for a moment he seemed like the weight of the world was on his shoulders, but he faintly smiled. He was getting his agency back.
"Ok... Let's go... who do we tell?"
"I think we should talk to the counselor."
&#x200B;
\--- 1 week later ---
&#x200B;
The last week had been the hardest I'd ever faced. He finally told someone everything. He told the counselor about all the abuse. He told him how his step-dad had been beating him and screaming at him and worst of all molesting him. I had called my parents and asked if he could stay with me and they said yes. It's hard loving someone who until that morning hated your guts and picked on you. But through it all, he came out stronger. He told me the last night before he went home to his mom with a restraining order against his step dad and divorce proceedings in the works that he was forever indebted to me and that if I ever needed anything, it would be his joy to repay me for helping him so much. From then on he never picked on me again. He even told off people who tried. He was a great friend throughout school. But we ended up going to different colleges. Oh sure, we kept in touch and sometimes ran into each other online. He became a Personal Trainer and life coach. "I want to help people, like you helped me" he said. I ended up in engineering school... what can I say? I'm a nerd.
&#x200B;
\--- 20 years later ---
&#x200B;
"Hey, Keith?" I said as he answered the phone.
"Justin! Man! It's been years. How've you been!?" he greeted cheerfully
"Ugh... I was afraid you would ask." I said dejectedly
"What's wrong?" he asked concerned.
"Well... Shit... I... " I couldn't spill it, the reality was hitting me like a ton of bricks. I started to sob.
"Hang on... where do you live, I'll be right over!" he said without hesitating.
I gave him my address, thankfully he hadn't moved far. A half an hour later he showed up at my door. I greeted him warmly but shakily.
"So what's bothering you man." His eyes were fixed to mine but my head just fell.
"My... " tears streamed down my face "My wife left me! She took the kids."
He put his arm around my shoulder. In all the time we knew each other, this was the first time he'd ever done that. He brought me to the couch and sat me down and let me cry for a little while. I couldn't hold it back any longer and the tears and sobs just flowed out of me.
"Hey, hey, It's gonna be ok. What happened?" he said lifting my face to look into his eyes.
&#x200B;
\----------------
&#x200B;
I know this isn't the end of the story, but it's all I got so far. What do you think so far? | Todd?
Yeah it's Jordan, remember me?
No, not your insurance agent. Jordan, from middle school. Remember the guy who lied for you in middle school when you spray painted all over the school, I stopped you from going to jail.....
.... yeah, so, remember you told me you would repay the favor one day, I just had to give you a call.
\[looks down at the giant bag of cash in the brown duffel bag\]
Do your parents still have that lake house out in the country that we used to camp out at? I need that favor... Meet me there tomorrow night, the same spot we camped out as kids..
I throw the duffel bag of cash into the trunk of my 2008 red Nissan Sentra that makes a terribly loud sound when it cranks up. \*damn, I need to get this thing fixed one day\* As I start to punch in the town of where I grew up into my gps app, it hits me.... Can I trust Todd? Is he going to ask too many questions? I mean, we've been facebook friends for years but we haven't really talked in forever. What do I tell him when he asks why I need to hide a duffel bag of cash on his parents property? One voice in my head says "tell him the truth", the other voice says "he'll never believe you, come up with a lie". I mean I live 800 miles away now, theres no way he's seen my local news or knows what happened.
\[pulls up twitter and begins searching to see if my story has made the news yet\]
Still hasn't hit the local media so surely it wont have hit the mainstream media in just a day. Ok come up with a lie. I know... I can tell him that I won a lottery scratch off ticket and I just... no, no, that isnt going to work.... Ok, I'll tell him its cash I've been saving for a couple years and I dont trust the banks and I just.... no, damnit! How do you lie to someone about a duffel bag full of cash you need to hide on their property? Alright forget it, I'll tell him the truth and I'll give him $10,000 to keep it a secret.
\[12 hours later, sitting under the tree at the lake house and Todd pulls up in a rusted old Ford Bronco\]
Todd: uhhh hey, man.. ummm, long time no see. whats up?
Me: yeah... tell me about it, how you been?
Todd: Good, I guess, just working... you?
Me: umm, yeah been doing great.. look I know this is kind of \[Todd interrupts me\]
Todd: I saw the news on facebook... I know what this about
Me: you did? oh shit....
Todd: yeah man, I don't know if I can help you... are they looking for you?
Me: Look, the cops aren't going to care about a couple of dead street level drug dealers... I have bigger problems than that..
Todd: Oh yeah, like what?
\[I pop open the trunk and pull the brown duffel bag out. Theres so much cash that it wont zip all the way\]
Me: Look I can pay you.. I just need to hide this for awhile and lay low...
Todd: WHOA DUDE WTF! Where did that come from?
Me: I'm going to tell you, but I need you to promise to keep this between us...
Todd: \[nods head\]
Me: It started out as a normal day, I was just going into the gas station to get a biscuit and coffee and when I came out, my car was stolen. I don't care about the car it's a piece of crap but my phone was in there. That's when it hit me to use the Find My iPhone feature. I tracked my phone to a real sketchy part of town and found my car. The problem was, well the problem was...... There were two dead guys in it. The only thing I knew to do was pull them out and jump in my car and drive off and maybe no one would be the wiser that I was even there. I had no idea that a kid was recording me on facebook live and now everyone thinks that I killed those guys. Anyway, when I looked in the backseat, this cash was here. So i was hoping, maybe we could hide it here and lay low for awhile and when it all blows over I'll just come back and get it..
Todd: but who's cash is it? Are they going to come looking for it?
Me: NAH, nah, nah man... It's all good. THEY'RE DEAD. You saw the video. I just need to stash this cash then get back into town and get all this worked out. When it's over I'll come back and get it. I can give you 10k for helping me
Todd: ummm, ok. I guess, I guess I do OWE you a favor, don't I.
Me: yeah, ha, I didn't know it would \[TIRES SQUEELCHING IN THE DISTANCE\]
Over the top of the hill two black SUVs are barreling down the country dirt road headed for the lake house. Todd looks over his shoulder then back at me with bewilderment in his eyes. My eyes are the size of saucers, my mind is racing. Is that? Could it? How did?
Me: OMG, I didn't even look in the bag to see if there was a tracking device or a phone in the car. Ummmm, Todd, do your parents still have that boat?? I need another favor..... | |
[WP] Back in middle school you helped the meanest, toughest kid in school out of a jam. He swore that he would repay the favor one day - just give him a call and he'd be there. Twenty years later you are in a much bigger jam and out of options. You pick up the phone. | "I don't know what to do about it." he sobbed from the adjacent stall.
This was it, I now knew something that could finally put this bully in his place. But this wasn't fair. None of this was his fault. It explained why he was such a mean kid. It explained why he worked out so much. What kind of adult, what kind of monster, could do that to anyone, even if it was the grade bully. No... I knew what the right thing to do was. And maybe getting him the help he desperately needed would change his life for the better. My conscience was screaming at me that the thing he needed desperately in this moment was a friend.
"Can... I come in there?"
".... Ok"
I made my way out of the stall and checked that the coast was clear, I heard him unlock the door and open it. I stepped inside. He was a mess. He obviously wasn't actually going to the bathroom, he was just crying. Redness spread across his wide cheeks. Tears left streaks down either side. I came in there and put my hand on his shoulder.
"You need to tell someone about this. You can't let this go on, he's hurting you." I said
"I don't want people to think I'm... a homo!" he whispered the last part harshly, as if someone could here him in there.
"You're not! He's abusing you! He doesn't love you. He's taking advantage of you!"
"I know! ... But I just... He said I'd end up on the street if I told."
"That's a lie too!" I told him. He needed desperately to know that "Does your mom know?"
"She... I don't know" he sobbed. "She's never caught us".
"Him! Caught him. You did nothing wrong." I reminded him.
"I'm so afraid of him. All the times he's beat me up... and then later he comes in my room and...."
There was a long pregnant pause. He didn't have to say it. His step-dad had been 'making it up to him' by touching him and going down on him. He filmed him while he did it sometimes too. "It makes me feel... dirty when he does that." he had said.
"I'll go with you. You don't have to face this alone but you need to expose him. Only you can make this stop."
"I'm just... I'm... " I cut him off as he whimpered
"Scared? I know. But I'll be right here through the whole thing." I said as I squeezed his shoulder.
I stuck out my hand to lift him up off the seat.
He took a deep breath and for a moment he seemed like the weight of the world was on his shoulders, but he faintly smiled. He was getting his agency back.
"Ok... Let's go... who do we tell?"
"I think we should talk to the counselor."
&#x200B;
\--- 1 week later ---
&#x200B;
The last week had been the hardest I'd ever faced. He finally told someone everything. He told the counselor about all the abuse. He told him how his step-dad had been beating him and screaming at him and worst of all molesting him. I had called my parents and asked if he could stay with me and they said yes. It's hard loving someone who until that morning hated your guts and picked on you. But through it all, he came out stronger. He told me the last night before he went home to his mom with a restraining order against his step dad and divorce proceedings in the works that he was forever indebted to me and that if I ever needed anything, it would be his joy to repay me for helping him so much. From then on he never picked on me again. He even told off people who tried. He was a great friend throughout school. But we ended up going to different colleges. Oh sure, we kept in touch and sometimes ran into each other online. He became a Personal Trainer and life coach. "I want to help people, like you helped me" he said. I ended up in engineering school... what can I say? I'm a nerd.
&#x200B;
\--- 20 years later ---
&#x200B;
"Hey, Keith?" I said as he answered the phone.
"Justin! Man! It's been years. How've you been!?" he greeted cheerfully
"Ugh... I was afraid you would ask." I said dejectedly
"What's wrong?" he asked concerned.
"Well... Shit... I... " I couldn't spill it, the reality was hitting me like a ton of bricks. I started to sob.
"Hang on... where do you live, I'll be right over!" he said without hesitating.
I gave him my address, thankfully he hadn't moved far. A half an hour later he showed up at my door. I greeted him warmly but shakily.
"So what's bothering you man." His eyes were fixed to mine but my head just fell.
"My... " tears streamed down my face "My wife left me! She took the kids."
He put his arm around my shoulder. In all the time we knew each other, this was the first time he'd ever done that. He brought me to the couch and sat me down and let me cry for a little while. I couldn't hold it back any longer and the tears and sobs just flowed out of me.
"Hey, hey, It's gonna be ok. What happened?" he said lifting my face to look into his eyes.
&#x200B;
\----------------
&#x200B;
I know this isn't the end of the story, but it's all I got so far. What do you think so far? | (On mobile sorry)
It was 2001, I was a total shit stain of a human being, fighting, selling drugs, fuck you name it and my dumbass was doing it.
The complete opposite of me was Beth, smart, funny, kind and great academically, we were polar opposites, She was the only one that treated me like a person and not a wild animal, she would greet me every morning and bid me farewell every day after school, despite everyone's warning to stay away from me.
I got in to a tight spot, like love changing I'm Soo fucked kind of tight spot, this chick from a different grade wanted to try some laced weed I was selling and hey money is money after all, little did I know this would be her first time smoking and this was for pretty advanced smokers.
We were behind the gym and about half way through the joint she passes out and starts having what looked like a seizure, foaming at the mouth and flopping around like a damn fish or of water, I start freaking out and trying to hold her down to keep her from hurting herself, yeah I know that doesn't exactly for my image here but, hey, I am human damnit, anyway, in the midst of this nightmare fuel of a smoke session Beth rounds the corner for God only knows what reason, her confused and concerned eyes lock with my terror and panic filled gaze.
Beth; Oh my God, is she ok?
Me! I. . . I don't know, we were smoking and this happened.
Beth; what was in the joint?
Those words threw me off, I was sure she didn't know anything about drugs, let alone slang terms.
Me; it was weed laced with Coke.
She helped me hold the poor girl down and upon getting a better look at the girls face.
Beth; it's not the weed, she's epileptic, she's just having a seizure.
Me; Oh thank God, wait you know her?
Continued in the comments. | |
[WP] Back in middle school you helped the meanest, toughest kid in school out of a jam. He swore that he would repay the favor one day - just give him a call and he'd be there. Twenty years later you are in a much bigger jam and out of options. You pick up the phone. | “One phone call” he said, as he threw the 2003 Motorola at my feet.
I was certain that the words I would speak into the phone would be some of my last, so I had to make it count. I thought about all the people I could phone, my parents, my wife or my kids. Deep down I knew that none of them would help.
Deep down I knew the time had come to call in one final favour. The big one, the only favour that had ever mattered in my entire life.
I knew the phone number, it had been etched into my brain ever since I saved him. Gustavo wasn’t necessarily the nicest guy and hell, I had only ever spoken to him a handful of times in my entire life, but ever since the day I saved him from the bullet wound back in ‘94 I knew I could always count on him. Even if the promise had been made 25 years ago by some drunk teenager lying in an alley.
I took the phone that lay by my feet and carefully punched in the numbers that I could only pray would save my life.
The phone rang.
Blood trickled from the gash in my forehead as I waited for Gustavo to answer.
Each second passed.
Closer and closer to my death.
All of a sudden I heard his low, raspy voice pick up.
“Hello? Who the fuck is this?”
“Gustavo, please listen to me...” I begged
“Hey dude I’m not playin’ no games I’m busy”
“Gustavo, listen.” I said sternly. The desperation in my voice had gone, replaced by determination. Determination to keep my heart beating. “My name is Adam Cordle, we went to high school together. Look there’s no time to explain but I know you remember me, you remember what I did to save you from that bullet wound all those years ago. I know you have the ability to track me and find me. I’m in trouble, I owe bad people a lot of money; its the fucken mafia man I don...”
“HAHAHAHAHA” he boomed down the phone. “Adam motherfucking Cordle, its been too long man. I’ve been waiting for this”, and with that, the phone disconnected. I phoned again. Four times, five times but he never picked up.
I didn’t know what to do. I panicked and felt the blood stream down my face mixed with tears and sweat. The phone died and I was left in the dark cell once more. I tried slowing my breath and coming to terms with my fate but my mind kept coming back to the torture of reality.
I didn’t know how long it was again until the doors opened and I saw the flourescent lights. An hour, 3 hours? Days? All I knew is that it was over
“Grab his legs, I’ll get the arms” said one of the shadows. I was too weak to resist, too tired to yell and too malnourished to think.
“Big boss is gonna fuck you hard man” I heard one of them say. “Ain’t nobody ever owed this much and lived to see their mamas no more” and with that they both cackled.
They dragged me into the light, it burnt my eyes. I couldn’t see shit and I knew that it was over. An overwhelming wave of despair came over me and I started drowning in it. Well, it was that or the blood that had started to fill my lungs.
“Where d’you want him Gus?” asked one of the shadows. I could feel his putrid breath on my skin, one of the last smells I would ever smell.
“Set him the fuck free you dipshits. That man don’t owe me shit no more” said Gus. In that moment the shadows dropped me to my knees.
“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding Gus, we tracked this fucker across the country so you could take back your money and now this? We’ve kept him in that shithole for months just waiting for you to arrive and now this? Man you got me fu...”
The shadowy figure was interrupted by a bullet to the jaw. I could hear the bone crack and splinter, plunging deep into his brain, knocking him cold to bleed to death.
Finally Gus stood. I couldn’t even make out his face but that low, raspy voice I would recognise anywhere.
“You’re one crazy motherfucker, Adam. I never thought we’d be in this position. Man how the fuck did you even remember my number?” laughed Gustavo, that same boom I remembered down the phone.
I managed to whisper a final word, the word that saved my life and saved his 25 years ago.
“Luck” | Well this is awkward but im happy your phone number hasn't changed. I hope you and your family are doing well as can be. Do you remember telling me I could call you if I ever needed anything? I was reluctant all these years to reach out but I am at my wits end with no one else to turn to and you came to mind. When I helped you out of that jam all those years ago it made me look at you differently as if you had a sweeter side to you. I got passed that hard exterior just to reveal you, like many of us, were soft in the middle. You just needed someone you open you up. Now Im asking you to help me out of an even bigger jam. The costco where they shipped me is so overcrowded can you ask your human to come pick me up? Man it fucking sucks being a blueberry! | |
[WP] Back in middle school you helped the meanest, toughest kid in school out of a jam. He swore that he would repay the favor one day - just give him a call and he'd be there. Twenty years later you are in a much bigger jam and out of options. You pick up the phone. | “Is this Jerry?” I asked, my heart still pounding from the chase.
“Yeah, who the hell is this?” Jerry said. He still sounded like the mean prick he was back at Haven High.
“This is Bill...” I said. Ugh, this is so stupid, he’s not going to remember me. Plus, there’s no way he’s going to keep some old promise he made to someone he hasn’t spoken to in 20 years.
“I’m prepared to fulfill my end of our deal, Bill. What is it you need?”
I couldn’t believe what I just heard. I almost laughed, honestly. Why did he say it so formally, and why did he say it like he’s been somehow been expecting this call all these years?
“Uh,” I stammered. “I didn’t actually expect you to remember me.”
“Look, Bill,” Jerry said sternly. “You didn’t call to catch up. You’re in a bind, I’m here to help. Just spit it out.”
Man, Jerry really never managed to stop being a dick... Though his rude demeanor did make me asking for this favor far more simple.
“Alright, I’ll cut to the chase. I got in over my head with Ricky Hanzo, and I’m sort of on the run.”
There was a long silence on the other end of the line. I wondered what could he be thinking, or better yet, what could I honestly expect my old high school bully to do about this.
“You really screwed the pooch,” Jerry said, no hint of humor in his voice. He let out a quick sigh. “I’ll handle it. Just stay by the phone.”
He’ll handle it? Stay by the phone?
“Jerry, c’mon man. I don’t even know why I’m calling you, but if you can’t help just say so and I’ll figure it out.” I said.
“You called me cause you’ve colossally fucked up, and you’re so desperate you called a twenty year old number on a pay phone hoping against all odds I’d pick up. Shut up, stop panicking, and stay by the phone.”
The line went dead.
I felt like, even with the past two days, this was the most surreal moment of all of it. I’ve walked into my apartment to find my fiancé with a bullet hole in her head, my parents’ house burned to the ground, and half of a town I’ve never been in looking for me; and yet it was this phone call with the all-to-sure voice of Jerry that seemed the most insane.
Truth be told I don’t know how Jerry even knows who Ricky Hanzo is, I mean yeah he’s a famous underground figure but how would Jerry know about him? And even if he did know of the name, what could he possibly be doing to help me in this situation?
I mean honestly, I need to get the hell out of here and waiting by a pay phone for some guy who can’t do a thing for me seems too insane even fo-
*ring*
*ring*
It couldn’t actually be Jerry, right?
*ring*
My hand reached for the phone shakily, and when I finally grasped the cold handle I slowly brought it to my ear. For a moment I expected to hear the Devil on the other end of the line.
“H-hello?”
“I don’t know how you know that man,” a strange but familiar voice spoke. “Guess it doesn’t matter, but I’ve called off your debt. Sorry for your fiancé, and I’ll be sending you reimbursement cash for the house I had burned down. Also, he wanted me to tell you, the twenty year old debt has been paid in full. Also, he wanted me to tell you the next time he see’s you, he’s going to show you his new Atomic Wedgie technique he’s been working on since Haven, whatever that means.”
*click*
What in the world just happened? As I recalled the phone conversation I just had, the voice became clear. That was Hanzo... And I think he just said I’m off the hook..?
That couldn’t be possible though, could it? I kept recalling the conversation over and over in my head as I held the handle of the payphone, the ominous dead tone playing in the background.
“CALAMITY WEDGIE!” A voice screamed from behind me before I felt my feet leave the ground.
The pain that followed as I felt my testicles smash against fabric while simultaneously my butthole being torn asunder by the very same fabric was nigh indescribable.
I looked around desperately through tear-filled eyes for my attacker. I couldn’t make out his blurry face.
“Dude, I’ve missed you,” Jerry’s voice said joyously. “So glad you called me, you little bitch. Let’s go grab a beer! We have so much to catch up on!” | Well this is awkward but im happy your phone number hasn't changed. I hope you and your family are doing well as can be. Do you remember telling me I could call you if I ever needed anything? I was reluctant all these years to reach out but I am at my wits end with no one else to turn to and you came to mind. When I helped you out of that jam all those years ago it made me look at you differently as if you had a sweeter side to you. I got passed that hard exterior just to reveal you, like many of us, were soft in the middle. You just needed someone you open you up. Now Im asking you to help me out of an even bigger jam. The costco where they shipped me is so overcrowded can you ask your human to come pick me up? Man it fucking sucks being a blueberry! | |
[WP] Back in middle school you helped the meanest, toughest kid in school out of a jam. He swore that he would repay the favor one day - just give him a call and he'd be there. Twenty years later you are in a much bigger jam and out of options. You pick up the phone. | “Is this Jerry?” I asked, my heart still pounding from the chase.
“Yeah, who the hell is this?” Jerry said. He still sounded like the mean prick he was back at Haven High.
“This is Bill...” I said. Ugh, this is so stupid, he’s not going to remember me. Plus, there’s no way he’s going to keep some old promise he made to someone he hasn’t spoken to in 20 years.
“I’m prepared to fulfill my end of our deal, Bill. What is it you need?”
I couldn’t believe what I just heard. I almost laughed, honestly. Why did he say it so formally, and why did he say it like he’s been somehow been expecting this call all these years?
“Uh,” I stammered. “I didn’t actually expect you to remember me.”
“Look, Bill,” Jerry said sternly. “You didn’t call to catch up. You’re in a bind, I’m here to help. Just spit it out.”
Man, Jerry really never managed to stop being a dick... Though his rude demeanor did make me asking for this favor far more simple.
“Alright, I’ll cut to the chase. I got in over my head with Ricky Hanzo, and I’m sort of on the run.”
There was a long silence on the other end of the line. I wondered what could he be thinking, or better yet, what could I honestly expect my old high school bully to do about this.
“You really screwed the pooch,” Jerry said, no hint of humor in his voice. He let out a quick sigh. “I’ll handle it. Just stay by the phone.”
He’ll handle it? Stay by the phone?
“Jerry, c’mon man. I don’t even know why I’m calling you, but if you can’t help just say so and I’ll figure it out.” I said.
“You called me cause you’ve colossally fucked up, and you’re so desperate you called a twenty year old number on a pay phone hoping against all odds I’d pick up. Shut up, stop panicking, and stay by the phone.”
The line went dead.
I felt like, even with the past two days, this was the most surreal moment of all of it. I’ve walked into my apartment to find my fiancé with a bullet hole in her head, my parents’ house burned to the ground, and half of a town I’ve never been in looking for me; and yet it was this phone call with the all-to-sure voice of Jerry that seemed the most insane.
Truth be told I don’t know how Jerry even knows who Ricky Hanzo is, I mean yeah he’s a famous underground figure but how would Jerry know about him? And even if he did know of the name, what could he possibly be doing to help me in this situation?
I mean honestly, I need to get the hell out of here and waiting by a pay phone for some guy who can’t do a thing for me seems too insane even fo-
*ring*
*ring*
It couldn’t actually be Jerry, right?
*ring*
My hand reached for the phone shakily, and when I finally grasped the cold handle I slowly brought it to my ear. For a moment I expected to hear the Devil on the other end of the line.
“H-hello?”
“I don’t know how you know that man,” a strange but familiar voice spoke. “Guess it doesn’t matter, but I’ve called off your debt. Sorry for your fiancé, and I’ll be sending you reimbursement cash for the house I had burned down. Also, he wanted me to tell you, the twenty year old debt has been paid in full. Also, he wanted me to tell you the next time he see’s you, he’s going to show you his new Atomic Wedgie technique he’s been working on since Haven, whatever that means.”
*click*
What in the world just happened? As I recalled the phone conversation I just had, the voice became clear. That was Hanzo... And I think he just said I’m off the hook..?
That couldn’t be possible though, could it? I kept recalling the conversation over and over in my head as I held the handle of the payphone, the ominous dead tone playing in the background.
“CALAMITY WEDGIE!” A voice screamed from behind me before I felt my feet leave the ground.
The pain that followed as I felt my testicles smash against fabric while simultaneously my butthole being torn asunder by the very same fabric was nigh indescribable.
I looked around desperately through tear-filled eyes for my attacker. I couldn’t make out his blurry face.
“Dude, I’ve missed you,” Jerry’s voice said joyously. “So glad you called me, you little bitch. Let’s go grab a beer! We have so much to catch up on!” | **She is dead, choked by my belt.**
Her body is limp, spread naked across the backseat of my car. Her eyes are blue, big and stare at the telephone pole across the road. Fuck,the garage door! I push the button and there is a familiar sound of closing door. It’s darker now. Just breath, Mark, it’s going to be okay. No one can see her now. Except, there is that ray of light, passing through the crack on the garage side window where the dark and dusty curtains meet. God damn. Light falls on her belly, her six pack abs. She was a runner, that’s how we met. Strong legs, toned body, smooth and flawless skin. Hot as fuck. Not anymore. Soon, she’ll be stiff and cold, I think. I’ve never seen a dead body before. I’ve never killed anyone before. It was an accident.
She wanted it. Just sex was not enough. She wanted me to choke her, first with my hands, than with the belt. She screamed ‘Tighter! Do it, bitch! You’re not a man. You can’t even choke properly. Assho-”, and then rasped, gagged, gurgled. She didn’t finish her sentence. It’s not my fault, but who’s going to believe that? Not the PoPos, or the judge or jury. Or her family, if she has any. Fuck, was she married? No wedding band. At least that. Damn, her eyes, so pretty. No pulse, not breath. She is dead, not coming back, and I'm in my garage, shaking like a twig and hyperventilating. I wish she’d just get up and leave, like a zombie or something. Fuck, no, I don’t. Zombie? What’s wrong with me? Brain does funny things when frightened. I wish I could call someone. Can’t call my parents, they’d freak out. Coworkers? I don’t think so, they all hate me. I need someone who can fix this. Someone like Mr. Wolf, from Pulp Fiction. He's a bad motherfucker. But I don’t know Mr. Wolf. He is fake, a movie character. People like him don’t exist. Except…
Phone! Where is my fucking phone? I need my fucking phone! Good, there. Fat fingers, scroll down, quickly, to S. Smith, Andy Smith. I remember him from school, he owes me big time! It’s been a long time since we talked, I know, but he’s the type who can help. Shady as fuck, was back then, still is. A criminal by now. A mean motherfucker, for sure, like Mr. Wolf. I read about him in the newspaper, he’s a mobster. He owes me, big time.
Oh, my God, I'm in a car with a dead masochistic bitch and I’m calling Andy the mobster. What was her name? Cindy, Carrol? Something with C, for sure. Karen maybe. Can this day get any worse?
“You’ve reached Fast Care Car Insurance,” the voice on the other side says, “How can I help you?”
“I what?” What the fuck? Wrong number?
“Andy? Andy Smith?” I say.
The voice confirms it. It’s really him. What’s going on? Is this part of his plea deal, to answer phone calls?
“It’s Mark Dandy, we went to school together. You remember?”
“Mark! Of course I remember you! You helped me about that thing-”
He remembers! Yes! “Yeah. About that, I need your help now. I-”
“I’m so glad you called me! What car do you drive?”
“Uhm.. 2013 Toyota Corolla. Wh-”
“Congratulations Mark! You qualify for our once in a lifetime limited special offer. For only $89.99 a month, we can offer you our premium quality car insurance-”.
“No, no no… I don’t need that-”. A $90 per month? Ripoff!
“Mark, are you sure? It’s a good deal”.
It’s not. And I’m sure. “Yes. I am sure. Andy, I need your help-”.
“Great, Mark, because for only $79.99 a month, I can offer you our silver level car ins-”.
“No, Andy, I don’t need a car insurance-”.
“Oh. How about premium comprehensive insurance? This coverage is great for all those unpredictable times when disaster strikes on the road or in your driveway! Except collision, that’s different. It pays for repairs and replacements after your car has been damaged by thugs, vandals or natural disasters, or even by a fallen tree! And the price is -”
“Andy! I don’t need that! I need-”
“Don’t worry, I got you, Mark! ERS, that’s what you need!”
“What’s ERS?” I’m sure I don’t need it.
“Oh, I’m glad you asked, Mark. ERS stands for the ‘Emergency roadside service coverage’, and it’s the newest in our comprehensive car insurance offering. We just introduced it in November 2018. Imagine, you’re in a car crash, or just have a flat tire which you can’t fix, or your engine is busted. Do you know how expensive towing service is? Or calling a licenced and certified technician to change you tire? Let me tell you. It’s expensive, and slow! With ERS, you just call our toll-free 24/7 phone number and we’ll take care of you. It even works with our iPhone app. You have an iPhone, right? If not, we partner with Apple and I can get you iPhone 10 for really cheap. Trust me, it’s great, ERS is great! And it’s only $42.99 a mo-”.
That’s expensive! He’s trying to rip me off, again. Fuck you, Andy, I thought we were friends. “No, Andy. Listen. I don’t need expensive ERS-”.
“Wow, Mark! You are a tough cookie. It’s not expensive, but how about I give you a 20% off if we bundle ERS with collision and Rental car coverage? You travel, right?”
I sigh.
“I knew you do. Conferences, meetings, vacations, you know it all. So, for only $134.99 a month-”.
“ANDY! I DON’T NEED A FUCKING CAR INSURANCE! THERE IS A DEAD BODY IN MY CAR. CAN YOU HELP ME WITH THAT?”
“Oh, wow!” he says and then goes silent.
Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck! I’m dead. He’s calling the police now and in a few minutes they’ll be here, storming the house, handcuffing me and by the time my trial is over, I’ll already have a boyfriend I never wanted and my butt will hurt a lot.
“Mark, are you there?” Andy says finally. “Did you say that you have a dead body in your car?” He sounds shocked. Game over, I’m fucked.
I sigh. It’s over. “Yes, a female, in her late twenties I think. I just met her. It was an accident, but no one will believe me.”
“I see…” he says. “Give me a moment.”
I bet he’s relaying what I just said to the police right now. What was I thinking? Why did I call him? I should have just called 911 myself. Why do I do stupid shit like this?
“Mark,” he says.
“Yes?”
“Congratulations! You qualify for our premium Personal injury protection + coverage! It covers you and anyone in the car, even if it was your fault!”
My shoulders sink. “Sure, Andy. How much?” | |
[WP] Back in middle school you helped the meanest, toughest kid in school out of a jam. He swore that he would repay the favor one day - just give him a call and he'd be there. Twenty years later you are in a much bigger jam and out of options. You pick up the phone. | “Is this Jerry?” I asked, my heart still pounding from the chase.
“Yeah, who the hell is this?” Jerry said. He still sounded like the mean prick he was back at Haven High.
“This is Bill...” I said. Ugh, this is so stupid, he’s not going to remember me. Plus, there’s no way he’s going to keep some old promise he made to someone he hasn’t spoken to in 20 years.
“I’m prepared to fulfill my end of our deal, Bill. What is it you need?”
I couldn’t believe what I just heard. I almost laughed, honestly. Why did he say it so formally, and why did he say it like he’s been somehow been expecting this call all these years?
“Uh,” I stammered. “I didn’t actually expect you to remember me.”
“Look, Bill,” Jerry said sternly. “You didn’t call to catch up. You’re in a bind, I’m here to help. Just spit it out.”
Man, Jerry really never managed to stop being a dick... Though his rude demeanor did make me asking for this favor far more simple.
“Alright, I’ll cut to the chase. I got in over my head with Ricky Hanzo, and I’m sort of on the run.”
There was a long silence on the other end of the line. I wondered what could he be thinking, or better yet, what could I honestly expect my old high school bully to do about this.
“You really screwed the pooch,” Jerry said, no hint of humor in his voice. He let out a quick sigh. “I’ll handle it. Just stay by the phone.”
He’ll handle it? Stay by the phone?
“Jerry, c’mon man. I don’t even know why I’m calling you, but if you can’t help just say so and I’ll figure it out.” I said.
“You called me cause you’ve colossally fucked up, and you’re so desperate you called a twenty year old number on a pay phone hoping against all odds I’d pick up. Shut up, stop panicking, and stay by the phone.”
The line went dead.
I felt like, even with the past two days, this was the most surreal moment of all of it. I’ve walked into my apartment to find my fiancé with a bullet hole in her head, my parents’ house burned to the ground, and half of a town I’ve never been in looking for me; and yet it was this phone call with the all-to-sure voice of Jerry that seemed the most insane.
Truth be told I don’t know how Jerry even knows who Ricky Hanzo is, I mean yeah he’s a famous underground figure but how would Jerry know about him? And even if he did know of the name, what could he possibly be doing to help me in this situation?
I mean honestly, I need to get the hell out of here and waiting by a pay phone for some guy who can’t do a thing for me seems too insane even fo-
*ring*
*ring*
It couldn’t actually be Jerry, right?
*ring*
My hand reached for the phone shakily, and when I finally grasped the cold handle I slowly brought it to my ear. For a moment I expected to hear the Devil on the other end of the line.
“H-hello?”
“I don’t know how you know that man,” a strange but familiar voice spoke. “Guess it doesn’t matter, but I’ve called off your debt. Sorry for your fiancé, and I’ll be sending you reimbursement cash for the house I had burned down. Also, he wanted me to tell you, the twenty year old debt has been paid in full. Also, he wanted me to tell you the next time he see’s you, he’s going to show you his new Atomic Wedgie technique he’s been working on since Haven, whatever that means.”
*click*
What in the world just happened? As I recalled the phone conversation I just had, the voice became clear. That was Hanzo... And I think he just said I’m off the hook..?
That couldn’t be possible though, could it? I kept recalling the conversation over and over in my head as I held the handle of the payphone, the ominous dead tone playing in the background.
“CALAMITY WEDGIE!” A voice screamed from behind me before I felt my feet leave the ground.
The pain that followed as I felt my testicles smash against fabric while simultaneously my butthole being torn asunder by the very same fabric was nigh indescribable.
I looked around desperately through tear-filled eyes for my attacker. I couldn’t make out his blurry face.
“Dude, I’ve missed you,” Jerry’s voice said joyously. “So glad you called me, you little bitch. Let’s go grab a beer! We have so much to catch up on!” | I stood over the body and watched the blood spill out over the badly-patched linoleum, forming little torn-plastic tidepools of congealing red and sparking green.
*Nanobots are malfunctioning as part of a secondary cascade following the main hack,* I thought, the nanodoc part of my brain rambling gamely on while the rest of my consciousness contemplated the taking of a human life from a wholly uncomfortable distance of right-here-right-after. My fingers did a subtle little dance around the hand-cannon grip, trying to find a comfortable way to hold the heavy instrument of death that wouldn't remind me too much of the tight way my hand had curled round it while I pulled the trigger.
*Bang.*
Only that word was wholly insufficient for the real sound. I know that sounds dramatic, but it's true. I have dampers built-in to my ears, but the huge staccato roar of the weapon still made me flinch, open my mouth wide to mitigate the damage to the delicate organic inner parts I no longer possessed. Holy Christ it was loud.
*I'm in some real trouble here, I may be beyond just trouble.*
He hadn't given me any choice. He hadn't told me about the additional adrenal synthesis lining, probably because he knew I wouldn't have operated, if he had. If he had told me. If I had known and not taken his money and gone through with it and the spike hadn't happened, breaking his restraints one by one and lunging, had to do it before he broke the last one, didn't have any choice.
I felt the run of my thoughts start to become something like a stampede, heavy and driving in a hundred directions, and I clamped down as best I could.
*Stop it stop it stop it just* think. Damn you, think.
Okay. Okay. I could check his phone while his body was still cooling and the biometrics might match up. The temperature difference would be...no, no, I'd have to re-hack his blood-bots, get the temperature enough, there was probably just enough juice left...
I scrambled, grateful to have a task to hang on to, focus on, something that pointed toward hope instead of death everywhere coming who-knows-when but still certain. Hand-cannon back down on the table, still within reach. Re-interface with the chair. This can be done, this is a thing you know how to do.
*There. Got it.*
I let his eyelid droop and his hand drop away from the device, though I kept it close to the magnetic field I was forcing his corpse to continue generating.
*Nothing on his schedule. How reliant was he on that, though, really? No missed calls or messages. Scroll, scroll...okay. God, I may be...he told them he was going to take some time to rest afterward. I may have time.*
There were people I could call, people who had a vested interest in keeping my little clinic operational, but they were all part of the same world as the corpse now propped up in my operating chair. I couldn't have them know, that kind of knowledge had value and nothing of value went untraded, now in these circles.
*Henry Jameson.*
No, no, man, no. We were kids back then. Way he was, I kind of doubted he even remembered.
Only that was a lie. We hadn't been friends, but that debt had hung in the air every time we'd run into each other, until I went to medical school and he went to do whatever he was doing now and financial markets went batshit and the Insurance Wars and all the rest and here I was, trying to scrape by in an underworld clinic with a mountain of debt and a hand-cannon on the table.
*He still remembers. Of course he does.*
We'd been standing over a body then too, only this one was still alive, just laughing and slurring words. He'd looked at me, pleading. I hadn't seen that look in his eyes before. I'd seen rage and aggression, mostly toward other kids though never me, and I'd seen defiance, generally toward teachers or, on one memorable occasion, the school rent-a-cop. But this, well, maybe his father saw it sometimes, though I hadn't known about that until he'd spoken.
"Come on, Kerry," he said. "Come on, girl, please. I don't know why he decided to wander into the girl's bathroom, but you gotta help me. If they catch this...my father...look, I don't like talking about him, but he'll..." his voice dropped a level, but it rose too, no longer the proto-adult dropping fast and hard into a baritone, but regressing to the high piping of a frightened little boy half-fallen onto a kitchen floor. "He'll fucking kill me, I know he will."
I took a deep breath, looking around. No one. It was the middle of class. God only knew how much time there'd be before someone else came through the door with a hall pass. "What did you give him, James?" I asked. My own voice sounded surprisingly gentle to me. I thought there'd be more anger, more outrage at being dragged into his bullshit, but no. I guess I could still hear that terrified little boy, see him even, sprawled there. Like that time with my cousin, before his parents had split.
"Just the regular stuff!" he said, and there really was no room for lies with, in with all the terror. "He took a triple dose, the stupid asshole! It's just fucking Neo-Jane, pot with a little gene-kick, you know. He's not in any danger, it's not hurting him, he's just...fucking out of it in the girl's bathroom, and on this kind of high he'll tell anyone anything. Like who gave it to him."
I had already decided, even though I don't remember doing it.
"Grab his arms, that's the heavier half of him," I said. I reached down and grabbed the rangy boy's ankles. He laughed and made a few weak attempts to kick out at me.
"Knock it off," I hissed. "We're gonna get you somewhere safe."
We barely made it around the corner of the hallway when I heard someone headed toward the bathroom door. I didn't dare look.
<continued below> | |
[WP] Right after dropping off your son at pre-school you remember one small, problematic detail, you don't have any children | After running my fingers through Sam’s soft, brown curls one last time, I dash out the door. I hear him wail, “Mama! Mama!” but I know I have to be resolute. *Just the usual first-day jitters*, I think to myself. I can’t help but smile thinking about how lucky we are that a spot opened up for Sam at the Sacred Heart Pre-School. We had been on the waiting list for so long.
As I walk up to my car, I notice a dent in the back fender. I shake my head and scowl. No one even left a note. But as I buckle my seatbelt, my heart starts to race. *Sam is dead*, I think. I shake off that monstrous idea. *That’s ridiculous. You just saw him two minutes ago.* *You’re just nervous about leaving him someplace new.*
As I drive to work, my head begins to hurt. I didn’t sleep well last night. Sam was up crying several times. Must have been nightmares. I pull into the parking lot at my office and rest my head on the steering wheel for a few minutes before going in.
When I finally sit down at my computer, I get stuck at the login screen. For some reason, it doesn’t recognize my password. I try several combinations of Sam’s name and birthday before it locks me out. I have to call the IT guy to reset the password.
I get started going through my emails. I see one from Sacred Heart welcoming Sam to the program. I smile again, but then the thought returns: *Sam is dead.* I feel myself starting to hyperventilate. I can hardly catch my breath and I feel tears begin streaming down my cheeks. *Get ahold of yourself*, I scream inside my head. Thankfully my office door is closed, so no one sees me panicking.
I decide I must be getting sick, and I go home before lunch. I wander into Sam’s room and smooth out the rumpled sheets on his toddler bed. I wonder if it might be time to move him to a big boy bed. I take his favorite bear with me back to my bedroom and lay down for a nap.
There is a pounding at the front door. I don’t know how long I have been asleep. I feel disoriented as I get up. When I open the door, I see two police officers. *Sam.* *Something must have happened to Sam,* I think numbly.
“Olivia Schroeder?” one asks.
I am frozen. I stare dumbly at them and I cannot make my lips move.
“Olivia Schroeder?” he demands again. I see him begin to reach for his gun. Why? My heart is pounding so loudly I feel like my ears are going to explode.
“Yes,” I squeak out. They pounce and have me turned around and in handcuffs before I know what has happened. “What is going on?” I demand, my confusion now turning to anger. “What are you doing?"
“You are under arrest,” the officer answers. I feel the room begin to spin. What is he talking about? Everything goes dark.
I wake up in a holding cell. When I come to, I demand to see a lawyer. The officers take me to an interrogation room. I don’t have to wait long before the door opens. Two men walk in and introduce themselves as detectives.
“Where is Sam?” I demand, before they can get another word in. They give each other a long look.
“Your son Sam died two years ago,” the one on the right replies.
“That’s a lie!” I scream. “I took him to pre-school this morning!”
“That was a boy you snatched from the park last night,” the one on the left responds.
I look back and forth between them. I know they are lying. But I try to remember last night, and I can’t. I remember Sam crying. He cried so much last night. But why? Where were we before then? I start to panic again. I know there has been some mistake.
“Where is Sam?” I demand again. “I am not talking to you for one single second more until I can see him.”
The detectives look at each other again. They get up and leave. I am alone. There is no clock. I remember the feeling of Sam’s curls between my fingers this morning. I hang on to that. *Sam is alive*, I repeat to myself.
The door opens again. This time my mom walks in. I run to her and she wraps me in her arms. I am crying uncontrollably. I do this until my whole body is spent.
“Where is Sam?” I whisper. My mom sits me back down in my chair. She sits down across from me.
“Oh Liv, do you really not remember? I feel my heart jump into my throat. *Not her too.*
She pulls out her phone and shows me a picture. It is a car that has been totaled. My car. But not the car I have now. One I had before. *Before*. The word tugs at me. Before what?
“What is this?” I whisper.
“You and Sam were driving to the grocery store. A drunk driver hit you. Sam didn’t make it,” she whispers back. She cannot even look at me. She just looks down at her hands.
“But I saw him this morning, mom!”
“You never took Sam off the waiting list at Sacred Heart,” my mom continued. When you got his acceptance email last week, you were so sad. You couldn’t get out of bed for two days. Then yesterday morning you got rear-ended. I asked you if you were okay, and you said you were fine…. But maybe you weren’t.” She finally looks up at me, looks into my eyes.
“That boy you took to school today, his name is Daniel. He finally got the teachers to call the police.”
I look down at the photograph on her phone again. The car is so crumpled it is barely recognizable. I lay my head down on the table, and weep. | "Bye, mommy!" Jack waved from the curb as the woman drove away in a candy-red two-seat Porsche. She sighed with relief when she pulled out of the drop-off.
"*That was close*," Elsa thought when she stopped at the light. "*Jack was almost late for school,"* she looked down at her clothes; she was wearing her work-out gear, then she glanced at the clock. "7:30?!" SHIT!" she cursed when she realized she wouldn't have time to change for work. A loud honk behind her alerted her to the light change and she quickly hit the gas. She noticed the time on the bank clock as she drove by; "Wednesday, July 10. 7:31 a.m."
"What the hell?" she said aloud. She made a quick decision and turned into the parking lot. Elsa parked and pulled out her phone. It had the same date and time. "I'm off today...," she tried to sigh with relief, but somehow that realization only confused her more. Her mind felt foggy and she tried to reason it out.
"I'm off all week," she clarified for herself and looked down at her clothes. "That's why I took Jack to school...," she said. "I don't get the chance often...," Elsa closed her eyes. "...because...," the obvious thought crystallized in her mind. "*YOU DON'T HAVE A SON!"* Her eyes shot open. "What the hell...?" she whispered.
"I have to find out," she decided. She drove back to the school, parked by the playground and waited. Elsa spotted Jack at lunchtime. He seemed like a normal, happy child. He was surrounded by smiling friends.
Elsa didn't know what she expected, but she felt relieved when 3 o'clock rolled around without anything exciting happening. She spotted Jack come out of the school; his head swiveled this way and that like all the other kids looking for their rides. Elsa watched him until his gazed settled on someone. She followed his stare and saw an older woman with grey hair walking by the school. She carried a white plastic bag from the nearby convenience store and looked to be on her way home.
Jack ran up to the woman; Elsa watched from her car. The boy stopped in front of the woman and looked up at her. For the first minute the woman shook her head and looked confused, then she opened her arms wide and bent down to hug Jack. An image flashed in Elsa's mind; she saw herself hugging him the exact same way this morning. No matter how hard she tried Elsa could not remember anything before that. Her first memory of the day was standing up from hugging Jack in the gym parking lot. Getting him to school seemed so natural from that point. The woman and Jack walked away hand in hand. Elsa started to follow them but her stomach growled. She had been guarding the school all day without giving food a single thought. She decided Jack's mystery could wait until the next day; weird happenings aside, he seemed like a normal kid.
The next day Elsa showed up at the gym earlier than usual. She parked at the grocery store next door and watched the parking lot. After about 20 minutes she spotted Jack loitering by the door. A teenage girl walked up to the gym but Jack stepped in front of her. After a moment she knelt and hugged him; then, led him back to her car. Elsa followed them to school and watched Jack get out of the car.
"Bye, mommy!" Jack yelled as the girl drove away. Then the boy turned around and ran into the school.
"Well, I know I don't have to sit here all day," Elsa said to herself. After the uneventful day before she felt comfortable leaving the school; she got the impression this has been going on since before her. Jack seemed to like school. She went back to the gym to do the workout she wasn't sure she did yesterday.
At 3 o'clock Elsa was standing at the school. She wanted to know what was going on and decided to ask him directly. Jack exited the school and began searching for his newest mommy. Elsa took a deep breath to help her relax, then she called out to him.
"Ready to go home, honey?" she asked aloud. Jack whirled his head around to see Elsa and his eyes grew wide. He quickly looked to his left and right to see if she could be talking to anyone else. Elsa walked to him. "C'mon, Jack, I'm hungry," she said as she placed a hand on his shoulder. It was true. She skipped lunch because she planned to treat him to a meal. She tried to pull him along with her but he didn't budge.
"Who are you?" he asked. Elsa glanced around but no one was nearby.
"*I guess we're doing this here,*" she thought. "I'm not your mother," she said plainly. "But yesterday I thought I was. Why?" she asked, then repeated his question to him. "Who are *YOU*?" He looked like he was about to bolt; his eyes darted around trying to find the most optimal path away from her. "I don't mean any harm," Elsa said and took a deliberate step back. "I just want to know what's going on. Are you okay?" She asked. She hadn't realized how concerned she was for him. It seemed to surprise him too; he looked up at her.
"Why? What do you care? You're not my mom." Elsa shook her head.
"No, I'm not. But it doesn't mean I can't care about you just the same."
"How do you remember me? They all forget me...," he broke eye contact and looked down at the ground. "My real mom forgot me..."
\*\*\*
Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is year two, story #191. You can find all my stories collected on my subreddit ([r/hugoverse](https://www.reddit.com/r/hugoverse)) or my [blog](https://hugoverse.info/). If you're curious about my universe (the Hugoverse) you can visit the [Guidebook](https://hugoverse.info/2017/11/25/hugoverse-guidebook/) to see what's what and who's who, or the [Timeline](https://hugoverse.info/2017/10/23/hugoverse-timeline/) to find the stories in order.
\*\*\*
[Satchat Summer challenge](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/c3rkez/ot_satchat_summer_challenge_pick_a_challenge_tier/)
* Story 18
* The NaNoWriMo - word count 966 / 13790 (this story/ total)
* Placesetting - Hugoverse | |
[WP] "I'm here for your first born, to settle our deal." Dread fills you as the witch speaks, but then she holds up a goody-bag. "I've got some things for him. I only have an hour today, but I'll be back to spend more time with him next week. What's a good time for you?" | It's been years since the witch, Mally, started visiting our daughter, Laura. Every week like clockwork she would show up with a toy or some sweets and play or talk with her. My wife, Karol, and I soon became used to this and even looked forward to the visits. Mally was very pleasant company.
But about when Laura was eight, my wife and I noticed something strange about her. Things would fly off the shelves unexpectedly, electronics would randomly turn off and on. While we suspected Laura as the cause, we knew she wasn't doing it on purpose. She was as frightened as we were.
Karol worked up the courage to confront Mally first.
"Look, Mally," began Karol, "Nick and I are really grateful for what you've done those years ago, we really enjoy your company, and the payment has been more than fair..."
Mally narrowed her red eyes. "But...?"
I interjected. "Have you been teaching Laura how to be a witch?"
Mally stared at us and then gave a chuckle. "No, no. Well, not yet. She is much too young to make such a big decision." She sobered immediately. "Why do you ask. After all these years, do you still think I mean you or her harm?"
Karol cleared her throat. "Well, these things happen around her..."
Mally's eyes sharpened and I was certain they glowed.
"What things?" she demanded. We explained. The more we said the more agitated Mally became.
"She's young, much too young," she muttered. Then sighed. "Do you know why we witches and warlocks demand first-borns and payments?" We shook our heads. "It's a way to perpetuate the craft. Never mind these young people running about in woods in 'covens'. We take apprentices, like any respectable magic users."
Mally leaned forward. "I divined through you two that your child would have the potential. So I asked for your first-born, to be given the opportunity to observe her to see if she was able to weave spells. When they are old enough, we invite them to learn the craft themselves. Most don't." Mally sighed heavily. "Apparently Laura has developed a little early."
Karol looked scared. "What is happening? Are you going to take away my daughter?"
"What? No! Taking a child away from her mother? Abhorrent!" Mally huffed in indignation and stood up. "With your permission, I would like to move in."
Karol and I looked at each other. "To what end?" I asked.
"To be able to teach Laura how to control her powers and to keep a constant eye on her. Wouldn't be hard to explain to the neighbors that Laura's Nana Mally is a home care elder or even a live-in nanny. How convenient!"
How convenient indeed.
So Karol and I agreed. Within a month the strange occurrences ended. Laura was happy to spend time with Nana Mally, Karol enjoyed cooking and gardening with her, and I loved the conversations I had with the wise Mally.
But no one seemed happier than Mally herself. | "Mom says you're a bad influence." My voice rose and fell in the middle of the sentence as my Aunt Myrtle jerked her old Lincoln through the pot hole in the road. At the motion, we both popped up off of the cracked leather seat and then came quickly back down, a hazard of having no seatbelts.
"A bad influence is what they call you when you have the spark" she huffed, swatting at her white tufts of hair whipping in the breeze of the open window.
I considered this for a moment in the light of my recent school suspension, "Do I have the spark then, Aunt Myrtle?"
In answer, she whipped the car quickly to the left, popping a tire over the curb as we careened into the Win-Dixie parking lot. Shoppers scattered out of the way as I instinctively braced myself against the dash. "Of course you do." She pronounced this as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, resolutely popping the gear into park. | |
[WP] Every year your village randomly chooses one person for a ritualistic sacrifice. This year you have been chosen. Little do the people of the village know, you are actually the immortal being they have been sacrificing to. | I wake up one day and realize, danm it, today’s the sacrifice. I sigh and close my eyes until I hear the steady beat of drums, the signal to a meeting. At the meeting, a small carved box sits atop an altar. “Today is the day,” the chief cries. “That we give our offering to the mighty god Razero, to keep us safe!” I rolled my eyes as I usually do at this time of year. Besides the chief, is the Elder Council. Glancing around, I see people praying to Razero that they not be chosen.
Frowning, I turn back to the Chief who was now rummaging through the box. His hand slips out of the box, holding a scrap of paper. I could feel everyone around me tense. The chief opens it, and reads it. He whispers to the guards besides him. Suddenly, There was two guards on top of me. Fazed, I lash out and kick a guy in the face. Another guard holds down on my legs. “*TERLACH*!” I cried. I immediately shut my mouth, mad at myself that I had let those word slip. Out of the corner of my eye I can see the chief announcing to the people that the sacrifice will be held tomorrow At midday. I was escorted to the chief’s house and guards were posted basically everywhere since the attempted escape. I sat a lot, contemplating what to do. I could break out very easily, but that wouldn’t stop this needless bloodshed. “I’ll wait.”
It was midday and the people gathered around the altar, with me in the middle, chained to it with shackles no human could break. But I was no human. The chief shouted in the air, twisted dagger raised, “ Hear me Razero, for we seek your protection!” He brings down the dagger and it enters my gut. It stung a little. Nothing more. And to the chief’s major surprise, I said “I hear you.” The chief stumbles back and sees now, that the blood that trickled down the altar was not red, but golden. Not blood, but Ichor, the blood of gods. I smile and my body begins to transform. The shackles snap like twinges and the altar crushed. Scales take over my body and wings sprout from my shoulder. Now looming over the entire village was a dragon. Moments before was a skinny little boy known only to them as “R” now stood their god, the shapeshifter Razero. “My blood is the last to be spilled in my name!” I roared down. “There is no need to send sacrifice, for I will protect this village against cold, heat, and weapon without offerings!” And with that, I spread my wings and beat them. Once. Twice. Then I was gone, leaving behind a shocked village who began tearing down every altar in the village.
This is my very first story here! Critique welcomed. Also keep in mind that this was done at 3 am in the morning | Oh thank... well, not God, that's me. But finally the plan is coming to fruition. Took long enough. I am *so* sick of village life. All that snide gossip and petty little conflicts and boring, provincial celebrations. It's been a long slough through! But we all have to start somewhere and now I'm on to bigger things.
Being sacrificed to yourself is the shortcut to greatness. At least I think it is. There's really no god manual - not that attempts haven't been made, but those were written by humans who, pr definition, don't know what they're raving about - so I'm going off empirical evidence: Odin hung nine days on the great ash Yggdrasil sacrificed onto himself, and while I know he's not that much in vogue these days, he had a good, long run. Lord of Asgaard and all.
And Jesus, well Jesus he's still the shit, isn't he? I know, I know "died for our sins" yadda yadda, but it was God's plan all along, wasn't it? Jesus was both God's son *and* God (somehow) - he was definitely a god sacrificed to himself.
And now it's my turn. They're sharpening the knives, and I am so excited! | |
[WP] While finalizing the U.S. census reports, you see the final population add up to around 2 billion, when the last known count was 330 million. You bring this to your superiors for reevaluation. They look at each other nervously and ask you to close the door behind you. | Under the artificial glow of the strip lighting, David was more pale than usual. Everything about him was otherwise typical; grey polyester suit, grey tie with pink stripe, comb-over hair, and his front teeth, reconstructed after an accident with a lawn mower. His smile was as genuine as a car salesman and only worn for special occasions. When he spoke everyone listened, but not necessarily out of respect.
"Tom," my superior started, "please have a seat."
As I took the seat, I studied the office. Grey, one floor-to-ceiling window at the back, facing the main road which hugged the river. Grey desk, computer on top, notebook lying open; a stack of papers sitting under a grey paperweight. *Had everything always been this grey?*
"Tom," David continued, my attention returning to him. "I know that you have tried hard to succeed at your job. Nonetheless, for some months now, your overall performance has not been satisfactory. There are too many instances of errors in your reports, and your attempts to carefully check over that work have slowed down the pace of your work considerably. We cannot retain you in this position and, unfortunately, we must let you go."
My brain stuttered for a moment ,and my eyes seemed to take in more light than normal, every part of me paused while my thoughts tried to catch up. "You mean, I’m fired?"
"Yes, we are going to have to let you go." David responded, as if almost ready a script. "I am very sorry that this did not work out."
"Look, David, I know I can do the job. Give me another chance. I really like working here."
"Tom, we have given you at least two written warnings and several verbal warn -"
"- But you've said the quality of my work is improving!" I cut in. I wanted to cry as rage filled my belly. I felt my ears getting hot. I glared at him as several seconds of silence passed between us.
"I did, and although the number of errors has decreased, the quality of your work is still not satisfactory. *And,* in working to decrease the amount of errors, your work pace has become even slower than before. Look, David, I know you have tried..." he paused, as if for effect, "but it’s just not working out."
"I don’t think this is fair. I think I should get another chance."
"Tom, I sympathize with your feelings, but you just told me the population of the United States is 2 billion individuals." | The first room is an antechamber. A door leads to a door. It is opened by my host.
A dapper older fellow, looking to be from Mid European aristocracy.
"They are the phased."
He closes the second door behind us.
"There are 351 million Americans this year.
There are 351 million Protheans this year.
There are 351 million Shanree.
351 million Ahvenn.
351 million Torguds.
351 million Losallo.
351 million Ashniir. "
The whatnow? Did he say Cashmere? Whats a Prothea?
Humans seem to believe their days are linear - one beginning immediately after the other ends.
They are unaware of the Septagon, and The great rotation. | |
[WP] The Hero and Villain are both sidelined with the flu. They send their sidekick/henchman to do battle in their stead, but the two underlings turn out to have a lot in common. |
Things needed to be done. There were villages in dire need of razing, people who needed subjugating, and a general amount of killing to be done.
But I couldn’t seem to get away from my puke bucket long enough to go about general evil-doing. Whoever gave me this vile illness would get their just desserts; just as soon as stopped firing from both ends.
Ugh, this meant that I was going to have to send him out in my stead. He had his uses, sure, but he wasn’t what I would call, innovative. Torture, plague, and war were just tools in the evil toolbox. Finding new ways of inflicting suffering was the best sort of creative outlet. It keeps people on their toes, fearful of what terrible machination you would come up with next. But he just couldn’t seem to get past the idea of knives. Knives! Cutting has its purpose, but common, it wouldn’t kill HIM to try manipulating someone once in a while. Letting others do your dirty work was a staple of villainy.
Maybe, this would be an opportunity. Sending him out alone might give him the inspiration improve. Or, even better, maybe that obnoxious Hero would get rid of him for me.
\------------
“Sidekick!” The Hero shouted.
I rolled my eyes, but made my way to the bathroom, “Yes sir?”
“Get me more toilet paper!” I handed him a roll through the crack in the door. “Thank you, Sidekick. You are truly,” he paused to vomit, “Ahem, truly exemplary of your role.”
I couldn’t keep the look of disgust off my face, “...Thanks.”
“Listen, Sidekick. It’s Wednesday and everyone knows that Wednesday is the most evil day of the week. The Villain is surely up to something. As I’m, indisposed, you are going to need to fight evil in my stead.”
That was a shock, “Alone?”
“Yes, I know you are ready.”
“Oh, um, okay. I, uh, guess I’ll just head out then?”
“Of course! Go and be heroic! But leave me some extra toilet paper before you go.”
\------------
This village was pretty crappy. Most of the huts were dilapidated, the people were all in bad need of a bath, and there were rats crawling around everywhere. It was hard to feel “heroic” when I was supposed to rescue these bottom dwellers. But, apparently, there were reports of some guy going around trying to stab people. So far he hadn’t really succeeded in doing anything except a minor cut or two, but as far as my first heroic solo mission, I suppose it was easy enough.
The villagers pointed me to a clearing where I happened upon a scrawny man chasing a bunch of children with a knife. The children didn’t seem to be particularly frightened, in fact, they would sprint away from him, laughing, then cheer him on as he tried to get close to stab another one. The children would always duck away before he managed to catch them.
I should stop this, I thought. But, this man wasn’t the Villain. In fact, as I continued watching, I recognized him as the Villain’s sidekick. He typically skulked somewhere in the background, rarely seen. The Hero had warned me that such villainous people were not to be taken lightly. They took to the shadows and struck when least expected. Watching him now though, I couldn’t help but feel that, actually, I should take him lightly, very lightly. What incompetence.
“Hey!” I shouted in my most commanding voice. He froze and turned to look at me. “What are you doing?”
He quickly swiped the knife behind his back, as if I hadn’t already seen it, and looked to the ground sheepishly kicking the grass, “Nothing.”
I stalked over to him and easily ripped the knife from his grasp. “It looks to me that you were, poorly, attempting to stab children.”
“What?” He looked affronted, “No! Stab. How, inelegant. I just wanted to give them a few cuts here and there. They would form into the most beautiful scars.”
“...okay. Well, I can’t let you do that. So I’m taking this knife and,” I stopped as a creepy smile spread across his face. “What?”
He reached up his sleeve and pulled out another knife. “More where that came from.” And he waved it in my face.
I sighed and rolled my eyes, “Why would you tell me that? You ruined your chance at a surprise attack.”
“You’re the Hero’s sidekick, right?”
Oh, so he recognized me too. “Yes.”
“We are supposed to do epic battle. You know, something they sing about, and write stories about, and our names will go down in history. If I just surprised you, and killed you, there wouldn’t be much to tell in all those stories.”
I laughed, “A knife is, hardly, the weapon of choice if you want to have epic battles.”
He quirked an eyebrow, “I don’t even see a weapon on you. So I would say you are even less prepared for epic battle.”
A blush blossomed on my cheeks, “The Hero wont let me carry any weapons yet. He says I have to learn how to defend myself unarmed first.”
“The Hero is bonafidely unintelligent.”
I sighed, “You have no idea! He’s so into the hero “persona” that I’m not even sure he knows how to be a real person anymore.”
“I think I have some idea. My Master is much the same way. He seems to think there is only one path at villainy. He is always preaching to me that I need to try new things, and I need to stop cutting people all the time. But I LIKE cutting people.” He sighed dramatically, “He just doesn’t get it.”
“Yes! The Hero is the same way. I have to do everything how he likes it, but I feel a lot more could be done to prevent villains causing problems. Of course, he says, ‘prevention is not heroic, how will people know I’m saving them if I’m not there’. He’s such an egotist.”
Surprisingly, I spent the rest of the day with the Villain’s sidekick airing my grievances. Many of which, he shared, though for the Villain. What an odd world to find someone who shared so many commonalities and for them to also be my mortal enemy. | Evangeline, despite being an underling to one of the many menacing supervillains in the city, didn't like confrontation.
She could handle deadly errands to the black market, she could handle her boss's uptight insistence that hostage situations needed to be '*threatening yet fairly hospitable in order to strike awe and fear into the masses'* (translation: food provided), hell, she even used her Postmates app to get *his* lunch, but she drew the line at fighting for him.
&#x200B;
Evangeline found herself at the assigned destination. It was an abandoned construction site, crumbling and dangerously close to toppling a bar or two over her head if she actually fought the person Thelma, the other sick supervillain, was sending her way.
&#x200B;
Boredly, she expertly hopped onto a beam that seemed sturdy enough and waited for the other poor sap as she answered her boss's whiny, bed-ridden text messages.
&#x200B;
*If you don't die can you buy me the bread bowl from Panera? Whole wheat,,, :(*
&#x200B;
Evangeline angrily smacked her phone against a crumbling wall and it collapsed. She would gladly quit this gig if she didn't have a criminal record long enough to keep her from getting a simple cashier job.
&#x200B;
"Fed up?" A voice said from somewhere above the maze of steel bars. "don't worry, I'll send your head back."
&#x200B;
Evangeline ducked just as a ball of magma flew in her direction, making the entire structure shiver like an unstable Jenga tower. She expertly rolled onto the ground, causing a dent int the cement as she did.
"I won't be the one--," Evangeline began, but she froze as she came face to face with her opponent. "*Vincent*?"
Vincent, who was also just as surprised by her presence, stopped mid-fiery punch. The sight of his formerly dead ex-wife immediately blew the fire out like a birthday candle.
"Oh, Eva?" Vincent said, taken aback. "Uh, what are you doing here?"
"I wanna know the same thing," Evangeline asked, dumbfounded. "You work for Thelma?"
"And *you* work for Sunset?" Vincent replied. "Of all people?"
&#x200B;
They gave each other a once over at their henchmen uniforms. Vincent, in the plain dark suit Thelma assigned to all her employees, and Evangeline, in her out of place altered Marchesa Notte gown with a custom grenade belt.
"He changed it to Dawningbreak," Evangeline corrected him, rolling her eyes. "says it's more *artistic.*"
"At least he's more creative than Thelma," Vincent said, still unsure of what to make of their reunion. "at *least*."
They both sat down on dusty remains of the brick wall, both trying to figure out how to explain why they were there.
It was quite a hard sell considering they had both once been married and had seemed to have simultaneously fake their deaths.
"So," Evangeline began first. "I see you survived the quote-on-quote 'house fire'."
"Obviously," Vincent said, then added curiously. "Did you start the fire?"
"No, back when Dawningbreak was Jacques, he said he'd pretend to kidnap me, send you a note asking for money we didn't have, and then say he killed me when you didn't," Evangeline admitted, frankly. "Traumatic, I know, but it didn't end up happening when the gas leak went off so."
"Better than Thelma's plan to have me just disappear underground," Vincent said, shaking his head. "I didn't want to, but it's not like I had a choice."
&#x200B;
"So why did you end up working for her?" Evangeline asked, curious and a little hurt. "And leave me behind?"
&#x200B;
"The money sounded good," Vincent admitted, sounding guilty. "we never had anything back then. I was an ex-con, all the regular jobs I tried to interview for just outright ignored me. I thought Thelma might pay well, but since I had a criminal history, she insisted I pretend to disappear first before sending money your way."
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"Same for me," Evangeline nodded. "I thought I could make money on the side, but *Jeremy* didn't want someone with connections. He wanted a 24/7 personal assistant who he could boss around like a dog at all hours."
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"That's his real name? Jeremy?" Vincent said, laughing. "No fucking wonder."
&#x200B;
They both laughed over this for a bit, then it dawned on them both that they were supposed to be fighting to the death.
&#x200B;
"So why didn't Thelma show?" Evangeline asked. "She didn't want to bother with a weak henchman?"
&#x200B;
"No, Jeremy sneezed on her during the last fight and now she's sick," Vincent shrugged. "to think all it took to bring her down was a fever."
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"Jeremy told me she sneezed on him," Evangeline said, amused. "wow, they're so perfect for each other."
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They sat in silence for a moment, still trying to process that they were both somehow alive. After a while, Evangeline stood up and offered her hand to Vincent.
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"Let's die again," Evangeline decided, determined. "for the last time."
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"Wait, what?" Vincent said, confused. "You want to fight to the death?"
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"No, you dummy," Evangeline laughed. "let's fake our deaths all over again."
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Vincent smiled and almost took her hand, then suddenly hesitated.
"Eva, it's a good plan," Vincent said, regretfully. "but it's not like we can start fresh. We have no money, no plan, what are we going to do?"
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"What we always do best," Evangeline insisted, still holding out her hand. "run from the law."
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"You're as persistent as ever," Vincent said, taking her hand. "let me call Thelma's backup, we can kill them and then use their bodies as dummy corpses." | |
[WP] The Hero and Villain are both sidelined with the flu. They send their sidekick/henchman to do battle in their stead, but the two underlings turn out to have a lot in common. | The Catacomb was hunched in her chair, weak and shivering; a stark difference from her usual composure. The flu was hitting her hard. Tyler gazed at her empathetically, knowing better than she did how that kind of weakness could wreak the body. The Catacomb coughed multiple times, hacking up some mucus before she could manage to speak, "I need you to go for me; to fight Justicar." Tyler's eyes widened, "What!? No! I can't! You know I can't leave the lair. I-I won't last two seconds in the city air!"
"It'll be-" Another pitiful series of coughs "-It'll be alright. I planned for if you ever had to go in my stead. I already made a suit. The mask piece has a respirator attached. You'll be alright."
"But- I- I can't!"
The Catacomb looked up to Tyler, dark sincerity in her gaze. "You'll be alright, I promise. I have a plan."
------------
Tyler, now practicing learning to respond to her new alias, paced in the old warehouse. The suit was comfortable, a gorgeous and tough mix of bronze, gold and black, just like The Catacomb's and she could breathe with ease, but she didn't have the strength to fight the Justicar. She never did. "He won't attack you." The Catacomb had promised. "You'll 'foolishly' tell him that I'm hiding out below finishing up my great plan, and when he charges down past you to get to me, you'll activate the timer on the bomb. Ten seconds to walk away, then boom. Heh, I don't know why I didn't think of something like this sooner."
Tyler, - No, The Grave - thought over it again and again, her hand gently rubbing over the trigger stashed in her pocket. She was nervous enough to cry, but she wouldn't; she would be strong. She promised The Catacomb that she would. She closed her eyes and took a breath, but just as she closed her eyes, the doors to the warehouse busted down. Her eyes went brilliantly wide, terrified at the sight of this tall, brown-haired man dawned in white and red, the green eyes on the other side of his mask staring her down. He began marching towards her as if about to attack but slowed down at about twenty feet away. "You're not The Catacomb. Where is he?" Tyler was about to respond but found herself confused. Justicar thought The Catacomb was male? Great, another detail she had to try and play off of. "The Catacomb is completing his dastardly plan below this very warehouse, but you'll never stop him, not while I stand!"
"Right... and who might you be?" He sneered down at her. Funny, he didn't look like what she always thought he would from The Catacomb's description.
"I am The Grave, and soon, I'll be your grave too!" God, she thought that line was so stupid. She poised her arms, gold light coming from her handpieces. It was colored LEDs, but there was a taser attached so she could maybe stun him, though it was unlikely to work.
"Uhuh. Right then." He stepped to the side and started walking as if to go around her, but suddenly rushed directly at her, fists raised and glowing mightily with hot, red power. Tyler immediately panicked, raising the arms to try and defend herself. These blows... The Catacomb had always managed to dodge the melee ones, forcing him to take up ranged attacks with his power. The concentration around his fist was so much stronger than when it left his being. He was going to go through her, just to get to a person that wasn't there.
She cried out as the heat of his fist built up around her face, resigning herself to her fate from the failed plan.
It was like time stopped. His fist didn't make contact with her face. It just sat there. Her ears were filled with the sounds of her heart, her heavy, labored breathing through the respirator, and pulsing of his red energy.
Finally, she opened her tearing eyes to look up at him. His eyes were confused. Her eyes turned to look down at herself. This... this was not the defensive position she had taken. God, she was cowering before him. She began to sob at her situation. She looked so pitiful, so small before him. Then, the heat faded away.
"He's not actually here, is he?"
Tyler shook her head.
"... Dammit." She could hear him move away, then mutter to himself. "Just a waste of the powers he lent me..."
She quickly looked up to 'Justicar', "What did you just say?"
"Just get out of here, before I change my mind."
"Who the hell are you?" Confused and suddenly feeling emboldened, she stood upright.
"Justicar."
"Like hell you are! I knew you didn't quite look like him!" She eyed him over. "You're too skinny, and your hair isn't quite a light brown like The Catacomb told me it was."
"Ever think that maybe he was wrong?"
"No, Justicar wouldn't need to have powers lent to him."
The man stiffened for a moment, red starting to fade in from his hands, then slouched in defeat. "God, I don't feel like keeping this up. No, I'm not, alright?"
"Then where is he? Did he send you because he underestimated The Catacomb just that much?" She puffed her chest out in determination to defend her 'mentor'.
"No. He's sick."
She paused. Sick? "So... he sent you in his place..."
"Yeah, he thought that The Catacomb would just activate his machinery and back off after a small fight so he lent me some of his power to handle it..."
"The Catacomb is sick as well. He sent me in his place. If you had gone down there... I- I would've had to blow up the place."
The man's eyes widened, raising his fists.
"No-no! Don't worry, I-I won't! I didn't want to in the first place..." Tyler took a pause, then looked him in the eyes. "Then again, you were the one who was going to power punch my head off even though I hadn't attacked you."
He slowly lowered his fists, "I didn't want to take a chance. Plus, you asked me to go through you in the first place!"
"That's what The Catacomb told me to say!"
"What, so The Catacomb wanted to kill you?"
"Justicar wanted you to fight The Catacomb in the first place!"
"Only a little!"
Tyler started to laugh, "You wouldn't have gotten a little fight, she would've gone full out. She would've known you're not Justicar and used that against you!"
"Wait, she? The Catacomb is a woman!?" His eyes were wide with disbelief, causing Tyler to erupt heavy with laughter.
"Yeah! How did you and Justicar think she was a man?"
"I-I dunno, I mean it's not like you can see her.. you know..."
"Boobs?"
"Yeah..." He started to laugh as well, but it started to die off into slight sobs, "God... I was going to kill you.." He slowly fell to his knees, Tyler moving to sit next to him. "And I was going to kill you, so we're even."
"I'm so sorry... I'm so, so sorry."
Tyler gazed down to him in slight pity. "I'm sorry too. How about we uh... try and forget about all this and start over?"
"I... I'd like that."
------------
Tyler quietly sat in the back of the Starheart Cafe, one of the only places in town with high-quality air filters, waiting with a cup of tea. Her eyes were trained on the door, waiting for a friend to be. Soon enough, a man walked through the door who had the right height, the brown hair, and the green eyes. He ordered the same tea as Tyler. Mint leaves with a touch of cocoa mix. Not something on the menu. The barista pointed to Tyler as she had been asked to. The man looked her way and began to stride over, standing before her as she stood, extending his hand, "Hi, I'm Alister. Are you... uh..." The nervousness was laced from his gaze to his body language. "Yes, I am. Call me Tyler." She shook his hand and took a seat, exchanging a smile with him as he sat in front of her and began to make conversation.
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------------
Thank you for reading! | Evangeline, despite being an underling to one of the many menacing supervillains in the city, didn't like confrontation.
She could handle deadly errands to the black market, she could handle her boss's uptight insistence that hostage situations needed to be '*threatening yet fairly hospitable in order to strike awe and fear into the masses'* (translation: food provided), hell, she even used her Postmates app to get *his* lunch, but she drew the line at fighting for him.
&#x200B;
Evangeline found herself at the assigned destination. It was an abandoned construction site, crumbling and dangerously close to toppling a bar or two over her head if she actually fought the person Thelma, the other sick supervillain, was sending her way.
&#x200B;
Boredly, she expertly hopped onto a beam that seemed sturdy enough and waited for the other poor sap as she answered her boss's whiny, bed-ridden text messages.
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*If you don't die can you buy me the bread bowl from Panera? Whole wheat,,, :(*
&#x200B;
Evangeline angrily smacked her phone against a crumbling wall and it collapsed. She would gladly quit this gig if she didn't have a criminal record long enough to keep her from getting a simple cashier job.
&#x200B;
"Fed up?" A voice said from somewhere above the maze of steel bars. "don't worry, I'll send your head back."
&#x200B;
Evangeline ducked just as a ball of magma flew in her direction, making the entire structure shiver like an unstable Jenga tower. She expertly rolled onto the ground, causing a dent int the cement as she did.
"I won't be the one--," Evangeline began, but she froze as she came face to face with her opponent. "*Vincent*?"
Vincent, who was also just as surprised by her presence, stopped mid-fiery punch. The sight of his formerly dead ex-wife immediately blew the fire out like a birthday candle.
"Oh, Eva?" Vincent said, taken aback. "Uh, what are you doing here?"
"I wanna know the same thing," Evangeline asked, dumbfounded. "You work for Thelma?"
"And *you* work for Sunset?" Vincent replied. "Of all people?"
&#x200B;
They gave each other a once over at their henchmen uniforms. Vincent, in the plain dark suit Thelma assigned to all her employees, and Evangeline, in her out of place altered Marchesa Notte gown with a custom grenade belt.
"He changed it to Dawningbreak," Evangeline corrected him, rolling her eyes. "says it's more *artistic.*"
"At least he's more creative than Thelma," Vincent said, still unsure of what to make of their reunion. "at *least*."
They both sat down on dusty remains of the brick wall, both trying to figure out how to explain why they were there.
It was quite a hard sell considering they had both once been married and had seemed to have simultaneously fake their deaths.
"So," Evangeline began first. "I see you survived the quote-on-quote 'house fire'."
"Obviously," Vincent said, then added curiously. "Did you start the fire?"
"No, back when Dawningbreak was Jacques, he said he'd pretend to kidnap me, send you a note asking for money we didn't have, and then say he killed me when you didn't," Evangeline admitted, frankly. "Traumatic, I know, but it didn't end up happening when the gas leak went off so."
"Better than Thelma's plan to have me just disappear underground," Vincent said, shaking his head. "I didn't want to, but it's not like I had a choice."
&#x200B;
"So why did you end up working for her?" Evangeline asked, curious and a little hurt. "And leave me behind?"
&#x200B;
"The money sounded good," Vincent admitted, sounding guilty. "we never had anything back then. I was an ex-con, all the regular jobs I tried to interview for just outright ignored me. I thought Thelma might pay well, but since I had a criminal history, she insisted I pretend to disappear first before sending money your way."
&#x200B;
"Same for me," Evangeline nodded. "I thought I could make money on the side, but *Jeremy* didn't want someone with connections. He wanted a 24/7 personal assistant who he could boss around like a dog at all hours."
&#x200B;
"That's his real name? Jeremy?" Vincent said, laughing. "No fucking wonder."
&#x200B;
They both laughed over this for a bit, then it dawned on them both that they were supposed to be fighting to the death.
&#x200B;
"So why didn't Thelma show?" Evangeline asked. "She didn't want to bother with a weak henchman?"
&#x200B;
"No, Jeremy sneezed on her during the last fight and now she's sick," Vincent shrugged. "to think all it took to bring her down was a fever."
&#x200B;
"Jeremy told me she sneezed on him," Evangeline said, amused. "wow, they're so perfect for each other."
&#x200B;
They sat in silence for a moment, still trying to process that they were both somehow alive. After a while, Evangeline stood up and offered her hand to Vincent.
&#x200B;
"Let's die again," Evangeline decided, determined. "for the last time."
&#x200B;
"Wait, what?" Vincent said, confused. "You want to fight to the death?"
&#x200B;
"No, you dummy," Evangeline laughed. "let's fake our deaths all over again."
&#x200B;
Vincent smiled and almost took her hand, then suddenly hesitated.
"Eva, it's a good plan," Vincent said, regretfully. "but it's not like we can start fresh. We have no money, no plan, what are we going to do?"
&#x200B;
"What we always do best," Evangeline insisted, still holding out her hand. "run from the law."
&#x200B;
"You're as persistent as ever," Vincent said, taking her hand. "let me call Thelma's backup, we can kill them and then use their bodies as dummy corpses." | |
[WP] The Hero and Villain are both sidelined with the flu. They send their sidekick/henchman to do battle in their stead, but the two underlings turn out to have a lot in common. | The Catacomb was hunched in her chair, weak and shivering; a stark difference from her usual composure. The flu was hitting her hard. Tyler gazed at her empathetically, knowing better than she did how that kind of weakness could wreak the body. The Catacomb coughed multiple times, hacking up some mucus before she could manage to speak, "I need you to go for me; to fight Justicar." Tyler's eyes widened, "What!? No! I can't! You know I can't leave the lair. I-I won't last two seconds in the city air!"
"It'll be-" Another pitiful series of coughs "-It'll be alright. I planned for if you ever had to go in my stead. I already made a suit. The mask piece has a respirator attached. You'll be alright."
"But- I- I can't!"
The Catacomb looked up to Tyler, dark sincerity in her gaze. "You'll be alright, I promise. I have a plan."
------------
Tyler, now practicing learning to respond to her new alias, paced in the old warehouse. The suit was comfortable, a gorgeous and tough mix of bronze, gold and black, just like The Catacomb's and she could breathe with ease, but she didn't have the strength to fight the Justicar. She never did. "He won't attack you." The Catacomb had promised. "You'll 'foolishly' tell him that I'm hiding out below finishing up my great plan, and when he charges down past you to get to me, you'll activate the timer on the bomb. Ten seconds to walk away, then boom. Heh, I don't know why I didn't think of something like this sooner."
Tyler, - No, The Grave - thought over it again and again, her hand gently rubbing over the trigger stashed in her pocket. She was nervous enough to cry, but she wouldn't; she would be strong. She promised The Catacomb that she would. She closed her eyes and took a breath, but just as she closed her eyes, the doors to the warehouse busted down. Her eyes went brilliantly wide, terrified at the sight of this tall, brown-haired man dawned in white and red, the green eyes on the other side of his mask staring her down. He began marching towards her as if about to attack but slowed down at about twenty feet away. "You're not The Catacomb. Where is he?" Tyler was about to respond but found herself confused. Justicar thought The Catacomb was male? Great, another detail she had to try and play off of. "The Catacomb is completing his dastardly plan below this very warehouse, but you'll never stop him, not while I stand!"
"Right... and who might you be?" He sneered down at her. Funny, he didn't look like what she always thought he would from The Catacomb's description.
"I am The Grave, and soon, I'll be your grave too!" God, she thought that line was so stupid. She poised her arms, gold light coming from her handpieces. It was colored LEDs, but there was a taser attached so she could maybe stun him, though it was unlikely to work.
"Uhuh. Right then." He stepped to the side and started walking as if to go around her, but suddenly rushed directly at her, fists raised and glowing mightily with hot, red power. Tyler immediately panicked, raising the arms to try and defend herself. These blows... The Catacomb had always managed to dodge the melee ones, forcing him to take up ranged attacks with his power. The concentration around his fist was so much stronger than when it left his being. He was going to go through her, just to get to a person that wasn't there.
She cried out as the heat of his fist built up around her face, resigning herself to her fate from the failed plan.
It was like time stopped. His fist didn't make contact with her face. It just sat there. Her ears were filled with the sounds of her heart, her heavy, labored breathing through the respirator, and pulsing of his red energy.
Finally, she opened her tearing eyes to look up at him. His eyes were confused. Her eyes turned to look down at herself. This... this was not the defensive position she had taken. God, she was cowering before him. She began to sob at her situation. She looked so pitiful, so small before him. Then, the heat faded away.
"He's not actually here, is he?"
Tyler shook her head.
"... Dammit." She could hear him move away, then mutter to himself. "Just a waste of the powers he lent me..."
She quickly looked up to 'Justicar', "What did you just say?"
"Just get out of here, before I change my mind."
"Who the hell are you?" Confused and suddenly feeling emboldened, she stood upright.
"Justicar."
"Like hell you are! I knew you didn't quite look like him!" She eyed him over. "You're too skinny, and your hair isn't quite a light brown like The Catacomb told me it was."
"Ever think that maybe he was wrong?"
"No, Justicar wouldn't need to have powers lent to him."
The man stiffened for a moment, red starting to fade in from his hands, then slouched in defeat. "God, I don't feel like keeping this up. No, I'm not, alright?"
"Then where is he? Did he send you because he underestimated The Catacomb just that much?" She puffed her chest out in determination to defend her 'mentor'.
"No. He's sick."
She paused. Sick? "So... he sent you in his place..."
"Yeah, he thought that The Catacomb would just activate his machinery and back off after a small fight so he lent me some of his power to handle it..."
"The Catacomb is sick as well. He sent me in his place. If you had gone down there... I- I would've had to blow up the place."
The man's eyes widened, raising his fists.
"No-no! Don't worry, I-I won't! I didn't want to in the first place..." Tyler took a pause, then looked him in the eyes. "Then again, you were the one who was going to power punch my head off even though I hadn't attacked you."
He slowly lowered his fists, "I didn't want to take a chance. Plus, you asked me to go through you in the first place!"
"That's what The Catacomb told me to say!"
"What, so The Catacomb wanted to kill you?"
"Justicar wanted you to fight The Catacomb in the first place!"
"Only a little!"
Tyler started to laugh, "You wouldn't have gotten a little fight, she would've gone full out. She would've known you're not Justicar and used that against you!"
"Wait, she? The Catacomb is a woman!?" His eyes were wide with disbelief, causing Tyler to erupt heavy with laughter.
"Yeah! How did you and Justicar think she was a man?"
"I-I dunno, I mean it's not like you can see her.. you know..."
"Boobs?"
"Yeah..." He started to laugh as well, but it started to die off into slight sobs, "God... I was going to kill you.." He slowly fell to his knees, Tyler moving to sit next to him. "And I was going to kill you, so we're even."
"I'm so sorry... I'm so, so sorry."
Tyler gazed down to him in slight pity. "I'm sorry too. How about we uh... try and forget about all this and start over?"
"I... I'd like that."
------------
Tyler quietly sat in the back of the Starheart Cafe, one of the only places in town with high-quality air filters, waiting with a cup of tea. Her eyes were trained on the door, waiting for a friend to be. Soon enough, a man walked through the door who had the right height, the brown hair, and the green eyes. He ordered the same tea as Tyler. Mint leaves with a touch of cocoa mix. Not something on the menu. The barista pointed to Tyler as she had been asked to. The man looked her way and began to stride over, standing before her as she stood, extending his hand, "Hi, I'm Alister. Are you... uh..." The nervousness was laced from his gaze to his body language. "Yes, I am. Call me Tyler." She shook his hand and took a seat, exchanging a smile with him as he sat in front of her and began to make conversation.
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Thank you for reading! | "You're kidding!" a voice could be heard from Solis's headquarters. "You, the savior of Midday City, won't go in because of a minor *FLU!?*"
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&#x200B;
"Hey, hey, don't yell, please!" The Superhero demanded. "Yes, I'm sick...so I need you to go in for me." He looked up at his sidekick, seeing the shock in his sidekick's side, he added "Don't worry, Eliana. Our spies say that Fengári is sick as well! So, you'll just have to fight whoever she sends at us today."
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The blond girl hesitated, stammering over her words. "So," she finally managed to stutter out, "you want me to go and fight for you? How do you think that's going to work? Heck, you haven't even given me a Superhero name! Yet, you want me to go out and- WITHOUT credit, I might add, fight to save the city??"
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
"C' mon, Eliana...you have to do this for me." The hero was getting desperate. "I'd be sure to lose like this. I have faith in you," he said, getting a scoff in return. "According to Fengári, they will be waiting in the town hall."
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"Great," she mutters, "more hostages. So they know I'll be coming..."
"Please be careful," Solis said. "Yeah, yeah..."
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"Mistress," another voice was saying in Fengári's lair, "I know you want me to learn, but...to go out and fight the hero's sidekick? Are you sure this is a good idea?"
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Fengári smirked at the pale boy, walking over to him. "Ah, Kanji, Kanji...there's no need to worry." Once up close, she caressed his face, fixing the hair that was as pale as his face. "I'm already luring out the hero with ' hostages. ' They'll be falling right into your hands."
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&#x200B;
"Right, but...I don't even have an evil name, nor do I know how to control my powers. Are you so sure...?"
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"Very," the villain responds. "The powers you already hold with completely decimate that retched do-gooder!" She cackled before demanding him to "Go! They may be there any second now!"
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
"R- right, Madam Fengári," he said as he walked off.
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&#x200B;
"This is stupid," Eliana was muttering to herself. "This is the only man around that has helicopters and airplanes he can afford to lose...not to mention that even a Taxi driver would be walked on to be able to help him, but nooooo! I have to go on foot in the dead of night! I swear--"
&#x200B;
She cut herself off. She saw a silhouette standing near the Town Hall. They seemed nervous, even impatient, looking around as if they were waiting for someone.
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It had to be them.
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She sighed. "Oi!" The shadow of a man jumped, looking at the sidekick. "You wouldn't happen to be working for Fengári, would ya?" "O- oh, that's me..." The male cleared his throat. "My name is Kanji!" He exclaims. It was clear that he was trying to sound confident, but his voice kept shaking. "I am the right-hand of Fengári, the evil supervillain." "Kanji?" She repeats. "So, is that your real name or your evil name?"
&#x200B;
"H- huh? Oh," he muttered yet again, "that's my real name..." The female scoffed. "I see, you don't got a super-name either, huh?" She didn't even try to sound serious. "My name is Eliana, I work for Solis, yada yada ya."
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
"Eliana?" Kanji repeats. "Isn't that just another way to say ' sun? ' "
&#x200B;
Eliana scoffs again. "Not like you can talk. Your name just means moon, right?" She got a nod in return. "Huh...well, ready to fight, then?"
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&#x200B;
"F- fight?" The male's hands seemed to shake. "Uh, don't we need to say some long monologues about winning, first?" Eliana now laughed. "You're kidding," she said while slowly getting closer, "this is your first fight, too?"
&#x200B;
"U- uh, right...please forgive me if I'm a bit sloppy--"
&#x200B;
"Let me guess!" The hero cut him off. "You're not used to your powers yet, are ya?" "H- huh? How did you--"
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"Heh, I'd say it's a lucky guess, but it's actually the same thing for me. This is just getting stupid, Kan." Kanji hesitated at the nickname but said "Uh...I really don't wanna fight you."
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"Ah, feeling's mutual, Luv. I think all of this is stupid." She was close enough to see his eyes widen. "Don't tell me, you think it's stupid, too." She groaned. "Give me a second." She took out a piece of paper and a pen with Solis's name on it to accompany it. She wrote down her number and handed it to the villain, who looked confused. "Don't worry your little head, it's just my number," she assured him, which made him take it. "Wwwwwwwwwwwwwwelp, this is taking too long. I got a video game to return to." She spun around and started walking away. "Peace out."
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"Huh!!?" Kanji couldn't comprehend what was happening. "Wait! S- so we're not gonna fight!!?"
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"Nah," she said with a shrug. "It was a tie. Your powers went haywire, we blacked out, pick your poison...bye!" The careless girl walked away with a chuckle. *He better text me,* she thought to herself. *Maybe we'll play videogames together...he probably plays, seeing as though we have everything in common.* | |
[WP] The Hero and Villain are both sidelined with the flu. They send their sidekick/henchman to do battle in their stead, but the two underlings turn out to have a lot in common. | The Catacomb was hunched in her chair, weak and shivering; a stark difference from her usual composure. The flu was hitting her hard. Tyler gazed at her empathetically, knowing better than she did how that kind of weakness could wreak the body. The Catacomb coughed multiple times, hacking up some mucus before she could manage to speak, "I need you to go for me; to fight Justicar." Tyler's eyes widened, "What!? No! I can't! You know I can't leave the lair. I-I won't last two seconds in the city air!"
"It'll be-" Another pitiful series of coughs "-It'll be alright. I planned for if you ever had to go in my stead. I already made a suit. The mask piece has a respirator attached. You'll be alright."
"But- I- I can't!"
The Catacomb looked up to Tyler, dark sincerity in her gaze. "You'll be alright, I promise. I have a plan."
------------
Tyler, now practicing learning to respond to her new alias, paced in the old warehouse. The suit was comfortable, a gorgeous and tough mix of bronze, gold and black, just like The Catacomb's and she could breathe with ease, but she didn't have the strength to fight the Justicar. She never did. "He won't attack you." The Catacomb had promised. "You'll 'foolishly' tell him that I'm hiding out below finishing up my great plan, and when he charges down past you to get to me, you'll activate the timer on the bomb. Ten seconds to walk away, then boom. Heh, I don't know why I didn't think of something like this sooner."
Tyler, - No, The Grave - thought over it again and again, her hand gently rubbing over the trigger stashed in her pocket. She was nervous enough to cry, but she wouldn't; she would be strong. She promised The Catacomb that she would. She closed her eyes and took a breath, but just as she closed her eyes, the doors to the warehouse busted down. Her eyes went brilliantly wide, terrified at the sight of this tall, brown-haired man dawned in white and red, the green eyes on the other side of his mask staring her down. He began marching towards her as if about to attack but slowed down at about twenty feet away. "You're not The Catacomb. Where is he?" Tyler was about to respond but found herself confused. Justicar thought The Catacomb was male? Great, another detail she had to try and play off of. "The Catacomb is completing his dastardly plan below this very warehouse, but you'll never stop him, not while I stand!"
"Right... and who might you be?" He sneered down at her. Funny, he didn't look like what she always thought he would from The Catacomb's description.
"I am The Grave, and soon, I'll be your grave too!" God, she thought that line was so stupid. She poised her arms, gold light coming from her handpieces. It was colored LEDs, but there was a taser attached so she could maybe stun him, though it was unlikely to work.
"Uhuh. Right then." He stepped to the side and started walking as if to go around her, but suddenly rushed directly at her, fists raised and glowing mightily with hot, red power. Tyler immediately panicked, raising the arms to try and defend herself. These blows... The Catacomb had always managed to dodge the melee ones, forcing him to take up ranged attacks with his power. The concentration around his fist was so much stronger than when it left his being. He was going to go through her, just to get to a person that wasn't there.
She cried out as the heat of his fist built up around her face, resigning herself to her fate from the failed plan.
It was like time stopped. His fist didn't make contact with her face. It just sat there. Her ears were filled with the sounds of her heart, her heavy, labored breathing through the respirator, and pulsing of his red energy.
Finally, she opened her tearing eyes to look up at him. His eyes were confused. Her eyes turned to look down at herself. This... this was not the defensive position she had taken. God, she was cowering before him. She began to sob at her situation. She looked so pitiful, so small before him. Then, the heat faded away.
"He's not actually here, is he?"
Tyler shook her head.
"... Dammit." She could hear him move away, then mutter to himself. "Just a waste of the powers he lent me..."
She quickly looked up to 'Justicar', "What did you just say?"
"Just get out of here, before I change my mind."
"Who the hell are you?" Confused and suddenly feeling emboldened, she stood upright.
"Justicar."
"Like hell you are! I knew you didn't quite look like him!" She eyed him over. "You're too skinny, and your hair isn't quite a light brown like The Catacomb told me it was."
"Ever think that maybe he was wrong?"
"No, Justicar wouldn't need to have powers lent to him."
The man stiffened for a moment, red starting to fade in from his hands, then slouched in defeat. "God, I don't feel like keeping this up. No, I'm not, alright?"
"Then where is he? Did he send you because he underestimated The Catacomb just that much?" She puffed her chest out in determination to defend her 'mentor'.
"No. He's sick."
She paused. Sick? "So... he sent you in his place..."
"Yeah, he thought that The Catacomb would just activate his machinery and back off after a small fight so he lent me some of his power to handle it..."
"The Catacomb is sick as well. He sent me in his place. If you had gone down there... I- I would've had to blow up the place."
The man's eyes widened, raising his fists.
"No-no! Don't worry, I-I won't! I didn't want to in the first place..." Tyler took a pause, then looked him in the eyes. "Then again, you were the one who was going to power punch my head off even though I hadn't attacked you."
He slowly lowered his fists, "I didn't want to take a chance. Plus, you asked me to go through you in the first place!"
"That's what The Catacomb told me to say!"
"What, so The Catacomb wanted to kill you?"
"Justicar wanted you to fight The Catacomb in the first place!"
"Only a little!"
Tyler started to laugh, "You wouldn't have gotten a little fight, she would've gone full out. She would've known you're not Justicar and used that against you!"
"Wait, she? The Catacomb is a woman!?" His eyes were wide with disbelief, causing Tyler to erupt heavy with laughter.
"Yeah! How did you and Justicar think she was a man?"
"I-I dunno, I mean it's not like you can see her.. you know..."
"Boobs?"
"Yeah..." He started to laugh as well, but it started to die off into slight sobs, "God... I was going to kill you.." He slowly fell to his knees, Tyler moving to sit next to him. "And I was going to kill you, so we're even."
"I'm so sorry... I'm so, so sorry."
Tyler gazed down to him in slight pity. "I'm sorry too. How about we uh... try and forget about all this and start over?"
"I... I'd like that."
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Tyler quietly sat in the back of the Starheart Cafe, one of the only places in town with high-quality air filters, waiting with a cup of tea. Her eyes were trained on the door, waiting for a friend to be. Soon enough, a man walked through the door who had the right height, the brown hair, and the green eyes. He ordered the same tea as Tyler. Mint leaves with a touch of cocoa mix. Not something on the menu. The barista pointed to Tyler as she had been asked to. The man looked her way and began to stride over, standing before her as she stood, extending his hand, "Hi, I'm Alister. Are you... uh..." The nervousness was laced from his gaze to his body language. "Yes, I am. Call me Tyler." She shook his hand and took a seat, exchanging a smile with him as he sat in front of her and began to make conversation.
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Thank you for reading! | Mariposa slipped inside the warehouse, praying she had successfully disabled the silent alarms. She was on her own tonight, as she tuned her mask to “night vision” mode. From her perch she surveyed the surroundings. There were only a couple night guards for the facility, and their rounds left them with several prolonged blind spots.
“Thanks budget cuts” she whispered to herself as she took out her phone and q’d up the soundtrack for the Metroid series as she slid downward. Of all the superpowers to receive, “Bomba” was grateful for hers. “Jukebox” as she called it gave her drastically heightened strength, speed, stamina, and additional powers based on the music she was listening to. Metroid was always good at upping her stealth and perception, and could be flipped quickly if she found herself in a fight.
Gracefully she slunk through the building, grabbing various chemicals and drugs and placing them into her pouch. She continued until she was sure she had stolen enough, and then began to move back toward the window. Her soundtrack was nearly up and she didn’t want to chance staying there with her powers on cooldown. As she crept toward window she broke in through she climbed up onto the roof of the building and took a seat by one of the AC units. Taking off her helmet so that the crisp New England air would cool her down, she needed to rest for a just a minute before she could use “Jukebox” again. As she was waiting she heard a familiar sound which caused her heart to leap into her throat, the sound of a small aircraft quickly descending from the sky and landing beside her.
It was the heroic sidekick “The Tinkerer”, doubtlessly accompanied by the much more threatening “Power Man”. Scrambling to her feet she managed to barely dodge the tazer the colorfully caped crimefighter fired in her direction.
“Where’s The Conniver!?” He bellowed as he puffed out his chest, trying to sound as confident as he could.
Taking cover behind another AC unit she thought this was out of character for the man whose super suit looked like a rainbow had vomited on it. He always waited for Powerman and let him fight Keith. The two of them did battle only after the heroic or villainous speeches had commenced.
“Where’s Powerman?” She retorted, if she could keep him talking and distracted long enough for “Jukebox” to kick back in she would be set, but Tinkerer was well known for having a wide array of gadgets and surprises up his sleeve. Underestimating the colorful sidekick had cost her more than once in the past, and she wasn’t about to repeat that mistake tonight.
“He’s coming!” He shouted as he pointed his stun gun at the cooler she remained behind. “Any moment now you’ll be catching a super-sonic fist to the face!”
But a moment passed and she found her face surprisingly unsmashed, as the Tinkerer stood there uncomfortably waiting for the punch that wouldn’t come.
“Hey, only villains are allowed to lie, that’s against the rules.” She teased, hoping to unbalance him and give her a clear shot. “What’s with you? Going solo? Finally got tired of Powerman’s ego and decided to strike out on your own is that it? At least tell me you changed your name, “Tinkerer” was always so demeaning.”
The young man paused, he wasn’t used to banter. That was always reserved for the hero and villain in their climactic showdowns. He could have counted the words they previously exchanged on one hand before five minutes ago when he landed. “Well… he got sick when on Mars, some kind of alien virus. He’ll make a full recovery in about a week if he takes it easy and gets plenty of bed rest.”
Re-discovering his bravado his grip around his pistol whiteknuckled as he deepened his voice trying to sound more intimidating and masculine. “That’s why it’s up to me to stop evildoers such as you tonight!”
Mariposa couldn’t help but giggle, “*Dios mío,* you sound *just* like him! How long have you been working on that impression?”
“It’s been a while. He thinks it’s funny, *Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.”* He said striking a dashing pose, until he remembered himself, “Hey, what do you mean Tinkerer is demeaning?! I make the gadgets, I am the Tinkerer, like the Doctor!”
“I’ve seen from 8 onward and you don’t strike me as any of them.”
“No way, I love Dr. Who! He inspired me to be a hero, and why I think the name fits! Besides the name along with the color choices are child friendly!”
“Honey, no.” She said, shaking her head and pity laughing as she spoke, “You look like you’re about to drag someone’s brother down a storm drain. You look like you picked a fight with a stack of paint cans… and lost... Hold on I can keep going.”
“You really don’t have to.” He said, looking more annoyed by the moment. She stifled her laughing, but couldn’t help it. This situation was so strange, talking to the sidekick of her bosses sworn enemy on a rooftop about British television was not how she expected her night to go. He did look rather glum, and she felt maybe she prodded a little too hard. She had punched him in the face more times than she cared to remember, but hurting his feelings felt like a low blow.
“Hey, c’mon, I’m just joking with you, is all good fun. I can’t be too mad at a fellow whovian. Which one’s your favorite? I’m going to sound really cliche’ but 10th. Running around, saving people with a quip, I mean they all do that but he did it the best in my opinion.”
She sounded sincere, and Tinkerer couldn’t contain his enthusiasm. Power man was never much for television and having someone to talk to about it made him rather excited.
“Unpopular opinion but I like the 12th the most… wait, saving people? You’re a villain! You came here to steal stuff for Dr. Conniving’s evil plan!”
“It’s a matter of perspective *amigo*, and it isn’t really an evil plan it’s medicine.” She raised her hand to wave “The Tinkerer” over. Cautiously he made his way behind the unit.
It was the first time the two got to look at one another’s faces. Tinkerer had guessed Bomba was Latina from the name and occasion drop of spanish, but aside from that had no idea what she looked like outside of being fairly tall and muscular. He had known she was a woman for a while, but given how little they talked it had never really sunk in until just then as he rounded the corner. Her long hair dark brown hair spilled over her shoulder, but on the left third it was shaven into an undercut. She had taken off her gauntlet on her right hand when she waved him, and he noticed her nails were a bright sparkly pink with little white hearts painted on them.
He on the other hand was about average height for a man, but he was wrapped in specialty superhero armor which allowed him to shoot laser beams, block bullets, and the one feature he was often most grateful for, having wifi wherever he went.
Mariposa walked up to him, her guard lowered.
“Look, Keith isn’t feeling so hot, he’s got the flu or something. I’ve put some soup on but what he needs is more than food. After your last raid on our lair a lot of our assets were frozen, so we don’t have a lot of liquid right now. Also I need my insulin; if you’re looking for robbery relating to that this *niña* should be the least of your concerns for the price they’re charging.”
Her demeanor became more serious as she added, “Besides, in the unlikely chance you do win, they’d just send me to a detention center. Trust me when I say that won’t end well for anyone; I’m ready and willing to hurt people busting out of there. *Mucha gente.*”
Tinkerer knew he was in a bind. He didn’t want to see if she’d make good on her threat, and there was this growing knot in his stomach which ached whenever he tried to think about making a move against her. In a show of frustration he threw his hands up in the air and exclaimed, “What would you have me do, just let you go?”
“Would you be surprised if I said yes?” She deadpanned as she opened her bag to show him she was in fact telling the truth. A few things of insulin, some sudafed, and other medications for a man knocked down by a really bad flu.
He thought for a moment, but couldn’t will himself to stand against her. The first rays of light began to peek over the nearby mountains, setting the rooftop a glow in an almost otherworldly light. He looked back at her, remembering why he wanted to be a hero in the first place: to help the less fortunate. If he took her in now, it would be going against everything he stood for. Between gritted teeth he whispered,
“Go. Get out of here.”
“*Qué*? You serious? I didn’t think just asking would actually work, Keith is never going to believe it.” She said, closing her pouch and making her way to the edge of the rooftop. “You know Tinkerer, you’re a pretty cool guy. I’m Mariposa.”
“Jamal.” He replied. | |
[WP] The Hero and Villain are both sidelined with the flu. They send their sidekick/henchman to do battle in their stead, but the two underlings turn out to have a lot in common. | The Catacomb was hunched in her chair, weak and shivering; a stark difference from her usual composure. The flu was hitting her hard. Tyler gazed at her empathetically, knowing better than she did how that kind of weakness could wreak the body. The Catacomb coughed multiple times, hacking up some mucus before she could manage to speak, "I need you to go for me; to fight Justicar." Tyler's eyes widened, "What!? No! I can't! You know I can't leave the lair. I-I won't last two seconds in the city air!"
"It'll be-" Another pitiful series of coughs "-It'll be alright. I planned for if you ever had to go in my stead. I already made a suit. The mask piece has a respirator attached. You'll be alright."
"But- I- I can't!"
The Catacomb looked up to Tyler, dark sincerity in her gaze. "You'll be alright, I promise. I have a plan."
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Tyler, now practicing learning to respond to her new alias, paced in the old warehouse. The suit was comfortable, a gorgeous and tough mix of bronze, gold and black, just like The Catacomb's and she could breathe with ease, but she didn't have the strength to fight the Justicar. She never did. "He won't attack you." The Catacomb had promised. "You'll 'foolishly' tell him that I'm hiding out below finishing up my great plan, and when he charges down past you to get to me, you'll activate the timer on the bomb. Ten seconds to walk away, then boom. Heh, I don't know why I didn't think of something like this sooner."
Tyler, - No, The Grave - thought over it again and again, her hand gently rubbing over the trigger stashed in her pocket. She was nervous enough to cry, but she wouldn't; she would be strong. She promised The Catacomb that she would. She closed her eyes and took a breath, but just as she closed her eyes, the doors to the warehouse busted down. Her eyes went brilliantly wide, terrified at the sight of this tall, brown-haired man dawned in white and red, the green eyes on the other side of his mask staring her down. He began marching towards her as if about to attack but slowed down at about twenty feet away. "You're not The Catacomb. Where is he?" Tyler was about to respond but found herself confused. Justicar thought The Catacomb was male? Great, another detail she had to try and play off of. "The Catacomb is completing his dastardly plan below this very warehouse, but you'll never stop him, not while I stand!"
"Right... and who might you be?" He sneered down at her. Funny, he didn't look like what she always thought he would from The Catacomb's description.
"I am The Grave, and soon, I'll be your grave too!" God, she thought that line was so stupid. She poised her arms, gold light coming from her handpieces. It was colored LEDs, but there was a taser attached so she could maybe stun him, though it was unlikely to work.
"Uhuh. Right then." He stepped to the side and started walking as if to go around her, but suddenly rushed directly at her, fists raised and glowing mightily with hot, red power. Tyler immediately panicked, raising the arms to try and defend herself. These blows... The Catacomb had always managed to dodge the melee ones, forcing him to take up ranged attacks with his power. The concentration around his fist was so much stronger than when it left his being. He was going to go through her, just to get to a person that wasn't there.
She cried out as the heat of his fist built up around her face, resigning herself to her fate from the failed plan.
It was like time stopped. His fist didn't make contact with her face. It just sat there. Her ears were filled with the sounds of her heart, her heavy, labored breathing through the respirator, and pulsing of his red energy.
Finally, she opened her tearing eyes to look up at him. His eyes were confused. Her eyes turned to look down at herself. This... this was not the defensive position she had taken. God, she was cowering before him. She began to sob at her situation. She looked so pitiful, so small before him. Then, the heat faded away.
"He's not actually here, is he?"
Tyler shook her head.
"... Dammit." She could hear him move away, then mutter to himself. "Just a waste of the powers he lent me..."
She quickly looked up to 'Justicar', "What did you just say?"
"Just get out of here, before I change my mind."
"Who the hell are you?" Confused and suddenly feeling emboldened, she stood upright.
"Justicar."
"Like hell you are! I knew you didn't quite look like him!" She eyed him over. "You're too skinny, and your hair isn't quite a light brown like The Catacomb told me it was."
"Ever think that maybe he was wrong?"
"No, Justicar wouldn't need to have powers lent to him."
The man stiffened for a moment, red starting to fade in from his hands, then slouched in defeat. "God, I don't feel like keeping this up. No, I'm not, alright?"
"Then where is he? Did he send you because he underestimated The Catacomb just that much?" She puffed her chest out in determination to defend her 'mentor'.
"No. He's sick."
She paused. Sick? "So... he sent you in his place..."
"Yeah, he thought that The Catacomb would just activate his machinery and back off after a small fight so he lent me some of his power to handle it..."
"The Catacomb is sick as well. He sent me in his place. If you had gone down there... I- I would've had to blow up the place."
The man's eyes widened, raising his fists.
"No-no! Don't worry, I-I won't! I didn't want to in the first place..." Tyler took a pause, then looked him in the eyes. "Then again, you were the one who was going to power punch my head off even though I hadn't attacked you."
He slowly lowered his fists, "I didn't want to take a chance. Plus, you asked me to go through you in the first place!"
"That's what The Catacomb told me to say!"
"What, so The Catacomb wanted to kill you?"
"Justicar wanted you to fight The Catacomb in the first place!"
"Only a little!"
Tyler started to laugh, "You wouldn't have gotten a little fight, she would've gone full out. She would've known you're not Justicar and used that against you!"
"Wait, she? The Catacomb is a woman!?" His eyes were wide with disbelief, causing Tyler to erupt heavy with laughter.
"Yeah! How did you and Justicar think she was a man?"
"I-I dunno, I mean it's not like you can see her.. you know..."
"Boobs?"
"Yeah..." He started to laugh as well, but it started to die off into slight sobs, "God... I was going to kill you.." He slowly fell to his knees, Tyler moving to sit next to him. "And I was going to kill you, so we're even."
"I'm so sorry... I'm so, so sorry."
Tyler gazed down to him in slight pity. "I'm sorry too. How about we uh... try and forget about all this and start over?"
"I... I'd like that."
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Tyler quietly sat in the back of the Starheart Cafe, one of the only places in town with high-quality air filters, waiting with a cup of tea. Her eyes were trained on the door, waiting for a friend to be. Soon enough, a man walked through the door who had the right height, the brown hair, and the green eyes. He ordered the same tea as Tyler. Mint leaves with a touch of cocoa mix. Not something on the menu. The barista pointed to Tyler as she had been asked to. The man looked her way and began to stride over, standing before her as she stood, extending his hand, "Hi, I'm Alister. Are you... uh..." The nervousness was laced from his gaze to his body language. "Yes, I am. Call me Tyler." She shook his hand and took a seat, exchanging a smile with him as he sat in front of her and began to make conversation.
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Thank you for reading! | "Yes Herothius the Giant, you will be my replacement. Show that cowardly villain that justice always prevails!" said Batman. Herothius the Giant got his name, naturally from being a giant red... thing. His resemblance was much like a mans, but he had oversized bulging muscles all over his body and a head of fire. He wore a green sheath across his chest with letters bearing his name.
&#x200B;
"Yes Uterus the Dwarf, you will be my replacement whether you like it or not! Now go and show that red fiend the few tricks you have up your cervix!" said the Joker. Uterus the Dwarf got his name, naturally from being a Uterus shaped, very small pink creature. He was very quick on his feet and carried a long white tube in his right hand. This tube gave him the ability to teleport a short distance at any moment.
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"Now let the fight... BEGIN!" a voice sounding very much like Vince McMahon says over the intercom. "Alright you disgustingly large, red, ugly bastard prepare to meet your demise" Uterus the Dwarf says with a slimy smile." "Justice always triumphs over evil doers, you short, pink, little uterus bastard" replied Herothius the Giant. "Hey don't call me short" shot back Uterus the Dwarf. "Well you called me disgustingly large, so watch your mouth before you make fun of somebody's size" Herothius the Giant says with a hint of aggravation in his voice."
&#x200B;
Without warning Uterus teleports under the legs of Herothius and hits him violently in the knee cap. "Ooww" Herothius shrieks as he stumbles. "It will take more than a 'little' hit to the knee to defeat me!" He rumbles with his deep voice. "Maybe if you stopped being a 'big' poor sport, you would bend over so I could crack your head open" Uterus snapped back. Herothius swings one of his giant limbs and bashes Uterus back twenty five feet. "You are coming up 'short' this round" roars Herothius. Uterus stops suddenly and looks down at the floor... "people have always made fun of my size" he says as tears begin to stream down his face. "ohh come you pansy... I knew this guy was going to be 'to down to earth 'Batman" Joker says. "see.. that's exactly what I'm talking about Herothius" Uterus sobs. "My guy isn't exactly a 'big' breakthrough for me either Joker" said Batman. Herothius looked slowly over at Batman and frowned. "To be honest Uterus, people have always made fun of my size too" Herothius said. Uterus looks up and wiped his tears on his pink flesh and says "Well.. that's awful... it's not nice to make fun of things you can't control". "What do you say we get out of here and get some Chilis" Herothius says. "Sounds good" replies Uterus.
&#x200B;
The two now friends had a great night that night. After Chilis they made their way back to Herothius place and cracked open a couple ice cold O'Douls. | |
[WP] The Hero and Villain are both sidelined with the flu. They send their sidekick/henchman to do battle in their stead, but the two underlings turn out to have a lot in common. | Ultra Warrior. "What an arrogant name" Thomas thought. "Even for a superhero. So he has unlimited powers and draws unfathomable strength from the multiverse and has never lost a fight. I mean, once again... SELFISH! ARROGANT! Does he ever think about the other universe?" These thoughts ran through his head as he opens the door to a familiar destination. Sam's dry cleaners. His train of thought continues, "No one at the desk. Typical. Why does he make me go here of all places anyway? That guy. I mean what even happens to the other universe when he draws his strength? It's gotta be a huge vortex of destruction. Does he even care? Doubt it. Huh... I wonder if that's where hurricanes come from, some other universe's hero sucking the life out of us. Crazy. I'm the sidekick of a natural disaster creator. Just. Awesome."
Thomas did not create hurricanes in multiple dimensions.
Thomas did not have unfathomable power.
Thomas did not have a ridiculously self absorbed super hero name. No, Thomas was named by Ultra Warrior. A name that would never draw any attention away from the hero. A name only a mother could love. *Cool Boy*.
Cool boy had sidekicked for the superhero a year now. It was the longest such stint of any of his previous sidekicks, including but not limited to: *The Dude, Jerky Man, kid man, Sidy McSidekick, and Sweetness.*
Finally the clerk appeared from the back of the shop.
"Yeah I'm here to pick up for Mr. UW, thanks." The clerk takes a look at his slip, nods, and once again disappears to the back.
"You aren't fooling anyone. UW? Come on Tommy boy, no one has those initials." A familiar voice echoed from behind the gumball machines.
"Oh hey Carl. What's up? Drastico get drunk and spill wine on his spandex again?" Thomas asked the familiar voice of Carl Chadwick. Drastico was Ultra Warrior's sworn arch nemesis. Carl was the evil sidekick, though never seemed that bad to Thomas. He always felt Carl went dark because Ultra Man kicked him around too much when he was younger. Not many people knew, but Carl was once in Thomas' shoes. He was Kid Man. Now he is called *Goon number 17*. Drastico doesn't even bother to try anymore. Ultra Warrior usually goes through a few of his sidekicks every week. Carl just lays low and has lasted over a year now.
"Close! It was chocolate cake. You know with the raspberry filling. What a mess." Carl replied peeking over the comic book he had been reading.
"Is that the limited edition part 5 of 5?" Thomas asks jaw dropped staring at the comic. "That doesn't come out for a week!"
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"Being called a henchman, following a maniacal crazed lunatic around, always losing to you and 'U W' (he motions air quotes) is not fun. But when you get to rob the comic truck, it all becomes worth it somehow. Sure beats being called Kid Man... or Cool Boy," Thomas slowly drug his hand down his face. "No offense!"
"No of course none taken...
&#x200B;
Just then the TV programming behind the counter was cut into by breaking news:
*We have unconfirmed reports of Drastico and Ultra Warrior being pulled into another dimension. Yes, it's being confirmed now. The two were battling over last night's comic truck robbery and when Ultra Warrior reached into the multiverse for more power to counter Drastico's new phase shield, it seems as if the phase shield was drawn into the parallel universe. Ultra Man tried to get out of the way but in a dastardly move, Drastico used his laser whip and snagged Ultra Warrior around the ankle and they both went in. There appears to be no sign of them in this dimension. We will have more for you as this story unfolds here on News 7... One wonders what their protege's Cool Boy and Goon number 17 will do to fight it out in the absence of the arch rivals. The two are known for lasting years as sidekicks where others lasted days, or in the case of Goon numbers 7 though 14, about two minutes in the infamous Mutant Ninja Monkey fight of 2014. The shear animosity of the sidekicks after this longstanding battle must be extreme. I'm sure the two will blame each other for their respective partner's demise in today's fight. We are all standing by to see how they carry on the fight between good and evil."*
The two sidekicks stare at the TV, then each other, then back to the TV.
"Starbucks?" Thomas asks.
Carl quickly replies, "Yeah I could go for coffee."
The two friends walk out the door, dropping the dry cleaning tickets in the trash on the way out. |
The car barrelled along the empty stretch of road, kicking up a dust storm behind it.
The driver and her passenger drew some comfort from the cloud which enveloped them. Though they both knew that in this empty stretch of desert, it only made them easier to spot.
The two could not yet make sense of what had happened the night before, they couldn’t stomach the thoughts of what was going to come in the aftermath. They only knew that their lives had changed and there was no going back.
The driver of this car is Big Sue Denim, who was born into a soft and kind family. Unfortunately they lived in a town that was famously hard calloused. She learned how to defend herself. Then she learned that attacking first negates the need to defend. As she grew older, her power made itself known. Her presence in any room was a palpable thing and when she left, there was a certain emptiness that hung in the air. When she came of age and it became clear this was the extent of her power, she apathetically accepted her life among the ranks of The Banal.
Una McGrath, the passenger of this car also counts herself among the ranks of the Banal, and like Sue, she was not well endowed in the powers department. She has a mildly amnestic effect on the people around her. Not enough that she would be a perfect spy, invisible to a great portion of the populace. No, the extent of her ability left her generally unmemorable to all she encountered. Those who meet her retain memory of their meeting and who she is, but when pushed, none can seem to recall any interesting details about her. After years of working in offices and going entirely unnoticed, she joined the ranks of a local Remarkable, hoping to make a mark on the world.
I suppose now would be a good time to give you some background on my world. I won’t waste your time explaining who I am, or how and why I’m relaying this story to you, in another world, but I’ll give you the key differences between mine and yours. From what I’ve been able to gather, our histories have followed eerily similar paths with really just one big exception. In your world you only have stories of superheroes and villains, but in my world we have The Remarkables and The Malefactors, and in my world, they aren’t just in stories.
Here, people are born with some type of power or gift. Upon maturity, we are put through tests to classify our power levels. The Remarkables are individuals that have great powers, the idea of which I’m sure you are familiar with. Now, not all Remarkables are born equal. One of the key points in our history is referred to as the Dawn, which occurred when 5 people were born with immeasurable powers. These are known as the Peerless and frankly, now isn’t the time to discuss them. On the other end of the scale we have the Banal. People blessed with powers, that are little more than parlour tricks and mild boons. Finally, the Malefactors are those Remarkables that have turned to a life of crime and villainy. There are a few classes and castes in between, but I think you get the idea for now.
In your world you have fictional stories of superheroes and their sidekicks going up against supervillains and their henchmen. In our reality, it is much the same, with a lot of the Banal finding themselves filling out the rosters of both sides. Which is where this story began.
Lilly’s employer was the 2nd-rate Malefactor Lilly Biggins, who saw her ability as a hindrance and refused to utilise her in field operations. In the opening week of 2014, Lilly had finally found a use for Big Sue and her power. A one-time distraction and this useless henchwoman would finally have a purpose. Her presence within Lilly’s organisation was subtly broadcast to her arch nemesis, The Remarkable Gary Baldy, laying the groundwork for her role in Lilly’s latest heist. With her palpable presence at Lilly’s last few attempted heists, Gary was on the lookout for signs of her presence. Not easily taken for a fool, Gary could see that there was less effort placed in Lilly’s last heists and became suspicious that a ruse was afoot.
On the big night, Gary Baldy detected Big Sue’s presence in a chemical storage warehouse. Rather than the weapons grade chemicals a Malefactor would be interested in, this warehouse stored only over the counter type, cleaning products. He sent one of his lesser sidekicks, the quiet and mousy Una McGrath, to check on the disturbance.
Sue was excited to be on her first real mission. So excited that when she reached her destination, she finally realised that Lilly had neglected to give her any further instructions on what to do. She began making a mental note of the buildings layout and what was held within. Her memory, not one of her strongest features, quickly failed her and she started over again, drawing a map and making a list in shorthand. She would not fail her mission, whatever it was.
Una was nervous about her first real assignment in the field. She wanted to prove herself, but years of going unseen had left her confidence wanting. Glad to have strict orders not to engage, Una felt an unusual presence in the warehouse and felt a compulsion to investigate. Upon gaining entry she felt a calm wash over her and an inner-strength that was previously unknown. She was drawn to the figure who had been pacing the inner-wall of the building, cursing to herself and scratching notes. The figure stopped instantly and turned around.
Both instinctively knew that the other was working on the opposing side. Both instinctively knew that didn’t matter anymore. Slowly, they approached one another. Sue held out a hand confidently, Una hesitated and instead gave her a curt nod. They smiled fondly at each other and introduced themselves. Before they realised, the sun had risen and they knew more about each other than anyone else who had entered their lives. A life of crime did not appeal to Una and Sue knew she would never be safe if she defected to the side of good. It’s hard to hide with the power of presence. Unsure what to do, the two embraced and our world changed forever.
Both Lilly and Gary and a host of other Remarkables and Malefactors are looking for Sue and Una. The industrial estate where they first met has now been quarantined and a beam of light remains, expanding ever upwards. The public are yet to be made aware of what occurred that day and the Remarkables and Malefactors are hiding a fear that is palpable to me. These henchmen on different sides need to be found. And I need to be the one that finds them, for the sake of our world and yours. | |
[WP] The Hero and Villain are both sidelined with the flu. They send their sidekick/henchman to do battle in their stead, but the two underlings turn out to have a lot in common. | I cannot believe that I have to cover for this guy. Really? A superhero can't handle a simple flu? I shake my head as I slip around the buildings in the night. I see a shadow slip past a street light. It's pretty late, but I was warned that Dark Crusade would be putting together a plan, so I set out to stop whatever was being put together.
I glance around, trying to find what had casted the shadow I had just seen. I continue to move along when I can't seem to find anything. Out of the corner of my eye, I see another shadow rush past. I stand up straight as I whip around. "I know you're there. Show yourself."
I hear a low chuckle. A female form steps out of the darkness in the alleyway. I tilt my head slightly. Last I remembered, Dark Crusade was not a female. She steps out enough for me to identify her as Nightingale, Dark Crusade's henchman. Henchwoman, I should say.
"How observant." I can tell she has a voice distorter on, the sound electronic and low. "I would hope so, otherwise I'd be a pretty shitty hero." She smirks. "Where's Dark Crusade?" She takes a step towards me and I take a step back. "Where's your golden boy, huh? The superhero of the day? Or were you just thrown out by yourself?"
"I'm just here to stop Crusade. I don't need you in my way." She smiles wider. "Fine. He's not here. Sick. The flu caught that rat and he sent me out to catch whatever his name is." She turns off the voice distorter as she speaks. "Phantasm?"
"Yeah, yeah, that guy." She says carelessly. "Where is he anyways?"
"Same ordeal, actually. Sick with the flu." She laughs unbelievingly. "Very funny. Where is he?" I look her dead in the eyes. "No, really. He's sick." I start laughing. "He's actually sick! And so is Dark Crusade! And so they sent us out to-" I interrupt myself with laughter, and Nightingale joins me.
Our laughter eventually fades, and we look at each other. I can tell we have the same thoughts. I take off my domino mask and hold out my hand for her to shake. "I'm Jackie, most call me Daybreak." She does the same, taking my hand and shaking it. "Jane. Nightingale."
"Nice to meet you, Jane. When did you decide to be a henchman to a villian? Doesn't seem like you like it very much."
"I hate it. I really do. Dark Crusade is nice and pays well, which is a plus, but I'm not one for evil-doing. And Crusade gets annoying and is very oblivious to when he's rude, so I've gotten very tired of him. I started doing this stuff because I was in a bad place and I needed money. I had some self-defense training already in my pocket, so I thought I could use it. I'm sure you wouldn't understand, though, with you being a hero and everything."
"Oh no, I totally get it." Jane raises an eyebrow at me. "Really! I had no job, no money, no motivation, but I liked helping people and could stand my own, so I thought being a hero would be a good idea. Turns out Phantasm is a huge ass, and never really cares about me or my well being. Ironic, right? I really do understand your pain. I'm in the same boat. You should have heard "golden boy" whining when he called me about being sick. It was so childish."
"You know what? Want to go get some dinner with me? I haven't eaten anything since lunch time, and I'm starving. Forget this hero-villian shit. I don't want to be the bad guy anymore."
"I'd love to. I think that I'd like to have a somewhat normal life again." I hold out my hand for her to take and she puts her gloved hand near mine. She stops for a moment, takes her hand back and takes off her leather gloves. She holds out her hand, and I take my gloves off as well, and take her hand in mine. We walk past the large, dark buildings, making our way towards somewhere to eat.
"You know, that black leather suit is really flattering on you."
"Why thank you, I think you look just as wonderful in your suit."
I take a deep breath and sigh, finally calmer than I've been in a long time. I look at the woman next to me, take out the com that's been quiet in my ear and crush it in my hand. I throw it out into the street. A smile grows on my face as I make my first step into a normal life again. |
The car barrelled along the empty stretch of road, kicking up a dust storm behind it.
The driver and her passenger drew some comfort from the cloud which enveloped them. Though they both knew that in this empty stretch of desert, it only made them easier to spot.
The two could not yet make sense of what had happened the night before, they couldn’t stomach the thoughts of what was going to come in the aftermath. They only knew that their lives had changed and there was no going back.
The driver of this car is Big Sue Denim, who was born into a soft and kind family. Unfortunately they lived in a town that was famously hard calloused. She learned how to defend herself. Then she learned that attacking first negates the need to defend. As she grew older, her power made itself known. Her presence in any room was a palpable thing and when she left, there was a certain emptiness that hung in the air. When she came of age and it became clear this was the extent of her power, she apathetically accepted her life among the ranks of The Banal.
Una McGrath, the passenger of this car also counts herself among the ranks of the Banal, and like Sue, she was not well endowed in the powers department. She has a mildly amnestic effect on the people around her. Not enough that she would be a perfect spy, invisible to a great portion of the populace. No, the extent of her ability left her generally unmemorable to all she encountered. Those who meet her retain memory of their meeting and who she is, but when pushed, none can seem to recall any interesting details about her. After years of working in offices and going entirely unnoticed, she joined the ranks of a local Remarkable, hoping to make a mark on the world.
I suppose now would be a good time to give you some background on my world. I won’t waste your time explaining who I am, or how and why I’m relaying this story to you, in another world, but I’ll give you the key differences between mine and yours. From what I’ve been able to gather, our histories have followed eerily similar paths with really just one big exception. In your world you only have stories of superheroes and villains, but in my world we have The Remarkables and The Malefactors, and in my world, they aren’t just in stories.
Here, people are born with some type of power or gift. Upon maturity, we are put through tests to classify our power levels. The Remarkables are individuals that have great powers, the idea of which I’m sure you are familiar with. Now, not all Remarkables are born equal. One of the key points in our history is referred to as the Dawn, which occurred when 5 people were born with immeasurable powers. These are known as the Peerless and frankly, now isn’t the time to discuss them. On the other end of the scale we have the Banal. People blessed with powers, that are little more than parlour tricks and mild boons. Finally, the Malefactors are those Remarkables that have turned to a life of crime and villainy. There are a few classes and castes in between, but I think you get the idea for now.
In your world you have fictional stories of superheroes and their sidekicks going up against supervillains and their henchmen. In our reality, it is much the same, with a lot of the Banal finding themselves filling out the rosters of both sides. Which is where this story began.
Lilly’s employer was the 2nd-rate Malefactor Lilly Biggins, who saw her ability as a hindrance and refused to utilise her in field operations. In the opening week of 2014, Lilly had finally found a use for Big Sue and her power. A one-time distraction and this useless henchwoman would finally have a purpose. Her presence within Lilly’s organisation was subtly broadcast to her arch nemesis, The Remarkable Gary Baldy, laying the groundwork for her role in Lilly’s latest heist. With her palpable presence at Lilly’s last few attempted heists, Gary was on the lookout for signs of her presence. Not easily taken for a fool, Gary could see that there was less effort placed in Lilly’s last heists and became suspicious that a ruse was afoot.
On the big night, Gary Baldy detected Big Sue’s presence in a chemical storage warehouse. Rather than the weapons grade chemicals a Malefactor would be interested in, this warehouse stored only over the counter type, cleaning products. He sent one of his lesser sidekicks, the quiet and mousy Una McGrath, to check on the disturbance.
Sue was excited to be on her first real mission. So excited that when she reached her destination, she finally realised that Lilly had neglected to give her any further instructions on what to do. She began making a mental note of the buildings layout and what was held within. Her memory, not one of her strongest features, quickly failed her and she started over again, drawing a map and making a list in shorthand. She would not fail her mission, whatever it was.
Una was nervous about her first real assignment in the field. She wanted to prove herself, but years of going unseen had left her confidence wanting. Glad to have strict orders not to engage, Una felt an unusual presence in the warehouse and felt a compulsion to investigate. Upon gaining entry she felt a calm wash over her and an inner-strength that was previously unknown. She was drawn to the figure who had been pacing the inner-wall of the building, cursing to herself and scratching notes. The figure stopped instantly and turned around.
Both instinctively knew that the other was working on the opposing side. Both instinctively knew that didn’t matter anymore. Slowly, they approached one another. Sue held out a hand confidently, Una hesitated and instead gave her a curt nod. They smiled fondly at each other and introduced themselves. Before they realised, the sun had risen and they knew more about each other than anyone else who had entered their lives. A life of crime did not appeal to Una and Sue knew she would never be safe if she defected to the side of good. It’s hard to hide with the power of presence. Unsure what to do, the two embraced and our world changed forever.
Both Lilly and Gary and a host of other Remarkables and Malefactors are looking for Sue and Una. The industrial estate where they first met has now been quarantined and a beam of light remains, expanding ever upwards. The public are yet to be made aware of what occurred that day and the Remarkables and Malefactors are hiding a fear that is palpable to me. These henchmen on different sides need to be found. And I need to be the one that finds them, for the sake of our world and yours. | |
[WP] The Hero and Villain are both sidelined with the flu. They send their sidekick/henchman to do battle in their stead, but the two underlings turn out to have a lot in common. | Ultra Warrior. "What an arrogant name" Thomas thought. "Even for a superhero. So he has unlimited powers and draws unfathomable strength from the multiverse and has never lost a fight. I mean, once again... SELFISH! ARROGANT! Does he ever think about the other universe?" These thoughts ran through his head as he opens the door to a familiar destination. Sam's dry cleaners. His train of thought continues, "No one at the desk. Typical. Why does he make me go here of all places anyway? That guy. I mean what even happens to the other universe when he draws his strength? It's gotta be a huge vortex of destruction. Does he even care? Doubt it. Huh... I wonder if that's where hurricanes come from, some other universe's hero sucking the life out of us. Crazy. I'm the sidekick of a natural disaster creator. Just. Awesome."
Thomas did not create hurricanes in multiple dimensions.
Thomas did not have unfathomable power.
Thomas did not have a ridiculously self absorbed super hero name. No, Thomas was named by Ultra Warrior. A name that would never draw any attention away from the hero. A name only a mother could love. *Cool Boy*.
Cool boy had sidekicked for the superhero a year now. It was the longest such stint of any of his previous sidekicks, including but not limited to: *The Dude, Jerky Man, kid man, Sidy McSidekick, and Sweetness.*
Finally the clerk appeared from the back of the shop.
"Yeah I'm here to pick up for Mr. UW, thanks." The clerk takes a look at his slip, nods, and once again disappears to the back.
"You aren't fooling anyone. UW? Come on Tommy boy, no one has those initials." A familiar voice echoed from behind the gumball machines.
"Oh hey Carl. What's up? Drastico get drunk and spill wine on his spandex again?" Thomas asked the familiar voice of Carl Chadwick. Drastico was Ultra Warrior's sworn arch nemesis. Carl was the evil sidekick, though never seemed that bad to Thomas. He always felt Carl went dark because Ultra Man kicked him around too much when he was younger. Not many people knew, but Carl was once in Thomas' shoes. He was Kid Man. Now he is called *Goon number 17*. Drastico doesn't even bother to try anymore. Ultra Warrior usually goes through a few of his sidekicks every week. Carl just lays low and has lasted over a year now.
"Close! It was chocolate cake. You know with the raspberry filling. What a mess." Carl replied peeking over the comic book he had been reading.
"Is that the limited edition part 5 of 5?" Thomas asks jaw dropped staring at the comic. "That doesn't come out for a week!"
&#x200B;
"Being called a henchman, following a maniacal crazed lunatic around, always losing to you and 'U W' (he motions air quotes) is not fun. But when you get to rob the comic truck, it all becomes worth it somehow. Sure beats being called Kid Man... or Cool Boy," Thomas slowly drug his hand down his face. "No offense!"
"No of course none taken...
&#x200B;
Just then the TV programming behind the counter was cut into by breaking news:
*We have unconfirmed reports of Drastico and Ultra Warrior being pulled into another dimension. Yes, it's being confirmed now. The two were battling over last night's comic truck robbery and when Ultra Warrior reached into the multiverse for more power to counter Drastico's new phase shield, it seems as if the phase shield was drawn into the parallel universe. Ultra Man tried to get out of the way but in a dastardly move, Drastico used his laser whip and snagged Ultra Warrior around the ankle and they both went in. There appears to be no sign of them in this dimension. We will have more for you as this story unfolds here on News 7... One wonders what their protege's Cool Boy and Goon number 17 will do to fight it out in the absence of the arch rivals. The two are known for lasting years as sidekicks where others lasted days, or in the case of Goon numbers 7 though 14, about two minutes in the infamous Mutant Ninja Monkey fight of 2014. The shear animosity of the sidekicks after this longstanding battle must be extreme. I'm sure the two will blame each other for their respective partner's demise in today's fight. We are all standing by to see how they carry on the fight between good and evil."*
The two sidekicks stare at the TV, then each other, then back to the TV.
"Starbucks?" Thomas asks.
Carl quickly replies, "Yeah I could go for coffee."
The two friends walk out the door, dropping the dry cleaning tickets in the trash on the way out. | Oh my gooooood does he send you out for random errands too? Jesus, its almost like they don't see us as human. We come out here, follow them around and help them. Treat their wounds, give them a rock. So you know what? I think its time for some revenge.
"Alright, so Starkid I've got some really nasty stuff here, ultimately deadly to a normal human, like Bearus, say? Slip some into his medicine and we'll be right on track to end this feud"
"It's Starlit" the good sidekick muttered. "And why would I do this, I know you wouldn't hold up your end!"
Darkling smiled. "Not unless we switched places. Our 'heroes' apparently have similar taste in orphans. So if we trade outfits, in their current state they'd have no idea. Think of the good you'd be doing the city, Bearus was still the paragon he wants to be, do you think he'd have sent you out to die? I could have killed you several times." Darkling looked down like something long broken was moving to the surface. "Like Kreemon made me kill the last one. I can't do this anymore."
Starkid sat on the rooftop and considered for what felt to him a century. "Alright, so how do i kill Kreemon?" | |
[WP] The Hero and Villain are both sidelined with the flu. They send their sidekick/henchman to do battle in their stead, but the two underlings turn out to have a lot in common. | I cannot believe that I have to cover for this guy. Really? A superhero can't handle a simple flu? I shake my head as I slip around the buildings in the night. I see a shadow slip past a street light. It's pretty late, but I was warned that Dark Crusade would be putting together a plan, so I set out to stop whatever was being put together.
I glance around, trying to find what had casted the shadow I had just seen. I continue to move along when I can't seem to find anything. Out of the corner of my eye, I see another shadow rush past. I stand up straight as I whip around. "I know you're there. Show yourself."
I hear a low chuckle. A female form steps out of the darkness in the alleyway. I tilt my head slightly. Last I remembered, Dark Crusade was not a female. She steps out enough for me to identify her as Nightingale, Dark Crusade's henchman. Henchwoman, I should say.
"How observant." I can tell she has a voice distorter on, the sound electronic and low. "I would hope so, otherwise I'd be a pretty shitty hero." She smirks. "Where's Dark Crusade?" She takes a step towards me and I take a step back. "Where's your golden boy, huh? The superhero of the day? Or were you just thrown out by yourself?"
"I'm just here to stop Crusade. I don't need you in my way." She smiles wider. "Fine. He's not here. Sick. The flu caught that rat and he sent me out to catch whatever his name is." She turns off the voice distorter as she speaks. "Phantasm?"
"Yeah, yeah, that guy." She says carelessly. "Where is he anyways?"
"Same ordeal, actually. Sick with the flu." She laughs unbelievingly. "Very funny. Where is he?" I look her dead in the eyes. "No, really. He's sick." I start laughing. "He's actually sick! And so is Dark Crusade! And so they sent us out to-" I interrupt myself with laughter, and Nightingale joins me.
Our laughter eventually fades, and we look at each other. I can tell we have the same thoughts. I take off my domino mask and hold out my hand for her to shake. "I'm Jackie, most call me Daybreak." She does the same, taking my hand and shaking it. "Jane. Nightingale."
"Nice to meet you, Jane. When did you decide to be a henchman to a villian? Doesn't seem like you like it very much."
"I hate it. I really do. Dark Crusade is nice and pays well, which is a plus, but I'm not one for evil-doing. And Crusade gets annoying and is very oblivious to when he's rude, so I've gotten very tired of him. I started doing this stuff because I was in a bad place and I needed money. I had some self-defense training already in my pocket, so I thought I could use it. I'm sure you wouldn't understand, though, with you being a hero and everything."
"Oh no, I totally get it." Jane raises an eyebrow at me. "Really! I had no job, no money, no motivation, but I liked helping people and could stand my own, so I thought being a hero would be a good idea. Turns out Phantasm is a huge ass, and never really cares about me or my well being. Ironic, right? I really do understand your pain. I'm in the same boat. You should have heard "golden boy" whining when he called me about being sick. It was so childish."
"You know what? Want to go get some dinner with me? I haven't eaten anything since lunch time, and I'm starving. Forget this hero-villian shit. I don't want to be the bad guy anymore."
"I'd love to. I think that I'd like to have a somewhat normal life again." I hold out my hand for her to take and she puts her gloved hand near mine. She stops for a moment, takes her hand back and takes off her leather gloves. She holds out her hand, and I take my gloves off as well, and take her hand in mine. We walk past the large, dark buildings, making our way towards somewhere to eat.
"You know, that black leather suit is really flattering on you."
"Why thank you, I think you look just as wonderful in your suit."
I take a deep breath and sigh, finally calmer than I've been in a long time. I look at the woman next to me, take out the com that's been quiet in my ear and crush it in my hand. I throw it out into the street. A smile grows on my face as I make my first step into a normal life again. | Oh my gooooood does he send you out for random errands too? Jesus, its almost like they don't see us as human. We come out here, follow them around and help them. Treat their wounds, give them a rock. So you know what? I think its time for some revenge.
"Alright, so Starkid I've got some really nasty stuff here, ultimately deadly to a normal human, like Bearus, say? Slip some into his medicine and we'll be right on track to end this feud"
"It's Starlit" the good sidekick muttered. "And why would I do this, I know you wouldn't hold up your end!"
Darkling smiled. "Not unless we switched places. Our 'heroes' apparently have similar taste in orphans. So if we trade outfits, in their current state they'd have no idea. Think of the good you'd be doing the city, Bearus was still the paragon he wants to be, do you think he'd have sent you out to die? I could have killed you several times." Darkling looked down like something long broken was moving to the surface. "Like Kreemon made me kill the last one. I can't do this anymore."
Starkid sat on the rooftop and considered for what felt to him a century. "Alright, so how do i kill Kreemon?" | |
[WP] The Hero and Villain are both sidelined with the flu. They send their sidekick/henchman to do battle in their stead, but the two underlings turn out to have a lot in common. | I cannot believe that I have to cover for this guy. Really? A superhero can't handle a simple flu? I shake my head as I slip around the buildings in the night. I see a shadow slip past a street light. It's pretty late, but I was warned that Dark Crusade would be putting together a plan, so I set out to stop whatever was being put together.
I glance around, trying to find what had casted the shadow I had just seen. I continue to move along when I can't seem to find anything. Out of the corner of my eye, I see another shadow rush past. I stand up straight as I whip around. "I know you're there. Show yourself."
I hear a low chuckle. A female form steps out of the darkness in the alleyway. I tilt my head slightly. Last I remembered, Dark Crusade was not a female. She steps out enough for me to identify her as Nightingale, Dark Crusade's henchman. Henchwoman, I should say.
"How observant." I can tell she has a voice distorter on, the sound electronic and low. "I would hope so, otherwise I'd be a pretty shitty hero." She smirks. "Where's Dark Crusade?" She takes a step towards me and I take a step back. "Where's your golden boy, huh? The superhero of the day? Or were you just thrown out by yourself?"
"I'm just here to stop Crusade. I don't need you in my way." She smiles wider. "Fine. He's not here. Sick. The flu caught that rat and he sent me out to catch whatever his name is." She turns off the voice distorter as she speaks. "Phantasm?"
"Yeah, yeah, that guy." She says carelessly. "Where is he anyways?"
"Same ordeal, actually. Sick with the flu." She laughs unbelievingly. "Very funny. Where is he?" I look her dead in the eyes. "No, really. He's sick." I start laughing. "He's actually sick! And so is Dark Crusade! And so they sent us out to-" I interrupt myself with laughter, and Nightingale joins me.
Our laughter eventually fades, and we look at each other. I can tell we have the same thoughts. I take off my domino mask and hold out my hand for her to shake. "I'm Jackie, most call me Daybreak." She does the same, taking my hand and shaking it. "Jane. Nightingale."
"Nice to meet you, Jane. When did you decide to be a henchman to a villian? Doesn't seem like you like it very much."
"I hate it. I really do. Dark Crusade is nice and pays well, which is a plus, but I'm not one for evil-doing. And Crusade gets annoying and is very oblivious to when he's rude, so I've gotten very tired of him. I started doing this stuff because I was in a bad place and I needed money. I had some self-defense training already in my pocket, so I thought I could use it. I'm sure you wouldn't understand, though, with you being a hero and everything."
"Oh no, I totally get it." Jane raises an eyebrow at me. "Really! I had no job, no money, no motivation, but I liked helping people and could stand my own, so I thought being a hero would be a good idea. Turns out Phantasm is a huge ass, and never really cares about me or my well being. Ironic, right? I really do understand your pain. I'm in the same boat. You should have heard "golden boy" whining when he called me about being sick. It was so childish."
"You know what? Want to go get some dinner with me? I haven't eaten anything since lunch time, and I'm starving. Forget this hero-villian shit. I don't want to be the bad guy anymore."
"I'd love to. I think that I'd like to have a somewhat normal life again." I hold out my hand for her to take and she puts her gloved hand near mine. She stops for a moment, takes her hand back and takes off her leather gloves. She holds out her hand, and I take my gloves off as well, and take her hand in mine. We walk past the large, dark buildings, making our way towards somewhere to eat.
"You know, that black leather suit is really flattering on you."
"Why thank you, I think you look just as wonderful in your suit."
I take a deep breath and sigh, finally calmer than I've been in a long time. I look at the woman next to me, take out the com that's been quiet in my ear and crush it in my hand. I throw it out into the street. A smile grows on my face as I make my first step into a normal life again. | Ultra Warrior. "What an arrogant name" Thomas thought. "Even for a superhero. So he has unlimited powers and draws unfathomable strength from the multiverse and has never lost a fight. I mean, once again... SELFISH! ARROGANT! Does he ever think about the other universe?" These thoughts ran through his head as he opens the door to a familiar destination. Sam's dry cleaners. His train of thought continues, "No one at the desk. Typical. Why does he make me go here of all places anyway? That guy. I mean what even happens to the other universe when he draws his strength? It's gotta be a huge vortex of destruction. Does he even care? Doubt it. Huh... I wonder if that's where hurricanes come from, some other universe's hero sucking the life out of us. Crazy. I'm the sidekick of a natural disaster creator. Just. Awesome."
Thomas did not create hurricanes in multiple dimensions.
Thomas did not have unfathomable power.
Thomas did not have a ridiculously self absorbed super hero name. No, Thomas was named by Ultra Warrior. A name that would never draw any attention away from the hero. A name only a mother could love. *Cool Boy*.
Cool boy had sidekicked for the superhero a year now. It was the longest such stint of any of his previous sidekicks, including but not limited to: *The Dude, Jerky Man, kid man, Sidy McSidekick, and Sweetness.*
Finally the clerk appeared from the back of the shop.
"Yeah I'm here to pick up for Mr. UW, thanks." The clerk takes a look at his slip, nods, and once again disappears to the back.
"You aren't fooling anyone. UW? Come on Tommy boy, no one has those initials." A familiar voice echoed from behind the gumball machines.
"Oh hey Carl. What's up? Drastico get drunk and spill wine on his spandex again?" Thomas asked the familiar voice of Carl Chadwick. Drastico was Ultra Warrior's sworn arch nemesis. Carl was the evil sidekick, though never seemed that bad to Thomas. He always felt Carl went dark because Ultra Man kicked him around too much when he was younger. Not many people knew, but Carl was once in Thomas' shoes. He was Kid Man. Now he is called *Goon number 17*. Drastico doesn't even bother to try anymore. Ultra Warrior usually goes through a few of his sidekicks every week. Carl just lays low and has lasted over a year now.
"Close! It was chocolate cake. You know with the raspberry filling. What a mess." Carl replied peeking over the comic book he had been reading.
"Is that the limited edition part 5 of 5?" Thomas asks jaw dropped staring at the comic. "That doesn't come out for a week!"
&#x200B;
"Being called a henchman, following a maniacal crazed lunatic around, always losing to you and 'U W' (he motions air quotes) is not fun. But when you get to rob the comic truck, it all becomes worth it somehow. Sure beats being called Kid Man... or Cool Boy," Thomas slowly drug his hand down his face. "No offense!"
"No of course none taken...
&#x200B;
Just then the TV programming behind the counter was cut into by breaking news:
*We have unconfirmed reports of Drastico and Ultra Warrior being pulled into another dimension. Yes, it's being confirmed now. The two were battling over last night's comic truck robbery and when Ultra Warrior reached into the multiverse for more power to counter Drastico's new phase shield, it seems as if the phase shield was drawn into the parallel universe. Ultra Man tried to get out of the way but in a dastardly move, Drastico used his laser whip and snagged Ultra Warrior around the ankle and they both went in. There appears to be no sign of them in this dimension. We will have more for you as this story unfolds here on News 7... One wonders what their protege's Cool Boy and Goon number 17 will do to fight it out in the absence of the arch rivals. The two are known for lasting years as sidekicks where others lasted days, or in the case of Goon numbers 7 though 14, about two minutes in the infamous Mutant Ninja Monkey fight of 2014. The shear animosity of the sidekicks after this longstanding battle must be extreme. I'm sure the two will blame each other for their respective partner's demise in today's fight. We are all standing by to see how they carry on the fight between good and evil."*
The two sidekicks stare at the TV, then each other, then back to the TV.
"Starbucks?" Thomas asks.
Carl quickly replies, "Yeah I could go for coffee."
The two friends walk out the door, dropping the dry cleaning tickets in the trash on the way out. | |
[WP] The Hero and Villain are both sidelined with the flu. They send their sidekick/henchman to do battle in their stead, but the two underlings turn out to have a lot in common. | I was getting ready for work – well, my first job anyway – when my phone went off, the Jedi’s music from Star Wars ringing loudly through my apartment.
I snatched up my phone, “Yes boss?” I always answered quickly - that damn tune was so obnoxious.
He spoke between obnoxiously loud coughing fits, “I seem to be under the weather today, but Doomside’s attack is still today. I know you’re very early in your internship, but everyone else in the office has it. It’s up to you to stop his plan.”
The blood ran out of my face, a chill running down my spine, “Hold on, you want *me* to fight Doomside? I haven’t even figured out all of my powers yet, how the hell am I supposed to stop him?”
He sighed wearily, “Look, I get it, but this is what being a hero is all about. I didn’t know all of my powers either the first time I fought him. Or the second. Or the fifth.
In fact, that first fight was ter–“ his monologue was mercifully cut short by a monstrous sneeze that just about blew out my eardrum. I had heard it before, and man could Lightshadow talk forever.
I spoke quickly before he could recover, “I know that, but his powers weren’t developed then either. He’s had decades to come into his own, and–“
He cut me off, “Listen, you don’t have to fight him – just stop him. Sabotage his deathray or blow it up or whatever. And remember, as long as you stop him it doesn’t matter if you get killed – you’ll be a hero!” And then he hung up.
What an *asshole*. Yes, he was the defender of the world, blah blah blah, but he was such a pretentious prick. Not to mention that most of the people that ‘worked’ for him were unpaid interns with varying levels of abilities, hoping to be the next big hero.
Still, the world *did* need to be saved. Not that Doomside didn’t have a point about society or the government, but killing half of everyone seemed excessive. Thinking about it, I probably could sabotage his weapon.
I was logging in to the VPN to check the schematics when my phone rang again, this time the Imperial March. My other job.
I answered it a bit more slowly this time - I liked this ringtone, “Yes boss?”
“This is really awkward, but I seem to be sick.” If it hadn’t been for caller ID, I wouldn’t have been able to tell that it was Doomside – he was really congested.
“I can hear that sir, it sounds bad – are you ok?”
“I will be, but I’m in no shape to fire the weapon today. Do you think you could do that for me?”
“But won’t Lightshadow be there to stop you? I don’t think I could fight him.”
“I wouldn’t want you to – all you need to do is show up, give my speech, and hit the big red button. If things go sideways you know where the emergency escape is…and luckily he has that ‘no killing’ policy, so even if they manage to catch you the worst you’ll suffer is some bruises.”
I was not ready for today. “Certainly sir, I hope you feel better soon!”
“Good luck, my apprentice.” He hung up.
I sat down and laughed. Yes, it was a little hypocritical to be working both sides, but I only ended up with Doomside because he actually pays his employees – good benefits too. And it helped that he was a nice guy once you got passed the whole genocide thing.
But as far as the situation goes…I’m pretty sure that I’m capable of stopping myself. And I didn’t have to be anywhere until tonight, so I basically had the day off.
I grabbed my PS4 controller and settled in for some quality gaming time. | "Alright Night King show yourself." the young man called out, unsure and nervous, this was his first 'solo' mission to say. "Oh my, you caught me, but little did you.......hang on you're not Starforge! You're his sidekick Starkid!" "Hold up, Night Squire?" Starkid stepped forward, and indeed it was the female sidekick Night Squire.
"What the hell, is this some trick? Is Night King planning something somewhere else? If so, you better tell me or do I need to beat it out of you?" the threat wasn't as genuine as he hoped. " What trick? The boss is sick and I spent the whole day planning this amazing trap only to be stood up by Starforge." " Huh, ironically, Starforge is sick too. You'd think it would take more than a flu to stop a guy who walked out a volcano after being thrown in." Night Squire smiled " Good times" with a more serious look she said " So are we doing this or what?"
The fight would have been spectacular if Starkid didn't trip and have his phone fall out. Picking it up she sneered "Well what do we have here, I wonder what is....." she stopped and turned his phone to him with a picture of a Space Marine "You like 40K?" " Yes, what about you?" " I have every Horus Heresy book and an entire Blood Angel army." " Holy crap that's cool. I have a full Thousand Sons army but Starforge thinks it's too nerdy." "Night King thinks the same thing. Hey, uhh, I know we're mortal enemies and all, but do you wanna ditch this and play a game at a nearby wargame store and maybe join me at next week's convention?" Starkid noticed she was blushing " Yeah, sure why not? And besides it's more fun to go for a convention with someone rather by yourself." "Cool, my name Ellie by the way." "Nate, and nice to meet you Ellie." | |
[WP] The Hero and Villain are both sidelined with the flu. They send their sidekick/henchman to do battle in their stead, but the two underlings turn out to have a lot in common. | "-and then he tried to pretend he wasn't drinking anything. Broken glass on the ground and dude had a fucking milk mustache. *Who is too much of a fragile man that he's afraid to be seen drinking milk*?"
Johnny put his hand over his mouth as he laughed hoping both that Jenny wouldn't see the half chewed burger and that he didn't choke to death at her story. When he regained control of himself he found that he was smiling. To think that two hours ago they had arrived with the intent of arresting or killing each other. He fingered the domino mask on the table and wondered how he never noticed how lovely Jenny's eyes were.
The waitress came by with a coffee pot in one hand and a hand-spun milk shake in the other. She placed the milk shake in front of the goth looking girl who, in following the conversation and noting the costume, must have been Abyss, second to the villainous Dark Star. And refilled the coffee of the young blonde waspy man who was clearly Radiance, sidekick to Lightray.
"So," Jenny said as she took a sip from her milkshake, her eyes on his, "How much do you hate your code name?"
"Oh my God," Johnny brought his hands to his face and dragged them down before letting them fall to the table. "I mean, what can I say to him y'know? He's *Lightray*, *The* Lightray, how do you tell someone like him that you hate the name he gave you?"
"Not to mention he's your foster father," Jenny piped up her eyes teasing.
Johnny went pale and Jenny's grin lit up her black and white painted face. "Oh come on!" She reached out, took his surprisingly warm hand and squeezed. "*Everyone* knows. I mean who else has the means to do what he does *and* has an attractive younger man with amazing hair at his side? Everyone knows Carter Bixby is Lightray but if we let on then we know then suddenly your pops will start doing things during the day and ruin our off time."
Johnny went from pale to blushing when she took his hand. She was cool to the touch but not uncomfortably so. Refreshing even since his powers have him running at about 104 degrees constantly. He squeezed her hand back and sighed. "Fine fine, ok so you know *all* about me then fine what about you. Who are you? *Abyss*." He smirked as he asked the question. As far as code names go hers wasn't bad. But going around and calling yourself that is like playing make believe. And they were both too old for that.
"Well," she said before smacking her lips together in thought, "I was 18, pre-med, and through some clerical error lost my scholarship." She smiled weakly. It was probably the worst news she'd received since her parents died. "I started looking for jobs and there was this night gig that promised six figures a year under the table if you succeed at your job."
"Wait, hol up," the angelic young man interrupted, "What kind of site allows postings like *that*? You and I know he meant bank robbing but that sounds like, well, *you know*."
Abyss mumbled an answer. Radiance smirked and cupped his ear, leaning with with a teasing gleam in his eyes.
"It was Craigslist ok?!" Jenny nearly shouted in grinning exasperation. She had lost his hand at some point and took it once more. "I emailed him to make sure it wasn't prostitution and he said there would be no sexual activity of any kind so, desperate for cash and 3 years later here I am. Still no six figures but I have a modest apartment."
Johnny nodded he knew the next things he should say. Ask her why she didn't just quit a life of crime and go back to school but he knew why. He even knew he could offer to pay. Carter was wealthy and all. But that would be patronizing.
"The real world is terrifying isn't it?" He asked with a slightly somber tone. She squeezed his hand in response, holding it tighter for a few seconds. Johnny himself had wondered about getting a real job. Moving out. Starting a normal life but... Punching henchmen and shooting plasma beams at robots is just more... Predictable. And he could tell Jenny felt the same.
"It would be easier..." she said hesitantly, now looking to gauge his reactions, "if I had someone to make that kind of journey with... Maybe then w-- I could go back to school, study to become a pediatric cardiologist like I always wanted."
Johnny raised an eyebrow, "but you can solidify darkness and all that what does that have to do with... Well what about your powers I mean?"
Jenny just shook her head, "I was someone before he gave me these abilities. I'd love to just be that person again. I mean, haven't you ever considered..." She trailed off. Her heart was racing why hadn't she noticed that?
"Do you wanna get out of here?" Johnny asked with a serious look on his face. He squeezed her hand and stood, helping his foster father's archnemesis' henchgirl to her feet.
Jenny was a little shocked at the golden boy's forwardness. This was just not what she expected from, you know, *Radiance*. "Yes but only... Only if we don't go back," she said biting her bottom lip.
Then, at 3:18am in the middle of an empty diner Radiance gave Abyss a kiss. It was slow and he felt soothed by her touch while she melted in his. She broke the kiss. "Normal life? No more rooftops and costumes?"
Johnny grinned. "Oh I say we *definitely* keep the costumes." Jenny blushed and turned to leave, his hand still in hers. Johnny dropped a hundred dollar bill on the table and let her pull him out the door. He wondered if it was possible to love someone so quickly.
The waitress came back with a tray and put the half consumed milk shake and burger on it. She paused and looked at the C note waiting for her. And beyond that two discarded domino masks. She sighed and smiled, taking all the evidence they had ever been there. Quietly she hoped she would never see them in costume again. That would be so romantic. | "Alright Night King show yourself." the young man called out, unsure and nervous, this was his first 'solo' mission to say. "Oh my, you caught me, but little did you.......hang on you're not Starforge! You're his sidekick Starkid!" "Hold up, Night Squire?" Starkid stepped forward, and indeed it was the female sidekick Night Squire.
"What the hell, is this some trick? Is Night King planning something somewhere else? If so, you better tell me or do I need to beat it out of you?" the threat wasn't as genuine as he hoped. " What trick? The boss is sick and I spent the whole day planning this amazing trap only to be stood up by Starforge." " Huh, ironically, Starforge is sick too. You'd think it would take more than a flu to stop a guy who walked out a volcano after being thrown in." Night Squire smiled " Good times" with a more serious look she said " So are we doing this or what?"
The fight would have been spectacular if Starkid didn't trip and have his phone fall out. Picking it up she sneered "Well what do we have here, I wonder what is....." she stopped and turned his phone to him with a picture of a Space Marine "You like 40K?" " Yes, what about you?" " I have every Horus Heresy book and an entire Blood Angel army." " Holy crap that's cool. I have a full Thousand Sons army but Starforge thinks it's too nerdy." "Night King thinks the same thing. Hey, uhh, I know we're mortal enemies and all, but do you wanna ditch this and play a game at a nearby wargame store and maybe join me at next week's convention?" Starkid noticed she was blushing " Yeah, sure why not? And besides it's more fun to go for a convention with someone rather by yourself." "Cool, my name Ellie by the way." "Nate, and nice to meet you Ellie." | |
[WP] The Hero and Villain are both sidelined with the flu. They send their sidekick/henchman to do battle in their stead, but the two underlings turn out to have a lot in common. | "Larry? Is that you?"
The young man sitting on the park bench, wearing white-painted cardboard on his body, and fake mouse ears on his head, looked up. "Sally?! Ah, crap."
Sally laughed. A motion that rippled up the tight latex of her yellow canary outfit. A costume, unlike his, not held together by staples and glue. "Are you meant to be dressed as a *mouse*, Larry?"
The pile of cardboard sunk, as if trying to swallow itself. "MegaMouse. Mister Titanium said I needed an alias...And..."
The Canary sat down next to him, still chuckling. "And he gave you this?!" She prodded the circular cardboard stomach. "Jesus. What a total bastard. He set you up, Larry -- to have a good laugh at your expense."
The cardboard man groaned, his face flushed red. "Ugh. I wish that was the case. But it's way worse than that."
"What do you mean worse?"
He ran two white-gloved hands over his face. "He let me come up with my own identity. Make my own costume."
The Canary tried to stifle a laugh, but it spilt out all over Larry like burning coffee. "And you came up with MegaMouse?"
"I like mice, OK? They're quiet but clever. They're just... cool."
"I don't know about cool, but they can be kind of cute at time," The Canary said. "But... they don't really have many super-villain attributes going for them, do they? Like... they're pretty low on the food chain. And their only move in a fight is to scamper off into a hole."
"They're cool," he repeated, but any enthusiasm in his voice was lost.
The Canary nodded. "Uh huh. Sure."
Larry glanced at Sally. "Why are you even out here? Shouldn't Desert Cat be trying to stop me?"
"He's got the flu... Same as your boss. But, uh, stop you from what, Larry? I'm only here doing a routine patrol, on Desert's behalf."
"Oh. I..." He nodded at the bank across the street.
Sally raised her eyebrows. "You're going to try to rob it?" She sounded almost impressed. Definitely surprised.
"Ah, well. Gee. I already tried, kind of."
"You've already robbed it??"
"Tried," he repeated, adding emphasis. "I went in there and told them it was a robbery, and..."
"And?"
"And... they all swam around me like fish in a bowl, no one giving any mind to me. I shouted a few more times, before I took a couple of MouseGrenades out -- my own invention."
The Canary whistled. "I hope you didn't hurt anyone."
He laughed. "Only my pride. They had leaked in my gadget pouch. All that was left was a damp shell. No good as grenades. That's when I left. Took a seat here to think about things."
"I'm sorry thing didn't work out? I guess?
"Thanks."
"So, what things have you been ruminating on?"
"The point of it all, you know?"
"Of life?"
"Of being the comedy sidekick to a genius super-villain."
The Canary nodded, her eyes looking through Larry, for a moment. "Yeah, Mister Titanium is pretty smart. Pretty special, all round."
Larry stared at her, watched her eyes enlarge and cheeks redden. "Oh my God, Sally. You came out here just hoping to see him, didn't you?"
"No! I just... uh..."
"That's why you put so much effort into your costume. And your hair, for that matter."
She huffed. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"He's not as tall in real life. And he's got a bit of a belly."
"Is he as smart?"
It was Larry's turn to huff. "Yeah. I guess."
"Well that's all that matters!"
"Ugh."
Sally laughed. "I'm teasing you. You're cute when you're jealous, you know? Like a real little mouse."
He rolled his eyes.
"Why do you even work for him, Larry? He doesn't respect you. I get the feeling you only resent him. So... Why?"
Larry shrugged his cardboard shoulders. "He was the only Super willing to give me an apprenticeship. Everyone else... turned me down."
"I wouldn't turn you down, Larry."
Larry's eyes cautiously wandered over to hers, where they met and held. "Yeah?"
"Yeah."
"Well... I've not had lunch yet... And I know this great little pizzeria..."
"Will Mister Titanium be there?!
"Funny."
"Sorry, I couldn't resist." Sally got to her feet and grabbed Larry's hand, pulling him up too. "Come on, I'm starving. But no running into the kitchen and dirtying it. I know what you mice are like! Oh, and no squeaking. Not in public, anyway."
For the first time that day, a grin spread over Larry's lips. | Zolaray, sidekick of the great protector, was heading downtown in his zolamobile, a slightly smaller and more red version of the great protector's own vehicle.
This was his first mission, his chance to prove himself. He would be going up against his Boss's arch-nemesis, The Smuggler, reports of his sightings echoing over the police radio frequencies. He was at the metropolitan bank, staging a heist.
His body shook with nerves as he rounded the last corner to the bank and then skidded to a stop outside.
The police hadn't arrived yet, reluctant to engage too early and risk the losses of life they had suffered last time around against this great evil.
An explosion rocked the side of the building, from it emerging...not The Smuggler, but a woman. She was dressed in green in a tight fighting suit, a simple mask that only covered her eyes. Her long red hair hung around her shoulders. Shadows danced from her hands that lead to stacks upon stacks of money floating behind her. Inside the building through the hole, people were bound in the same dark clouds.
"Oh what do we have here?" she asked, "the Great protector's little pet come to save the day?" she said. She must have been a henchman, Zola thought.
Focusing on his power, Zolaray drew the light to his hands. He wasn't here to chat, and if he was honest, didn't know what to say. The sheer beauty of the woman had caught him off guard, made him defensive even before any blows had been exchanged.
He shot out a single beam of light towards her, and as he did, she shot out her own shadow.
They collided together with equal force, a stalemate. Zolaray added a second beam, and as he did, she matched it. He pushed, stepping closer and closer, as she also pushed back. Step by step they neared each other.
"Darkness and evil will never prevail in this city" Zola said, grunting with the effort of the force.
"What do you know about Darkness? I was here during the darkest times of this city, saw the wanton destruction caused by the dependence on it's pretending heroes. Where were you during the terrorist bombings 5 years ago? What were you doing to help? I was there, I lost all my family! No heroes came to help us. It was the true form of humanity"
Zolaray blinked, almost losing concentration, "I was there, too. My family also lost. But I swore to never let it happen to anyone again after my powers manifested shortly after". Infact, he had been blinded by his own righteousness , focusing only on his crusade against evil. He himself was a shadow of the man he once was. His life was empty.
The woman had also faltered, but they were still being drawn into one another, their powers seemingly attracting. Suddenly, their hands touched. Zolaray felt inside him something lurch forward, and he embraced her. His heart released an outpouring of emotion, so intense that tears began to fall from his face.
The woman too, was crying.
"What is this?" she said, placing her head on his shoulder, sobbing.
Zolaray didn't know, couldn't explain, but knew they were destined to be together. Two sides of the same coin, each others missing piece. The light and the dark born from the same shared tragedy. They needed each other.
As the police arrived and the floating stacks of money fell to the floor, they remained there, in each other's embrace, both feeling something they hadn't felt in so long.
Zolaray would never let go.
(had to rush! hope you enjoy, bk later to edit )
if you like fatdragons r/fatdragon for more :) | |
[WP] The Hero and Villain are both sidelined with the flu. They send their sidekick/henchman to do battle in their stead, but the two underlings turn out to have a lot in common. | The sun beat down on the barren wasteland as a man emerged from an unmarked white van. He wore a long white cloak with the symbol of the Defender on his back—a large green shield with a red diamond in the middle. His hands shook as he stepped along the dry, cracked earth.
“Give me strength,” he mumbled. His hands shook. His knees wavered with every step. A hundred thoughts raced through his mind, but one repeated above all others: *he could not win*.
A hundred yards away, an equally plain black van rolled to a stop. A hooded figure stepped out from the driver’s seat, its head low as it moved. The crest on his shirt struck fear in the heart of the man in white—a silver sword across a cracked blue shield. The Aggressor.
“You can do this, Steve,” the man in white whispered to himself. “He doesn’t know who you are. He’s expecting a superhero. You can do this. Talk him down. You can—”
The man in black stopped, pulling the hood from his face. Steve’s eyes narrowed, his face twisted in confusion. That man was not the Aggressor.
“Look,” the man in black called out. “I know you’ve come expecting a battle for the ages, but there will be no fight today.”
Steve planted his feet in the dirt, unsure of how to proceed. So, he did the only thing he could think to do; he revealed himself. As he lowered his own hood, the man in black relaxed.
“You’re not the Defender,” he said, his voice laced with shock and relief.
“No, I’m not,” Steve said. He approached the man, remaining cautious, and extended a hand. “I’m Steve.”
“Jerry,” the man said. His handshake was limp and clammy.
The two men stood in silence for a moment, taking in one another’s appearance. Steve glanced behind the man at the van he’d arrived in.
“That the c300?”
“350,” Jerry said.
Steve laughed. “See, I knew the 350 was the better choice. I’m always telling the Defender it’s all about comfort. No one wants to roll into a battle with a sore back because of an inferior seat design.”
“Oh, I completely agree,” Jerry said with a nod. “The 300 isn’t bad, but it’s such a small price gap to the 350, it just makes more sense to upgrade.”
“That’s exactly what I said! But you know the Defender, he’s gotta be *so* economical!”
Jerry laughed, relaxing his stance. “Nice cloak, by the way. I bet yours came from the same knock-off place at the mall that mine did.”
Steve rolled his eyes. “We go through one of these a month. You have any idea how much money they could save if they just spent *a little* more on something higher quality?”
“Oh, I’m with you, all the way. Aggressor is always trying to cut corners. That death ray from last summer? Would’ve worked just fine if he bought the extra plutonium I suggested, but nooo, ‘off brand will work just fine!’”
“And Defender’s wife probably wouldn’t have been lost in that trap of yours two years ago if he’d upgraded his home security system, like *I* insisted! But of course, he’s all, ‘who needs sensors on *every* window, Steve, that’s just a waste of money!’” He puffed his chest and did his best impression of the hero.
“I *knew* that was too easy! Gah, will they *ever* listen? This feud would have been settled *years* ago if *we* were in charge.” Jerry smiled, sweat rolling down his forehead. “Christ, it’s hot out here. Could really go for some ice cream.”
Steve thought for a moment. “I know a place, down on third street—”
“Bannermans?”
“Hell yeah, Bannermans. Best ice cream in the tri state area. Wanna grab a cone?”
“You know it! Hey, wanna drive the 350?” Jerry pulled the keys from his pocket and tossed them in the air.
Steve caught them and laughed. “Hell *yes* I do.” He walked passed his new friend, flooded with relief. He had been dreading this meeting, sure that he’d meet his end. How a superhero could possibly expect his sidekick to defeat the villain was beyond him. Thankfully, the Aggressor had the same idea.
He walked towards the van, spinning the keyring around his finger. But before he reached it, he heard a familiar, chilling noise. A low, electric hum, increasing in pitch by the second. His heart sank.
“Jerry—”
“Sorry, Steve, you seem like a great guy and all, but I came here for a reason. I’m not going to fail.”
Steve spun around and saw the pistol pointed at him. “You don’t have to do this, Jerry. We can quit. We don’t need to be their slaves anymore. Let them fight their own battles, let them—”
“Where is the Defender, anyway?”
Steve furrowed his brow. “What?”
“Where is he? This was supposed to be a showdown.” His eyes were narrow, a fire burning behind them.
“He’s sick, flu or something,” Steve said. He held his hands high in the air, looking for a way to escape. “Wait—where’s Aggressor?”
“Aggressor is dead,” Jerry said. “I was tired of his ridiculous commands. He never respected me, or my ideas. He was a shit villain, and he needed to be replaced.”
“You—you *killed* him?”
“And I’m going to kill the Defender, too. Sounds like he’s as inept as Aggressor was. And now I know it. I just need to get you out of the way.”
In that moment, Steve realized his fate. There was no talking his way out of this one. He had to act fast, or—
The gun fired, and Steve felt a flash of white hot pain in his chest. His knees gave way and the world spun around him as he fell to the dirt. The clouds above him became a blur, and after a moment, a figure stood over him.
“Sorry, Steve, but this is my town now.”
r/Ford9863 for more stuff by me. | Zolaray, sidekick of the great protector, was heading downtown in his zolamobile, a slightly smaller and more red version of the great protector's own vehicle.
This was his first mission, his chance to prove himself. He would be going up against his Boss's arch-nemesis, The Smuggler, reports of his sightings echoing over the police radio frequencies. He was at the metropolitan bank, staging a heist.
His body shook with nerves as he rounded the last corner to the bank and then skidded to a stop outside.
The police hadn't arrived yet, reluctant to engage too early and risk the losses of life they had suffered last time around against this great evil.
An explosion rocked the side of the building, from it emerging...not The Smuggler, but a woman. She was dressed in green in a tight fighting suit, a simple mask that only covered her eyes. Her long red hair hung around her shoulders. Shadows danced from her hands that lead to stacks upon stacks of money floating behind her. Inside the building through the hole, people were bound in the same dark clouds.
"Oh what do we have here?" she asked, "the Great protector's little pet come to save the day?" she said. She must have been a henchman, Zola thought.
Focusing on his power, Zolaray drew the light to his hands. He wasn't here to chat, and if he was honest, didn't know what to say. The sheer beauty of the woman had caught him off guard, made him defensive even before any blows had been exchanged.
He shot out a single beam of light towards her, and as he did, she shot out her own shadow.
They collided together with equal force, a stalemate. Zolaray added a second beam, and as he did, she matched it. He pushed, stepping closer and closer, as she also pushed back. Step by step they neared each other.
"Darkness and evil will never prevail in this city" Zola said, grunting with the effort of the force.
"What do you know about Darkness? I was here during the darkest times of this city, saw the wanton destruction caused by the dependence on it's pretending heroes. Where were you during the terrorist bombings 5 years ago? What were you doing to help? I was there, I lost all my family! No heroes came to help us. It was the true form of humanity"
Zolaray blinked, almost losing concentration, "I was there, too. My family also lost. But I swore to never let it happen to anyone again after my powers manifested shortly after". Infact, he had been blinded by his own righteousness , focusing only on his crusade against evil. He himself was a shadow of the man he once was. His life was empty.
The woman had also faltered, but they were still being drawn into one another, their powers seemingly attracting. Suddenly, their hands touched. Zolaray felt inside him something lurch forward, and he embraced her. His heart released an outpouring of emotion, so intense that tears began to fall from his face.
The woman too, was crying.
"What is this?" she said, placing her head on his shoulder, sobbing.
Zolaray didn't know, couldn't explain, but knew they were destined to be together. Two sides of the same coin, each others missing piece. The light and the dark born from the same shared tragedy. They needed each other.
As the police arrived and the floating stacks of money fell to the floor, they remained there, in each other's embrace, both feeling something they hadn't felt in so long.
Zolaray would never let go.
(had to rush! hope you enjoy, bk later to edit )
if you like fatdragons r/fatdragon for more :) | |
[WP] In the near future, a rehab center is created for serial killers. To quell their urges, they go to the center, where they get to murder realistic human-like robots. Each killer can modify their robot victims and scenarios to their liking. | I-I really don’t belong here. I thought. while a man double my size grabbed my shoulders and urged me through the front doors. He forcibly took me to the front counter to sign in.
“Jacob Adams.” He said to the lady at the counter.
“Ah,18 year old Jacob will spending an undetermined amount of time at forever alive rehab centre. Because of, it says here, attempted murder of his best friend.” She said with no expression.
“Follow along.” She instructed me.
I quickly turned back and shouted at the guy who brought me.
“Wait, sir!” I shouted as he was making his way to the door. Surprisingly he turned back.
“What?” He asked.
“I-I didn’t try to kill her, we’re best friends or atleast we were. She set me up for money. Plea—-“ I explained, but he cut me off.
“I’m not a judge, you told the judge your story and he sent you here. I’m just doing my job, I have to go now.” He said.
And before I could even say another word, he was gone, and I was alone in the small building filled with a bunch of serial killers.
“Okay, so you’ll be sharing a room with another guy your age named Steven.” She said as we walked down a long hallway.
“Wait, I have to share rooms with a serial killer!” I exclaimed but kept my voice down.The lady raised her eyebrow.
“Yes.” She said.
“But don’t worry, our security here is extensive, we have cameras in every room and an alarm system on both sides of the room, so only the person who’s side of the room it is can step there.” She explained.
I nodded as I swallowed a huge lump in my throat. But I can’t cry here, I felt like I was being watched everywhere. Like at any moment I could be preyed on by a bunch of hungry lions.
I dropped all of my stuff on the bed and decided to lay down.
“What are you doing? It’s not nights out yet. It’s killing time.”
“Excuse me?”I said.
“Time to personalize your robot, and then at the end of the week you will be ‘killing’ it however you want. Doesn’t that sound exciting!” She encouraged.
I hesitantly stood up and we walked over to the robot room. As I walked in the door way, I heard a lot of murmuring.
Until they saw me, then it went dead quiet.
“Fresh meat!” A person yelled.
The lady walked me to an iPad on an iPad stand and walked away,
As soon as she left, I got swarmed by loads of other patients. A lot of them looked the same, a crooked smile and lifeless eyes. My heart was beating a million miles a minute.
“What’re you in for?” A patient asked.
“Uh-um murder.” I stuttered.
I couldn’t let them know, I didn’t belong here.
“Murder? Murder!” The guy joked.
“We’re all in here for murder!” Another guy chipped in.
“Well not those losers, they’re a bunch of wusses. They’re here on an ‘attempted murder.” The first guy said as he pointed to group of bruised bleeding boys sitting across the room.
I swallowed hard, that could be me. I thought.
“I’m Steven.” The first guy said.
My roommate,Steven. I thought.
“I’m in for stabbing the entire bank’s staff.” He said while laughing.
He, then, looked at me, as if he was waiting for me to speak.
“I-I killed my best friend.” I lied.
“Really?” Steven exclaimed.
The crowd went crazy, with cheering and ooo’s and ah’s.
“What’s your name?” Steven asked.
“Jacob.” I said.
“Wait, the Jacob I’m sharing my room with?” He asked.
I inhaled quickly.
“Yeah.” I said.
He paused for a second until he stepped on a platform.
“Give it up for my amazing roommate Jacob!” Steven shouted.
Applause roared throughout the room as Steven gave me the “You’re alright.” Look.
A receptionist quickly rushed in.
“Everyone quiet down!” She shouted.
One prisoner got so annoyed that she ruined their fun, that he ran towards her at full energy. She quickly tore open what looked to be a tazor and tazed him. No one seemed to blink an eye, so this had to be a normal occurrence.
“Jacob. Come with me.” She called.
The room filled with ooo’s and ah’s again. But I was just so happy I was getting away from the situation.
“You got a caller on the line.” She said.
“Hello?” I said as I picked up the phone.
“Honey! Are you okay?” My mom shouted through the phone.
I felt the glare of new patients as they walked by.
“Yeah, man.” I said, trying to seem tough so the new patients would notice.
“Honey, we have a surprise for you! We have appealed the case. And now it’s in the last stages, we made that no good Samantha admit that she lied! You’re too pure to hurt a fly and hopefully you could be out that hell hole in less than a week!” She exclaimed
“Thank you.” I whispered in the phone.
“ I love you.” She said.
Paranoid someone would see, i said.
“You too.”
I took the phone away from my face revealing Steven standing not even a meter away from me.
He must’ve heard the conversation! He must know I’m a fake. I thought.
“Did you hear anything?” I asked.
“What? No. Who was it?” Steven asked.
“My- drug dealer.” I lied.
Steven nodded and the receptionist escorted both of us to our rooms.
Steven wasn’t falling asleep anytime soon. I could hear him hustling around in his comforters.
“Steven? Are you alright?” I asked.
Steven sighed and took a long pause.
“I’m just so sick.” He said.
“Oh, should I call the receptionist.” I asked.
“No I’m just so sick of all the lying.” He said sitting up.
My heart stopped and my palms began getting sweaty.
Was he talking about me?
“Everyone in my life has lied to me.” He said.
“Oh I’m sorry.” I said not knowing what to say.
“I have to go to the bathroom.” I said trying to leave the conversation.
“There you are lying again!” Shouted Steven.
“You lied to me all day!” He shouted again.
“You heard the phone call.” I quietly said.
“Lies, lies lies! The bank lies to the people! The people lie to the bank! Your parents lie when they save they love you! Everyone lies!”He started screaming.
And before I knew an alarm was sounding. Steven was on top of me on my bed. Hovering a knife at my face.
“Please, S-Steven I was just trying to fit in. I-I I’m sorry.” I said with tears rushing down my face.
I heard the door click open, but the lady was too late.
“People shouldn’t lie!” He exclaimed as he raised his knife and emerged it into my abdomen.
[Thanks for reading! This was just for fun. I am a new reddit writer and a very amateur one] | (Before I start my short story, just FYI I’m gonna be writing about the villain Himiko Toga from My Hero Academia)
I giggled and adjusted my personal robot to be just like my beloved Izuku-Kun. I added in a bag of edible fake blood (shame they don’t allow real blood) and activated my session. The robot changed appearance, and I adjusted my gear. Then the robot “saw me, and as it slowly approached in Izuku-Kun’s Hero Suit, all I could think about was how it would feel to be him. With that, I took a knife from the box strapped to my leg and attacked.
“Izuku-Kun! Come on!” I said, attacking the robot. It tried to kick me, but I managed to get out of its field of view. I took one of the syringes connected to my gear and tossed it, hitting the bag of fake blood. I began giggling as the robot fell down and tryed to remove the syringe. I wrapped my arms around the robot and held my knife against its neck.
“Izuku-Kun..... I’ll have fun being you!” I whispered, and removed the syringe, then stabbed the robot repeatedly. I laughed as the robot collapsed, and some people came in, taking away my gear and knives. I was escorted back into my hole of a room, still laughing and imagining actually doing that to Izuku-Kun. *I love this place...* | |
[WP] In the near future, a rehab center is created for serial killers. To quell their urges, they go to the center, where they get to murder realistic human-like robots. Each killer can modify their robot victims and scenarios to their liking. | "Killacility", is how the usual people call it. But for me this is definetly not the way to do it, this is like giving drugs to a drug addict but worse.
As a janitor i always see the usual shit, presidents, neighbors, coworkers, hell, even kids were being portrayed by the robots.
But there was this random guy who would only kill his replica every week, on the same schedule. All of the staff was terrified of him, he didnt act normal like every other serial killer would do, hiding his real identity, he would not talk to anybody except for the nurse, who would get his order to kill the robot that portrayed him and the robot that he killed moments later.
He has been in here since day one, it has been 9 years now and he seems to enjoy killing himself more week after week repeating the same words that i see from tje protection glass, not actually being able to hear him, just see his lips move.
One day, the entire staff prepared and set a mic on the room, to be able to treat him in another way, because it seems that he only gets worse.
After listening to his words everyone was shocked. They could not believe what he had said.
"Im not killing you because of what you did, im killing you because of what you've become, you are a monster and everything that revolves around you is pure hate, wrath and pain. But not anymore, today i seek salvation of this life where im less than nothing."
Those were the last words of patient 005 before he sliced his throat with a knife made of metal bits from the robot. | (Before I start my short story, just FYI I’m gonna be writing about the villain Himiko Toga from My Hero Academia)
I giggled and adjusted my personal robot to be just like my beloved Izuku-Kun. I added in a bag of edible fake blood (shame they don’t allow real blood) and activated my session. The robot changed appearance, and I adjusted my gear. Then the robot “saw me, and as it slowly approached in Izuku-Kun’s Hero Suit, all I could think about was how it would feel to be him. With that, I took a knife from the box strapped to my leg and attacked.
“Izuku-Kun! Come on!” I said, attacking the robot. It tried to kick me, but I managed to get out of its field of view. I took one of the syringes connected to my gear and tossed it, hitting the bag of fake blood. I began giggling as the robot fell down and tryed to remove the syringe. I wrapped my arms around the robot and held my knife against its neck.
“Izuku-Kun..... I’ll have fun being you!” I whispered, and removed the syringe, then stabbed the robot repeatedly. I laughed as the robot collapsed, and some people came in, taking away my gear and knives. I was escorted back into my hole of a room, still laughing and imagining actually doing that to Izuku-Kun. *I love this place...* | |
[WP] In the near future, a rehab center is created for serial killers. To quell their urges, they go to the center, where they get to murder realistic human-like robots. Each killer can modify their robot victims and scenarios to their liking. | Jacinto had been a guard at the Almswood Rehabilitation Center for Homicidal Tendencies for nine months. The facility was more commonly called the Arch. The idea was simple. Ten years ago, a group of lawmakers decided to create rehabilitation centers for criminals convicted of homicide. These centers were a normal prison except for one catch: you give these cold-blooded killers what they want. Each center was equipped with several virtual reality stations. In each station, any prisoner can go in and create a situation to their liking and murder virtual victims unperturbed. Guards were not allowed to even flip through the logs of the simulations. It was advanced technology. When Jacinto was being trained, they had shown him what the simulations were like. It looked as if the dummies the prisoners were killing were real flesh-bodied humans. And that was the point; to give these killers an outlet.
When Jacinto first arrived at the facility, he had been told to keep a close eye on one person: Ronny Fenton. As they handed Jacinto Ronny’s information sheet, he immediately understood that Mr. Fenton posed a threat. After all, Jacinto was no stranger to the criminal world. He had been working as a guard in a maximum level security prison a few miles west of the Arch for twenty years. It was only recently that he had been transferred here.
He flipped through the files quickly. Mr. Fenton was convicted of killing six openly homosexual men. Jacinto had been working in this department for years now, so he had a strong stomach for the macabre. But when he turned the page to the police investigation photos, he almost belched. The bodies of Mr. Fenton’s victims were barely recognizable as human. Each of his victims had been castrated and flayed, leaving behind a grisly mess.
It didn’t take an idiot to realize that Mr. Fenton was a problem.
Jacinto met Mr. Fenton the week of his arrival. Jacinto and another guard were standing the cafeteria, observing the prisoners eat.
“You see that guy over there?” The guard next to him pointed towards a man in the corner of the cafeteria.
Jacinto nodded.
“That’s the guy. Mr. Ronny Fenton.” Jacinto peered across the cafeteria to where Mr. Fenton was sitting. From where he was standing, he could see that Mr. Fenton wasn’t very tall, but built well. He had coal colored hair and very pale skin. Chewing a chicken bone, he suddenly picked up his plates and left, a bowl still brimming with salad.
“Weird guy.”
“Oh yeah. You got that right.”
Jacinto met Mr. Fenton face to face for the first time two months later. Jacinto was patrolling the cells and herding prisoners into their cells for lights out, when he bumped into Mr. Fenton. His face seemed to light up when he saw Jacinto.
“Mr. Jacinto Rodriguez?” Jacinto cocked his head towards Mr. Fenton. Up close, he could see that Mr. Fenton had strongly defined features. Long, arching eyebrows. Sharp, intelligent eyes. Tight, toned muscles. He had been told that Mr. Fenton was a regular at the prison gym, and faithfully worked out there for an hour three days of a week.
“Yes?”
“Nice to meet you. I don’t think we had the pleasure yet of meeting face to face. I’m —”
“Yes. I know. Ronny Fenton, eh?”
His lips curled into a smile that gave him shivers. Jacinto had seen his fair share of criminals, but there was something about that face that bothered him. “I’m glad we’re acquainted already. I’ll be seeing you around.” And as he left, he shot Jacinto that smile again. That twisted, sinister smile.
It was a cold night in the Arch. The air hung stalely. It was time for the head count before lights off. Each prisoner stood outside of their cells and observed the cell guards. Jacinto was the first one to notice something was off.
Mr. Fenton was missing from his cell.
Jacinto sprinted up the stairs to Mr. Fenton’s empty cell. Prisoners turned their heads to stare and a wave of whispers ran through the building. Picking up the walkie-talkie hung on his belt, Jacinto held it down.
“This is Jacinto. He’s missing. Fenton.”
There was silence on the line. “We need to find him.” The warden muttered.
“I know, and —” Jacinto was about to continue but stopped dead in his tracks. As he squatted down to inspect Mr. Fenton’s cell, he found something under his bed. Chisel marks, like the one a cat makes on styrofoam. There were perhaps five or six long lines that stretched the length of his bed.
“He’s — He’s armed.” Jacinto stammered into his walkie-talkie. “He has a weapon.” He swore under his breath. The chicken bone, the goddamned chicken bone Mr. Fenton had been chewing all those weeks ago. No one had noticed the damn chicken bone.
“What?” A voice exclaimed on the line.
“I’m going to go to the pods.” Jacinto breathed into the speaker. After a murmur of agreement and other voices on the line, he rushed down the stairs and headed towards the pods, where the virtual reality machines were kept. He could hear the whispers behind him, confused prisoners trying to explain the situation. His heart pounding in his head, Jacinto picked up his pace. He didn’t know for sure where Mr. Fenton was, but there was something he wanted to check. He knew he wasn’t supposed to, but when a prisoner goes missing, anything flies.
Turning the corner into the pod area, he slowed down, panting as sweat fell from his face in beads. There were twenty four pods total. They looked like a human sized egg you could crawl into, covered with a solid white. On the far side of the room, there was an administration room where the PCs were stored as well as what Jacinto was looking for.
The logs. Unlocking the door, he flipped on the lights and opened up the master computer. There was something that had been creeping up in Jacinto’s mind for the past few months, but he didn’t want to believe it. After a few seconds, the computer booted and he opened up the logs for the pods. Even though he wasn’t running anymore, his heart still beat like a timpani inside his head, going *thump-thump*, *thump-thump*. He entered the password and opened the logs, filtering by name: Ronny Fenton. At once, a deluge of results popped up on the screen. In his seven year stay here, he had experienced 2,129 simulations. Jacinto’s mouth gaped open. He had to have been using the pods almost every day. Sorting the results chronologically, he scanned through the simulations. The first hundred or so were what you would expect someone like Mr. Fenton to do. Pictures of slaughtered families and children stared at Jacinto bleakly. He shuddered. But things changed six and a half years ago.
After that day, each and every simulation was in the same place. The Arch. After a certain point, the faces of the victims grew familiar, other guards who worked here. Jacinto scrolled faster and faster. He didn’t want to believe it. He stopped dead when he reached a certain day. February third of this year. The day Jacinto had been transferred here. Now there was a cohesive target. The 214 simulations after that were all in the Arch. And the target was always Jacinto.
His throat seemed to close as he stared at the bloodied bodies of himself. His heart beat so loudly that he couldn’t even hear the click of the mouse. He shut the computer down, and was about to leave until he felt an arm slide around his neck and pull him in close.
Jacinto stiffened like a board. When he realized what was going on, he flailed his arms and legs around. Gaping his mouth open to scream, a hand pulled over his mouth and all he could muster were muffled yells of shock. He stopped screaming when he felt a sharp stick impale him from behind. As his vision faded to black dots, all he could see was the snarling grin of Mr. Fenton. | (Before I start my short story, just FYI I’m gonna be writing about the villain Himiko Toga from My Hero Academia)
I giggled and adjusted my personal robot to be just like my beloved Izuku-Kun. I added in a bag of edible fake blood (shame they don’t allow real blood) and activated my session. The robot changed appearance, and I adjusted my gear. Then the robot “saw me, and as it slowly approached in Izuku-Kun’s Hero Suit, all I could think about was how it would feel to be him. With that, I took a knife from the box strapped to my leg and attacked.
“Izuku-Kun! Come on!” I said, attacking the robot. It tried to kick me, but I managed to get out of its field of view. I took one of the syringes connected to my gear and tossed it, hitting the bag of fake blood. I began giggling as the robot fell down and tryed to remove the syringe. I wrapped my arms around the robot and held my knife against its neck.
“Izuku-Kun..... I’ll have fun being you!” I whispered, and removed the syringe, then stabbed the robot repeatedly. I laughed as the robot collapsed, and some people came in, taking away my gear and knives. I was escorted back into my hole of a room, still laughing and imagining actually doing that to Izuku-Kun. *I love this place...* | |
[WP] In the near future, a rehab center is created for serial killers. To quell their urges, they go to the center, where they get to murder realistic human-like robots. Each killer can modify their robot victims and scenarios to their liking. | &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Nathaniel was a wan looking skinny man whose wide-brimmed, round spectacles only enhanced his benign appearance. At first glance, no one would have expected he had killed four people himself before being caught and sent to rehab. His fellow patients all had their different motivations for slaughter, but he always did out a lust of power. He was the runt of a family of seven, and as such, always took the brunt of beatings while being ignored by the rest of the family. He started as many serial killers did by torturing animals, starting small at first by reveling in the ants cooking under his magnifying glass, then the yelps as he scrapped a knife across the family dog, before finally drinking the screams of his first victim. Now though, he wasn’t hurting anyone. He was sure of that.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;He shuffled in his white bathrobe to the simulation counter, dropping off the parameters sheet he filled out from the night before. It was the usual for him again today.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;In the past, he would intricately catalog his victims, optimizing his approach to lower their guard before incapacitating them in order to restrain them for his fun to begin, but now he required no formalities. The victim could be anything he wanted. The six-foot man with bulging arms noticed him shortly after Nathaniel stepped into the park on a moonless night. The man asked him what the hell he was doing while attempting to obscure the anxiety bubbling into his voice. Nathaniel ignored him though. He was listening to the cricket’s chirp that reminded him of his nights pulling the legs off them as a boy. Nathaniel then stepped into the penumbra of the park light, allowing the glint of his knife to twinkle in the man’s eye.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The man didn’t try to run. Nathaniel didn’t care about such games. Nathaniel learned with his first that even though pain amused him, the thrill of death amused him more. The man would land a few punches, couldn’t have it be too staged. Then Nathaniel sliced him.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The blood poured from the open would in a stream of crimson that tainted the cuff of his robe. Horror effused his face and body as he grasped at the life pouring from his side. Nathaniel didn’t hesitate. He followed with another stab to the chest, avoiding the heart but puncturing a lung. The man dropped, sucking down what air he could. Nathaniel stepped in close, letting the warmth of the man’s draining life coat his body in the pleasant rush of his life being stolen away.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Nathaniel never believed these treatments would work. He grew up with robots. They were realistic, but they could never fool him. They had always been machines to him, but these ones were so real. He delighted in the warmth of his blood as it soaked into his clothes. Nathaniel marveled at the expressions so artfully stretched across the man’s face as he stabbed in different spots that would produce greater pain but prolong the time he would have with the “victim.” He grew jubilant at the tenor the man could reach as he shrieked for a safety that would never come.
“I don’t wanna die. I don’t wanna die.” The man squalled in a diminishing whisper as Nathaniel cackled and continued to slip the blade inside him.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;It was all so masterfully crafted that he even squirmed in delight as he saw the light dim in the man’s eyes while his last breaths wafted out of his mouth.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;“No, not a…” The man would ultimately utter.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Nathaniel wiped the blade on the hem of his robe before exiting the simulation chamber and heading directly into the therapy quarantine. Nathaniel never wanted to shower before heading over. He wanted to see if he could provoke a reaction. Dr. Histam was quite good though. He thought he saw a wisp of a reaction the first time he walked in coated in crimson, but even if that was true, he was stone cold in all other sessions following.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Dr. Histman clicked his pen while Nathaniel sat down, the leather squelching slightly as the blood dripping of Nathaniel’s robe squished between him and the leather of the seat.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;“Now then Nathaniel. What did you see in your victim this time?” Dr. Histman said.
>As always, any and all feedback is welcomed and appreciated. If you liked this, check out my other works and consider subscribing to my subreddit r/reconwrites. | (Before I start my short story, just FYI I’m gonna be writing about the villain Himiko Toga from My Hero Academia)
I giggled and adjusted my personal robot to be just like my beloved Izuku-Kun. I added in a bag of edible fake blood (shame they don’t allow real blood) and activated my session. The robot changed appearance, and I adjusted my gear. Then the robot “saw me, and as it slowly approached in Izuku-Kun’s Hero Suit, all I could think about was how it would feel to be him. With that, I took a knife from the box strapped to my leg and attacked.
“Izuku-Kun! Come on!” I said, attacking the robot. It tried to kick me, but I managed to get out of its field of view. I took one of the syringes connected to my gear and tossed it, hitting the bag of fake blood. I began giggling as the robot fell down and tryed to remove the syringe. I wrapped my arms around the robot and held my knife against its neck.
“Izuku-Kun..... I’ll have fun being you!” I whispered, and removed the syringe, then stabbed the robot repeatedly. I laughed as the robot collapsed, and some people came in, taking away my gear and knives. I was escorted back into my hole of a room, still laughing and imagining actually doing that to Izuku-Kun. *I love this place...* | |
[WP] You're a soldier in the army of a modern monarchy. A prince of the royal family joins the military, and is assigned to your squad. To the dismay of your gung-ho squad, this means you never gets tasked with anything dangerous or worthwhile. Surprisingly, the prince seems just as disappointed. | It all started the day that Giorgio joined our unit. I like to call it "The Day Interesting Died". You see, Giorgio was the crown prince of our little kingdom and due to some propaganda bullshit he was required to serve in the military. Wouldn't you know that they decided, that out of the 467 publicly known units, the good ole king picked ours for the immense honor of holding host to Giorgio. July twenty-second was the day that he joined us and subsequently any and all interesting assignments that were sent to us stopped. it seemed like every day was spent in our bunker doing a whole lot of nothing. Don't get me wrong, most deployments are spent sitting around doing a whole lot of nothing but there is a slight possibility of us needing to do something! We were simply put in the safest of safe positions.
It was during one of these particularly boring nights that I, in desperate need for a smoke, wandered outside of our bunker. I found our crown prince laying down on the ground.
"You aren't dead are you?" I asked sarcastically "I don't think I could handle that much excitement." The prince sat up and gave me a forlorn look and went back to looking at the stars.
"One could only wish." He stated with a sigh. Mildly intrigued I took my seat next to him on the sand.
"So what is it kid? You suicidal or something?" I took a long drag from my cig and side eyed him.
He raised his hands and rubbed his face as if frustrated by something. Probably me, I was probably that something. "I really am sorry to you guys. Because of my dad refusing to allow me to be in even an iota of danger you all are stuck in this god forsaken place every day. It's like being stuck in purgatory!"
I smiled and chuckled a bit. "Don't you think that's a bit dramatic princess? I am as bored as the next guy but purgatory is a bit over the top." I jested. He gave me a look of mild offence but then a slight smile crept up.
"You speak quite casually to someone who's your crown prince." I shrugged and smiled.
"Gio, you got a gun right there, if you wanted to execute me you've damn well have had plenty of chances." He laughed and threw a flask from his pocket.
"I suppose you're right." He snorted. "That said, I suppose before you execute someone, it's only right to allow them a final drink." I took a quick swig from the inconspicuous flask.
"Yeah, well you had better put me out of my misery pretty quickly before you get court martialed for having booze on you in the battle field." Gio laughed.
"I guess we are both going down together then!" I passed his flask back to him.
"Stronger bonds have been made over less! So what's up with you out here being all dramatic looking at the stars. Or, I guess I could say that they were stars but it's actually pretty damn cloudy out so I guess you weren't looking at them."
He looked like he was hesitant to speak but eventually he spoke. "I just hoped that by joining you guys I would finally have a chance at adventure." I looked at him and shook my head.
"Kiddo, is adventure what you really want?" I asked
"Yes, I have spent my entire life in complete security with every moment planned! I want something exciting before I am stuck to a life of meetings and appointments!" I gestured out my hand.
"Fine, you pass me that flask, we're going on an adventure." He looked at me quiziquively but ultimately obliged. As soon as it was in my hand I started walking. Gio didn't start following me immediately until I turned around and asked "Do you want adventure or not?" to which he quickly shot up and started following me.
We eventually reached a pasture filled with cows.
"So what exactly is your plan here?" Gio asked me. I gave him a smile and gestured with a cigarette at the huddle of cows.
"Gio, you said that you wanted an adventure, well damn if I don't have the most dangerous mission for you."
Gio sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Jesus, what do you have planned?"
"Why my good friend Giorgio, only the most dangerous mission that has ever been assigned to any branch of this fine country's military. We are going to obfuscate with one of these fine heifers and place it in Commander O'Malley's tent."
"Are you insane!" He exclaimed.
"I thought you said that you wanted adventure!"
He waved his hands in the air, "I said adventure, not a suicide mission!"
I nodded understandingly "I understand your position Gio, I really do. That said, it would be a damn shame if your superior were to report you having illegal booze on you."
"Are you seriously threatening me right now?" he deadpanned.
I lifted the rope I had grabbed on our way out of the base. "Depends, does it bring out your inner cowboy?"
"Give me the damn rope." He snatched the rope from my hands and went out into the field of cows.
"Well Yeehaw." I said to myself.
Gio actually ended up being pretty damn good at cattle rustling. He had one roped up and coming with us within ten minutes. I ultimately made him place the cow in O'Malley's tent, because even if I outrank Gio, it's a hell of a lot harder to shoot the crown prince. Of course the next day saying O'Malley was pissed would be and understatement. I'm pretty sure for a couple minutes there the torrential rain was evaporating instantly as it hit his turtle waxed head. When he found out Gio and I had been responsible for his new home farm, he came us to us in the mess hall wielding two mops. "Damn, you know that was a funny joke." He boasted as he held out both of the mops. "I like to consider myself something of a jokester myself." Gio and mine's faces must of contorted in confusion because his next words were "Don't believe me? Take these and go mop up the rain."
Giogio was the first one to speak up "But, sir, it's still pouring down rain outside." O'Malley had a shit-eating grin on his wrinkly face.
"Oh I am well aware second Lieutenant. All the more reason to go out there and get started right away. That's an order by the way." We both grabbed our mops.
"This doesn't really seem like much of a joke." I said as we walked towards the doors.
"Oh don't worry first Lieutenant, I will find it hilarious." | *Snap.*
Rocket's rubber band shot over Davie's head and tapped against the tent's canvas. The fly he had been aiming at escaped unscathed.
"Losing your touch, Rocky," grinned Carl. He flipped his knife again, handle spinning up once, twice, three times, returning to touch his palm only briefly before its ballet continued. His green eyes twinkled as he surveyed the fly, barely thinking about the knife.
Rocket rolled his eyes, pulled another rubber band up from his wrist, and stained the tent with another innocent's blood. A fly's blood, but an innocent nonetheless.
"Great," he growled, running a hand through his buzzed hair. "Now there are no more targets. Thanks, Carl."
Carl chortled and lazily leaned back in his chair, ever a schoolboy pushing boundaries.
"Give him a break, dude," called Luke from the floor to no one in particular. He was twisted into what his girlfriend had called "frog pose" at yoga before he'd deployed but what his comrades had affectionately named "ant hill thrust" after an incident on yet another uneventful stakeout with Prince Jonathan.
"Shut up, Yogi Bear," retorted Rocket, snapping another rubber band around his wrist.
"You should join me," Luke replied, undaunted. "Sink into the ocean of tranquility. Plus, when we get home, you can impress all the hot girls in yoga pants."
Rocket's chair clattered to the ground and he scowled. He scanned the tent, fists at his side. A dozen strong soldiers, tanned and weathered from months in the dessert, wasting away doing yoga and reading.
"This is bullshit," he said. No one challenged him. He paced the tent, puckering the canvas floor wherever he stepped. "Ever since that good-for-nothing *pretty boy* showed up, we've done nothing."
"Rocket," Carl warned, the knife finally staying in his hand.
"Don't deny it," Rocket sneered. "You're just as bored as the rest of us. A half-a-million dollar squadron, grounded because some dumb, entitled playboy decided he wanted to play GI Joe. He's a stupid, good-for-nothing son-of-a-- "
Before Rocket could finish, a rubber band flew directly into his mouth. His eyes widened with fury as he gagged and turned towards the shooter. But with a splutter and cough, Rocket swallowed the rubber band and stayed silent.
"There are many names people call my mother, but rarely do they say so to my face," Jonathan said lightly. He dropped the tent flap behind him and entered the tent, a smile playing at his lips. "You know, protecting her honor is perhaps the most exciting thing I've done since I got here."
"You don't say," Rocket replied coolly.
"I do, actually," Jonathan agreed. His hands tapped a rhythm on the table, skimming briefings they'd all re-read a dozen times. "In fact, I think we're all getting rather bored. Wouldn't you agree, Luke?" He gazed bemusedly at the young soldier's contorted body.
Luke shrugged non-noncommittally, unwilling to openly state that the prince's arrival had rendered their squadron effectively useless.
"So I've been thinking," Jonathan continued, well-used to one-sided conversations at this point, "that perhaps we need an exercise to sharpen our skills. And since my presence is prohibiting this, perhaps my absence is exactly what we need."
Every man in the tent felt his blood pulse slightly faster, muscles tensing, hoping that the prince was finally going to resign.
A full smile enveloped Jonathan's pretty boy face. "What do you gentlemen say to a rousing game of capture-the-crown? Mine, of course."
&#x200B;
Edits: formatting line breaks | |
[WP] You agree to go on a date with someone you met on a dating app. As you get closer to the date spot you get a new alert stating "Person found dead on the street" with a picture of your date attached. This is the fourth potential date who has died on their way to meet you in the past month. | My phone dings as a notification pops up on my screen. I open it cautiously, surprised it was from Tinder. A message from an actual boy who was interested in me.
But this wasn’t just any message, rather it was a message from a handsome dark-haired man named Blake.
He was hot, but the message he left in my inbox was as cool and smooth as the breath of summer itself.
“I woke up thinking today was just another boring Thursday, but then I saw your picture. Want to meet up for a drink?”
I instantly reply, already swooning. We chat and once I’m sure he’s not some freak, I say yes.
I was wary of trying out the app after the events that happened earlier this month. After three of my first dates had been murdered on their way to meet me I decided to call it quits.
I kept waiting for the serial killer to contact me or kidnap me, but after thirty long days of nothing I decided it was just bad luck. I figured it was time to try and go out on a first date… again.
I was excited- nervous actually- to meet Blake. I had trouble finding an outfit and applying my makeup was nothing short of a tragedy.
I finally decide on a mint green sweater and my favorite pair of blue jeans. It’s not a great ensemble, but I hoped it was enough to impress him.
We planned to meet at Frank and Tony’s around the corner for a few drinks and a bite to eat.
I walk into my living room and was about to head out the door, when I stopped dead in my tracks as the words of the television news anchor filtered into my ears.
“Body of a young man found dead in Downtown Willoughby.”
I slowly turn to face the television, dread pooling in the pit of my stomach. I already know who’s face will be pictured on the screen.
“The body has been identified as Blake Sanderson. If you know anything about the circumstances leading up to his death please call our hotline-”
I had heard enough, but I was done hiding in the shadows while this serial killer continued to ruin my life. As he continued to kill innocent men who found me attractive. I wanted answers.
I open my safe and shove the pistol into my purse. Then I grab my truck keys off of the kitchen counter and storm out the door.
Blood pounds in my ears as I pul into FATs parking lot. I was done playing games with this psycho and I planned to end this tonight.
I lock up my truck, throwing my purse over my shoulder as I head for the crime scene tape a few blocks away.
I am almost there, fists clenched tightly by at my side, when an arm wraps around my waist and a hand is claps over my mouth.
I am dragged into an alley, and no matter how much I claw and kick at my assailant their grip never falters.
When we reach the end of the alley beneath the light of a full moon the arms finally release me.
I turn to face my attacker, my hand closing around the pistol in the depths of my purse, but I freeze as I glimpse the face staring back at me.
He was the most beautiful human I have ever seen. Well, if you could even call him human. He has pointed ears and fluorescent teeth that illuminate the gloom. Darkness seemed to ripple off of him in waves that heightened his model like features.
Rather, the darkness seemed to be shadows… screaming shadows ripping at his body as they tried to make their escape…
I was at a loss for words, my throat closing as fear began to take its hold. Breathing became difficult as I stared up into his endless amber eyes.
“Hello Ginger. I was wondering when we would finally meet.”
A cruel smile that sent shivers up my spine.
“Who… what… what are you?” I managed to sputter out.
My chest tightened as I backed away from him. I was standing face to face with a killer. A killer who knew my name. A man who thought I was the ultimate prize at the end of his little game.
“I am one of the Phaelli and I’ve been waiting you.” | “Fuck. You.”
He knew it would end up like this. Part of him feels guilty that another innocent soul had to pay the ultimate price, but more than anything else, what he feels is rage. A rage so powerful and primal that you can see it affecting the people around him.
They don’t know what it is or where it is coming from but they can definitely feel it like a prey feels the eyes of a predator waiting for the right moment to end its life. He knows that he shouldn’t let his emotions overwhelm him, that’s what they want after all. But sometimes he can’t help it. You can only fight what you are for so long.
Maria seemed like a great person. And surprisingly pretty considering that he didn’t have to use any of his powers or a particularly attractive shell to seduce her. He is surprised to find himself thinking about her family and friends who are about to receive the news, if they haven’t already.
“Is this all worth it?” he thinks as he stares at his phone screen displaying Maria’s inanimate body on a sidewalk. They’re not going to give up. No matter where I go or what I do, they’re always going to find him and try to make him lose control.
He can’t even remember what made him renounce his fate and choose to live up here. There’s really nothing for him. Well, nothing besides this beautiful dark sky full of stars. And life. Omnipresent. Meaningless. Fragile. But yet so beautiful in its own ways. You don’t get that down there. And you certainly won’t get it again if they have it their way.
He’s calmed down now. All these people will get to live for at least another day. They’re not going to get what they want, not today. | |
[WP] You and your crush are alone on a rooftop at night. The lights from the city below shine onto your faces. "I haven't been honest with you," they say, standing on the edge of the building while looking down at the streets below. They take a step forward. | I looked at Shelly, raising my eyebrows.
"About what?"
She pauses and bites her lip as if searching for the right words. Despite the chill from being on the roof of my apartment complex, I'm willing to be patient. The way the city lights catch her auburn hair takes my breath away, and it's not an experience I'm willing to cut short. Shelly clears her throat and starts to talk.
"Do you remember," she says, "when we were in Mr. Todd's class in year 11?"
I let out an involuntary laugh. How could I forget? It was an honors biology class with a teacher who was knowledgeable, but had an apparent disdain for every student that walked in to that class. This was were Shelly and I had first met, forced to sit next to each other by the alphabetic order. Even after this was no longer mandatory we still maintained our seats next to each other.
"Yeah," I replied, "That dude was a total asswipe".
Shelly laughed as well and said, "Do you remember what I told you after you failed the midterm?"
I shook my head.
"I told you that you'd always have me around to help you out."
Though I didn't remember, I still nodded in acknowledgement.
"Well," she said, "I guess I wasn't honest with you then either."
After a second of processing her statement, my heart dropped like a stone.
"What?" I managed to get out.
Shelly sighed and leaned against the wall that surrounded the staircase.
"I'm doing a terrible job of this," she said.
"Of what?" I said, my voice raising involuntarily.
"Of telling you that I'm leaving London to move in with my cousin in the United States," she said.
My heart started beating harder in my chest. I had expected bad news, but not continental news.
"What? Why?" I blurted.
"I got a work visa," she replied stoically. "And I already got a job offer from the Boston Globe. It's not a well paid position but it's a stepping stone."
I shook my head, "but why Boston and not here in London?"
Shelly straightened.
"Because I'm stagnant here," she said emphatically. "What do you expect of me? To stay here because my parents and siblings will miss me?" She let out a cynical laugh. "My dad won't notice, and my mum will be happy to not have me around to tell her to put the damn bottle down once in a while. There's nothing for me here except reminders of the past and I need to start fresh."
At this point, anger rose up in my chest.
"And what about me, huh?" I asked. "Am I just a terrible reminder of the past that you want to escape?"
Shelly's eyes softened momentarily.
"You're the only thing that got me through the last several years of my life," she said softly. "But I can't stay here any longer."
"And I don't suppose it makes any difference that I love you would it," I said without thinking.
Unexpectedly, Shelly's eyes fill with tears and she steps closer.
"How dare you," she all but whispers. "How dare you."
Taken off guard by her sudden ferocity, I take a step backwards.
"How dare you say that now," she said as she jams her finger towards me. "You do not get to say that after all these years when I'm about to leave. That is the most selfish thing you have ever done."
"But I do!" I yell indignantly. "I've loved you since we first met. I want nothing more than to be with you, and yet you go off and decide to leave? What more do you want of me?"
Shelly suddenly straightens, ramrod straight.
"I want you to go back to before I decided this to tell me," she said. "It's not fair to me that I've already made this decision and now you decide you want to declare your love for me?" She turns towards the stairwell. "This is not how you do it. Good bye Ed."
And like that, she was gone. | It all happened too fast.
We had just gotten out of high school, fresh from graduation. You could've been off with your friends on the "best and last party for at least five years", and I could've been off with my family, staring at the big mound of things I had yet to cram in a suitcase. But here we are, staring at the concrete skyline of our little city, watching the little lights from below flicker on, like tiny little industrial fireflies.
My hair fluttered in the wind, almost making me look like a product of an uncomfortable encounter with a Tesla ball. Yours was done up in that same immaculate ponytail I was accustomed staring at from the back of the class, hovering ever so slightly in the wind. You looked so peaceful, a far cry from the almost Godzilla-like face you put when wrangling with anyone. I was just slightly (very) flustered, which was almost a given every time I was by your side.
"I haven't been honest with you," you suddenly said, eyes looking over the monoliths surrounding us. I was puzzled. Everything was over and submitted, all the goodbyes have been given. What else was to be said?
Before I could ask, you took a step forward.
I distinctly remember jumping, almost falling over myself to grab your hand, grab *anything* to slow you down, to hopefully bring you back up to berate you and talk over something and go down eventually to get the hot chocolate you were craving before you went up the elevator with me. I remember the taste of concrete, and the phantom feel of your fingertips escaping my hand. I remember the distinct, unwavering pull of gravity, and the almost distant *splat* of you becoming nothing.
In that very moment, I lost more than a friend.
Do you remember the time when we first met? We were still in that all-girls school, wearing those uncomfortable uniforms that made everyone itch like crazy during the summer months. I remember timid me asking for directions for the classroom, and you even leading me there with a smile on your face. It was all just a coincidence, then, when we found ourselves in the same section for that year, and for the next 5 years in a row.
Middle school came and went, and I eventually found myself in the same public high school you went to. You changed over those years we spent apart. You grew taller, had an even spunkier attitude, and worked pretty much all the organizations in the school. In the end, you were still the same old Katrina from grade school, the one who held my hands for the first time.
It was just a shock, seeing you again after all those years. It was as if the spark I had left from grade school reignited into an inferno, burning down all the barriers between you and me, putting puppy love through a trial by fire to become something far more *ultimate*.
As much as I wanted to, I could never muster enough courage to tell you everything I felt. I was *scared* of what you might say, scared of what everyone might say, scared of what I could say when everything went south.
I was supposed to tell you everything that night, on the rooftop.
You turned that moment on its head, and decided to tell me everything at the end of the day, after I was able to read your last wishes. After I left the police station, sobbing and crying and burying myself into a mattress. After I replayed everything in my head, putting every scenario I could think of, each becoming more and more detached from reality as the night grew darker.
I could've never known the real Katrina.
I know the mask that she was. I know every little crook and corner, blemish and imperfection, features and quirks that she showed to the world. The best masks were always the ones that seemingly molded to the wearer, to the point that the mask *became* the wearer. To the rest of the world, you had all of us fooled.
I could never know the person behind that mask, who would come home everyday to the same disappointments and callous remarks neatly arranged in a human form by the dining table. I could never know the endless hours she would spend daydreaming, finding out the ways she could leave and become her own person. I could never know the methods she would use to let all the pent-up emotions out.
And for that, I'm truly sorry.
Should I have brought this masquerade to an end? Toss away the mask you held onto for as long as time, and let everyone see who you really are? Could I have had the strength to do just that?
I loved you, but was that enough to save you?
I honestly don't know why I still write these to you. It seemed like forever when the first letter showed up in my mailbox, addressed from a ghost. It's just my way of remembering someone that would never come back, no matter how many times I'd try to imagine her.
Perhaps, maybe, up there, you wouldn't need a mask.
\- H
(I'm kinda thinking of making a little subreddit for my stuff. Is it worth it?)
I hope you enjoyed this. Please tell me if I have anything to work on. |
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