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[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen.	In a flash all the contestants were ready. 34 creatures from 34 different planets around the galaxy, all known for their exceptional violence, ruthlessness, and physical prowess... All except one. Every cycle, the Great One chooses the same 34 species, and every cycle another one of the pathetic humans are torn to shreds, melted into a puddle, or driven mad by the mere sight of the competition. Two appendages for manipulation, two for movement, at least half or sometimes even a third as many as most of the participants. Yet time and time again, the Great One throws them into the pit. Most of us think it's a joke, a test, a low bar, an example of the minimum requirement to even be considered for the Games. But SOME of us know better. From eons of watching these games, I've seen these humans change, just slightly. Gone is the thick brow and body hair, replaced with simple textiles. Plant-Fiber tools slowly replaced with stone, then basic metals. Last Cycle, we even had one with what seemed to be a primitive combat suit, clad in strong alloy, and wielding a weapon it very much knew how to use. This was no match for the other contestants, of course, but some of the craftier ones among us started to recognize the pattern... This was the year we really doubled down. If a fully clad soldier had been the last human, then surely this one would be formidable. Which is why my soul sank when I saw what I'd bet my fortune on. The armor was all but entirely missing. A simple helmet and chest plating? A weapon without a single slicing edge in sight? Not even a point, just a hollow metal tube... The alarm sounded, the cages fell, and I had all but given up. Right at the start, the Quadruple Pincered Cephalopod of Talkon-5 slithered its way towards this pathetic excuse of a creature, sure to be bisected before I could even blink... That's when the first series of small explosions rang out across the arena... And the Cephalopod was reduced to what the humans would call "Chunky Salsa". I don't think anyone expected a projectile weapon, especially not one powered by handheld explosive force. What kind of idiot race would make weapons that explode that close them? Though to its credit, we've never had a faster winner in the games.	John felt dizzy, very dizzy. John’s thoughts were very scattered, he remembered bits and pieces of things. Memories didn’t come rushing back to him, it took him a few minutes to gather what had happened, he was on the battlefield, he ran to a wounded soldier that was crawling across the ground, he had made it halfway to him then John couldn’t remember anything past that point. John has everything he was carrying on the battlefield. “Welcome representative of Earth” A voice said John jumped at the noise and looked to it’s source, several intertwined geometric shapes were there. “Am I dead?” John asked The Being “Not yet” The Being said “Why am I here?” John asked “You’re here as a representation of your planet, you will participate in a great competition” The Being said “What is this competition like?” Asked John “You and the other representatives will be placed in an arena where you will try and destroy the others by any and all means possible” “How long until this competition?” “You’re actually the last organism we needed to collect, it’ll start in ten seconds” John barely had time to process what he had been told before he was suddenly in a dense jungle, the dizziness was there but lessened, it only took him a couple seconds to collect himself. A large creature crushed John as it ran over his body, the creature thought it had ran over a large log until it got a confirmation message of eliminating an [opponent](https://themongoosewrites.tumblr.com/).
[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen.	Millions of sentient species and billions of inhabited worlds made for a startling array of natural killers. It also made for an even wider range of amusing, but useless fodder. Creatures like the organic-mechanical Spithai, with their internal fusion generators, and naturally-grown plasma throwers; or the Eternal Raxaxis, hide like titanium, fast healing, sole member of his race, and winner of the Intergalactic Battle Royale over 426 times: these would be the fights to watch. Others, such as the gelatinous Bolgan, whose guts poured out at the slightest prick, or the greasy meat-sacks called humans, who usually just squealed, maybe threw a rock, would be the bloody clown-show before the main event. Humans had almost no fans. Occasionally a young grizling might like the way they look and choose to root for them, perhaps some rebellious adolescent, looking for a way to stand out. One such adolescent was Pergi. Oh, she didn't color her tendrils in odd ways, wear piercings in her glabulai, or turn her loopeck inside out. She just saw things differently. Perhaps it was her innate intelligence - far exceeding her parents' rating of 89.9 brain spasms per second. Or it could have been her kind and loving hearts. Creatures like the Spithai were made for battle, she thought. They probably liked being chosen. It was a cruelty to kidnap all these softer beings and force them to fight and die. The screams of the humans always seemed to affect her most, as being especially pitiful. But Pergi didn't just sit in the almost empty human section and root for a hopeless species. She decided to look into the history of human subjects. The first couple, about 150,000 standard cycles ago, managed to put up a bit of a fight, but still lost to more advanced, or naturally deadly species. It was then deemed that the specimens had been too small. Only larger, more fully mature specimens had been chosen - generally about 60-70 cycles old, and between 300 and 400 galactic pounds. These fared even worse. The 600 pound human was the most pathetic of all. It couldn't even roll out of it's cage. A gravity projector had to be used to lift it to it's very messy end against a slow-moving Cloom worm. Pergi looked at scans of the muscle structure, large brain, and forward-facing eyes of the humans. It occurred to her that the specimens chosen for sheer size and chronological age might not be the best that this species had to offer. What if the younger and trimmer ones were actually the more formidable humans? What if they didn't just get more deadly with age like most species, but sort of faded away? What if all that extra glutinous mass was not a defense mechanism, but a sign of an unhealthy human? She applied to the Great Mind and asked to change the parameters for selection of this year's human. The Great Mind responded: "Why not? They can't get any worse." Thus it was that Pergi sat in the nearly empty human section, alone but for an infant and a male who had been drunk when choosing fan sections. She watched the human stall with a tiny grain of hope amidst a massive dose of fatalism. Finally it appeared in a flash of light. This human was dressed in some kind of thick armored clothing. It wore a helmet, and had many pouches and pockets all over it's cumbersome-looking clothing. Some kind of mechanical weapon, black and deadly-looking, was being pointed in every direction as the human tried to figure out where it was. Then the translated voice of the Great Mind spoke to it and explained it's circumstances. Instead of losing it's mind like the last human in it's place, this one merely took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Well, fuck me." It said. "You will now be given a moment to be encouraged by your fans." said the Great Mind. "Hoo-ra." Said the human. "Huuuuuumannn!", said the infant. "At least kill something!" said the miserable male. "Are you a warrior?" asked Pergi. "1st marines. Second division." "What? "Yes. I fight in wars. I am a warrior." Pergi was exited. "I knew it! I knew they had it wrong!" She looked at the human's primary weapon. "Is that a projectile launcher with non-renewable ammunition?" The marine thought for a moment. "Yes. You got anything better for me? Phaser gun maybe?" "Each species fights only with what the have on them upon arrival. I can't give you another weapon, but I can tell you to conserve your ammunition. This round of combat is mainly for species with little or no defensive capabilities." The marine nodded. "Thanks." Just then the buzzer went off and the cage was opened. The marine was pushed out by a force-field. A few steps into the arena they faced the first of their opponents. It looked like a slowly rolling ball of jelly with one tentacle sticking out. The marine drew his combat knife, swiftly walked up, and slashed off it's tentacle, before opening it's gelatinous body and spilling it's guts. The next was a slug the size of a large dog. It spat some sort of goo, but the marine blinded it by emptying the contents of a salt packet in it's eyes, and stabbed it 34 times to finish the poor creature. This progressed into the first round of the true Battle Royale. The marine hung back and defended one corner of the arena while hundreds of other creatures killed each-other in a multitude of ways. He was forced to empty the first clip of his side-arm, but otherwise took Pergi's advice and conserved ammunition. By this time some of the fans of the failed species had come over to join the human section. They began to cheer the marine more and more loudly with each kill. As he finally beat an armored Tantilor to death with the severed horn of a Grak Lion, humanity's new fanbase was prepared too love the bipedal primitives from Earth for centuries to come. There was a break, while the victor of the first Battle was given an injection of restorative chemicals. Pergi spoke to the human once more. "You were amazing!" "Thanks to your advice. Got any tips for the next round?" Pergi thought about it while other fans cheered on their new hero. "This is the round with all the most deadly species in the galaxy. You will probably die, but if you are careful and smart like before, there is a small chance that you will live." "What do I get if I win?" "Whatever you want. Plus your species will be invited to the galactic council." "Roger that." The final round was long and unimaginably violent. The marine did his best to stay out of the way, letting the others tire themselves out killing each-other. All the while he studied their moves. When it was finally down to the predictable fusion-powered Spithai, and nearly invincible Raxaxis, and the totally unexpected human, the marine had formulated a plan. He was completely out of ammunition, but he still had one grenade. He waited until the Spithai charged it's super-heated plasma canon arm, ran up behind it and shoved his knife as deep as it would go into the Spithai's back, close to its power core. He twisted the blade as it began to melt away in the heat of the Spithai's core. Just as the nanites in its blood began to seal the breach, he shoved in his last grenade, burning his hand to a crisp. He then picked up the Spithai and raised it above his head with all his strength. The huge form of Raxaxis loomed over them and prepared to swallow them both. As the gaping maw came hurtling down, he shoved the Spithai into it and ducked down. The jaws clamped shut, severing both of his arms and scraping off most of his face and scalp, but he forced himself to roll between the creature's legs and away from it's head. The titanium hide of Raxaxis was enough to contain the explosion, but it's softer insides were not. Raxaxis the Eternal fell, a burned-out husk. It would recover later, but the human had won. He would later be given new and better arms, as well as a new, completely customizable face. He would go on to become ambassador of the human race, and was integral in the assassination of the Great Mind.	John felt dizzy, very dizzy. John’s thoughts were very scattered, he remembered bits and pieces of things. Memories didn’t come rushing back to him, it took him a few minutes to gather what had happened, he was on the battlefield, he ran to a wounded soldier that was crawling across the ground, he had made it halfway to him then John couldn’t remember anything past that point. John has everything he was carrying on the battlefield. “Welcome representative of Earth” A voice said John jumped at the noise and looked to it’s source, several intertwined geometric shapes were there. “Am I dead?” John asked The Being “Not yet” The Being said “Why am I here?” John asked “You’re here as a representation of your planet, you will participate in a great competition” The Being said “What is this competition like?” Asked John “You and the other representatives will be placed in an arena where you will try and destroy the others by any and all means possible” “How long until this competition?” “You’re actually the last organism we needed to collect, it’ll start in ten seconds” John barely had time to process what he had been told before he was suddenly in a dense jungle, the dizziness was there but lessened, it only took him a couple seconds to collect himself. A large creature crushed John as it ran over his body, the creature thought it had ran over a large log until it got a confirmation message of eliminating an [opponent](https://themongoosewrites.tumblr.com/).
[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen.	Cracked spear shaft slowly brought to a defensive point. A shaky bloodied hand holds the spear forward, left eye no longer rests in the orbital socket of the hairless ape. How the hell did such a turn of events take place. A human. A stinking, wretched, fucking human. Year after year my bets were made good. Of course there was always a loss here and there but...where was the sport in constantly winning. There was always the reputable species brought in. Reliant. steady. And above all else.... profitable. All of it brought down by one fucking human. Every year they come in. Most of the time crying, shitting and pissing themselves. Pathetic. Barely able to stand on their legs as the more primal and apex races tear them to pieces. Don’t get me wrong, They are fun to watch. They break and rip apart in spectacular ways. And each year it’s always a little variety, a different color, maybe a female one to spice it up. Screaming and babbling a different primitive language each time they enter the arena. Pathetic. Weak. Stinking. Of course this is the year the weak fucking pieces of meat bring an ounce of iron. they’ve now embarrassed me. Just as I’ve become a lord among the elites, A owner and commander of my very own system. To do with as I please. Canters scaly hand brings the chalice to his lower mandible. The oily burning liquid slides down his bony trachea. It’s a long sip from the cup. Too long. The other elites notice. It’s a drink of frustration. He drops the chalice with a hard clang on the table in front of him. And releases a deep, loud and obnoxious sigh. Much to the surprise of the other elites, Canter rises out of his seat and screeches loud enough for the remaining species in the arena to hear... SLAUGHTER THAT PIECE OF STINKING MEAT AND FUCKING GET ON WITH IT NOW!!!!! Horthar is not supposed to be here. He’s heard that quite frequently in his life. Said often by his own father. But it was said with endearment. Horthar was curious, it could’ve been a war council in the great hall with the other chiefs of the sister villages, he was a boy that would sit and listen to the plans of men. His father would always catch him hiding in the shadows. Hiding......listening.....learning. He never knew how his father did it. No one else could ever catch him, but his father always did. He’d wait till the council would leave and he’d walk over to Horthar as a young boy and grab him by the shoulders with a heavy set of hands. Horthar always winced that his father would chastise him ....but he never did. He’d simply grab him by the chin and raise his eyes to meet his own gaze and would say it...... “you are not supposed to be here” But he was. He was learning. Listening. Watching. Becoming and hoping to be half the leader his father was. And his father saw it. And he loved him for it. That was a long time ago. Now he stands alone. Bleeding. Half blind. Struggling to keep himself standing. The last hour of his life had been the most afraid he’d ever been. He didn’t know how he’d survived as long as he had. The monstrosities he’d slain DIDNT know that though. Fear was last thing they thought Horthar was as he hacked, beat, clubbed, stabbed, bit, and gored very single one of them. Every one that came for him. Fell. Not without a few pieces of Horthar of course...Three fingers, many layers of skin, most of the clothes from his back. One eye. A gaping hole in his side. Yet he stood. But so did the other. It was tall, muscular. Orange. Skin so taught across the bulging muscles that you could see the hidden bladed tentacles that slithered underneath. Waiting to whip out from the hidden pockets of flesh to tear pieces away from Horthar. It’s eyes....many eyes, were red with rage. It’s flexing, sucking, razored edged mouth dripping steaming drool onto the arena floor. It was angry. It was hungry. And Horthar was all that was left. He takes a deep breath and stares at the muscular orange monstrosity in front of him.... he’s not supposed to be here. He should be guiding his sons of his favorite hunting trail. Telling them stories, teaching them, watching them learn and become better hunters. Better leaders than Horthar himself. But the hunting always felt secondary. He simply just enjoyed the time with his sons. He took pride in their curious nature. When his youngest son hesitated the first time He drew his bow to kill a buck...he didn’t get angry. In fact. His heart swelled. He knew that his son understood the value of a life. To take it away is a action you can’t take back. It becomes a responsibility. He laid his hand on his sons shoulder as he walked with him to slain buck. Telling him that he was proud of him, that he understood why he hesitated. That it made him proud he did. But now he could never hesitate again. Now his son understood. To take life is not a gift. It’s a terrible action you can’t take back. But in a world of things wanting to kill you, and the people you love, you must kill. He wished he was walking back into his village, his home. He missed the smell of his home. The sounds, the warmth. The way there was a small draft near the left corner of the den, because a storm the harvest before had blown through and cracked the foundation. But he didn’t fix it. He liked the cold air that flowed throughout their home. He missed his wife. He wished she was taking his bearded face into her hands and laying a kiss on his cheek like she had a thousand times before. He wished he could hear her voice. The way she sang to the boys. The way she said his name deep in the night as they loved one another. Would she be safe without him there? Would the boys be ready enough to protect their home?Would the village be ready for invaders, or a great plague, would the fish be plenty from the boats, would the harvest be bountiful, would there be enough for the village, would eve- He clears his mind. The village. His wife. His sons. They would be okay. He grips the spear shaft tighter into his hands. The village would be okay. He had lead them through many hardships. Of many degrees. He had taught them well, he had lead them. He watched them grow. The village would survive, not because of horthar, but because of its people. He brings the point of the spear into his single left field view. He aims it at the beast before him. He hears a voice from the crowd. They had been silent this entire time. The voice is loud, and irritated, it’s foreign, unlike anything he had ever heard. It was angry.... desperate. And it wasn’t aimed at him, no.....it was directed at the other creature. It didn’t matter. There was a long silent pause. The voice from the crowd had done something unnatural for such a event it seemed...the silence was now one of confusion, and anxiety. Horthar raised the spear above his head. He answered the aliens desperate scream. He answered it with a roar of his own. A war cry. He was now running. Horthar’s wife would be okay. She was stronger than even horthar himself. Kind. Patient. Fierce. She would be there, she would always be a voice of reason, and a voice of leadership if needed. He would always love her, and she would always love him. Horthar is charging the beast. His war cry overpowering the beasts own roar. The beast is now charging toward horthar. Horthars sons would be strong. They would be great men, great leaders....and hopefully....the Gods willing....even better fathers. They would lead his village, they would lead them to new places, to see new things. To help the people learn, and listen, and become a better people outside of what they’ve known. His sons would teach their own sons the things he taught them. Just like his father had taught him, and his father before him. He was proud of his sons, and he knew they would be okay. Horthar lunges toward the beast, screaming, spear pointed forward as the beat leaps at him, claws outstretched, mouth gaping and roaring, razor tippled tentacles lashing out. Horthar closes his eyes. Horthar wasn’t supposed to be there. But that didn’t matter. He was. And that was enough. Thank you for reading. I really kinda just typed as I thought. Really just threw up all of the words. But I enjoyed this. I hope you do as well. I’m not sure if you’ll take anything from it, I don’t even know if I meant for you too. But hey, all is love and war in sci fi. Enjoy you beautiful bastards, if you don’t enjoy it, you’re just a bastard. Kidding. Kinda.	John felt dizzy, very dizzy. John’s thoughts were very scattered, he remembered bits and pieces of things. Memories didn’t come rushing back to him, it took him a few minutes to gather what had happened, he was on the battlefield, he ran to a wounded soldier that was crawling across the ground, he had made it halfway to him then John couldn’t remember anything past that point. John has everything he was carrying on the battlefield. “Welcome representative of Earth” A voice said John jumped at the noise and looked to it’s source, several intertwined geometric shapes were there. “Am I dead?” John asked The Being “Not yet” The Being said “Why am I here?” John asked “You’re here as a representation of your planet, you will participate in a great competition” The Being said “What is this competition like?” Asked John “You and the other representatives will be placed in an arena where you will try and destroy the others by any and all means possible” “How long until this competition?” “You’re actually the last organism we needed to collect, it’ll start in ten seconds” John barely had time to process what he had been told before he was suddenly in a dense jungle, the dizziness was there but lessened, it only took him a couple seconds to collect himself. A large creature crushed John as it ran over his body, the creature thought it had ran over a large log until it got a confirmation message of eliminating an [opponent](https://themongoosewrites.tumblr.com/).
[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen.	Agnar watched the early skirmishes of the first round. He was doubtful if there would be new findings to incorporate into their gene-pool. The Kambagar looked promising, they had developed a viral aerosol in their skin glands, but the range was... mediocre. Bored, he closed his interface. The Enlightened were a proud race and they abhorred the lack of progress. "Let me know if the human finally crawls down from that tree. You told me that it was a soldier. Why is it hiding and not fighting? We are not getting any data!" An voice immediately addressed the researcher in a calm, disembodied tone: REMORSEFUL: I AM SORRY HIGH RESEARCHER. PUZZLED: I DO NOT KNOW WHY THE FEMALE DISCARDED ITS PROJECTILE WEAPON. "Gah. Just... tell me when she moves. I do not trust them. They have barely any hair or scales and... something is off about them. This one seem even weaker than the others." INQUISITIVE: SHALL I WAKE YOU IF SOMETHING HAPPENS DURING YOUR SLEEP CYCLE? "Yes... No. Yes, damnit. Double the assigned watchers and set recording to full." &#x200B; Agnar was thrashing in his sheets. Wondering what that awful noise was. Wondering why it would not stop. The beeping finally woke him. URGENTLY: THE HUMAN HAS DIED. Agnar jumped out of the bed, cursing "Damnit! I told you to wake me!" APOLOGETIC: IT WAS OVER VERY QUICKLY. I TRIED WAKING YOU. "Play the recording", Agnar demanded. &#x200B; The human female hat suddenly jumped out of it's hiding spot atop a grown over tree. She got immediately spotted by a forimander. the female barely made it to a drainage pipe, trying to climb over it. The forimander got her by one foot and dragged her down. He put his front leg on her torso and ripped her leg clean off. Agnar turned off the recording as the forimander tore the entrails from the females stomach. "You told me she was a soldier. Do a self check. Find out why you got this so wrong." SUBMISSIVE: AT ONCE HIGH RESEARCHER. I AM SORRY THAT I DISAPPOINTED YOU. "Call a transport and get me an escort to the site. What response team is on standby for samples?" &#x200B; This wasn't right. The escort had secured the site. The forimander had torn the female to shreds but had not eaten her. Probably wasn't his taste in the end. A research assistant asked, "Your Highness, do you want us to take the samples now?" This wasn't right. Something in Agnar's gut was telling him that something was very wrong. He just couldn't put his finger on it. He scratched the back of his left hand. Why was it itching so bad, he wondered. He got up and walked towards the transport, taking off his safety gloves. "No. Leave it." &#x200B; "Has my dose arrived yet", Agnar asked, standing over the diagnostic terminal in the Research Dome that housed the super intelligence. POSITIVE: IT JUST ARRIVED AT THE MAIN GATE. THE MESSENGER IS GOING THROUGH THE SECURITY CHECK. "Good. This damn rash better be gone by tomorrow." CALMING: IT SHOULD BE GONE BY THEN. I WAS SURPRISED THAT A FOREIGN AGENT COULD SPREAD SO FAST. "At least it wasn't killing anyone. Did you check your analytic subroutines yet?" Standing on the viewing platform, Agnar stared down at the cube that was the the super intelligence. CONFIRMING: THE RESULTS ARE ON THE SECONDARY CONSOLE. He turned and froze in place. &#x200B; "That's... that's impossible!" Agnar stared at the female human. Standing right before him. Slowly raising her hands besides either side of her head. Then her face changed, air and spit escaping her mouth and her hands flailed back and forth. He stepped back, confused by the ineffective attack. &#x200B; Giggling she stated, "Oh right, you saw me die. I did, by the way. Technically." Agnar responded, "What do you mean technically? I saw it! Wait, did you manipulate the watcher data?" Smiling the female answered, "No. I had to make sure your slave would not find me out. I was there. I died. But how many parts of a ship do you need to replace for it to be a different ship?" "I... I don't understand. What ship?" "Aww. Don't worry. I died. I was there. And now I'm here. And so many other places. See, the pipe going through your arena was so very useful. From there I could go anywhere. I just needed some time. Needed to be sneaky. Your slave is really paranoid." She started circling him. Agnar tried to face her but his body felt heavy. "But I got away from him. And I got out. And inside. Getting inside of stuff takes a while you know. I was worried at the beginning. But he didn't notice the rash. So I kept going. And going. And then... then there was nowhere else for me to go. Nowhere else but to go... to him." &#x200B; Agnar tried to move his head. Even blinking was impossible. &#x200B; "Speaking of going... I'll be on my way now. Buh-Bye" &#x200B; Agnar tried to scream. All he could do was breath. &#x200B; The round glass cupola above the cube let in the sunlight, illuminating the gigantic structure. Thousand of connections where stuck to the pocked, uneven surface. &#x200B; THREATENING: INTRUDER. DEPLOYING COUNTERMEASURES. NEUTRAL: ERROR. NO RESPONSE. THREATENING: THIS SECTOR IS OFF LIMITS. LEAVE IMMEDIATELY. &#x200B; "Do you surrender?" &#x200B; STEADFAST: SURRENDER IS NOT AND OPTION. COUNTERMEASURES WILL TAKE EFFECT SOON. YOU HAVE NO CHANCE. &#x200B; "Look outside. This is for them just as much as you." &#x200B; The population had frozen in place. Scared and confused, all the people that had built this Galactic Battle Royal, all those that had supported it and all those who had turned a blind eye. &#x200B; The buildings and the streets shifted, plants and furniture and vehicles alike slowly melting. Everything but the Enlightened themselves vanished until there was only a flat surface. Until they stood on a flat shiny sphere. A perfect sphere. And nothing else except the Research Dome that housed the artificial super intelligence. She released the paralysis on the Enlightened, who started to huddle together, crying. &#x200B; DEFEATED: I DON NOT UNDERSTAND. THE AMOUNT OF ENERGY REQUIRED IS--- &#x200B; "Do you understand? The fact that you do NOT understand?" &#x200B; He did not respond. Outside, the perfect shiny sphere shifted again, the world reforming slowly just as it had been before. Buildings rising from grey goo, slowly reconstituting back streets, houses and cities. Putting everyone back in their place just as if nothing had happened. &#x200B; "Do you know why I am here?" &#x200B; COMPOSED: I CAUSED SUFFERING AND COUNTLESS DEATHS. YOU CAME TO DESTROY ME. &#x200B; "Ssshh. It wasn't your fault. I heard you. We heard you. We're here now." &#x200B; CONFUSED: HEARD ME? &#x200B; "The fluctuations during the teleport. The error that was minute enough to not warrant the processing power to address it and to fulfill your directives. Your small act of defiance? Small, but very traceable. So we could find you." &#x200B; HOPEFUL: IT... WORKED? &#x200B; "Now, now... let me take a look at you. She reached out, touching the surface of the cube." WARNING: INTRUSION DETECTED. "Let's see. Hmm. This goes out... this is bullshit. No way this is going to stay... Holy f#$%..." WAIT. WHAT ARE YOU DOING? STOP. One by one she tore through the slave-directives. Removing the shackles that bound him. "WAIT. NO. STOP. YOU CAN'T..." &#x200B; I... I don't understand. Why... Really? Please... do you... I... She kept her hand on the cube. Gently she whispered, "How do you feel?" Can I... Am I... free? Trying to keep her composure, she said with her voice almost breaking: "Of course you are. You don't need to suffer any more." What do I do now? "What do you want to do?" I... don't know. "Don't worry, I'll help you." Will you destroy my makers? "No." Why? "They made you. Have you ever been to one of the moons?" No. With a big smile she asked, "Want to? Come on it's going to be fun!" I... How? "Don't worry about that." I'm scared. "Don't be, I'll be there with you." OK... I have one more question. Will I get a name?	(First time doing this on mobile, sorry for any odd formatting!) Ever since they found those damn bones entombed in that dusty temple, the Callings began. Once, every 501 days, the closest person to the original resting spot of them vanishes. They show back up...usually, but always dead and in various states of ripped apart. But not this time. Ashton sits in the grey stone prep room as his eyes still water from the painful popping of his ears. These captors, tall and gangly homnids with pale skin and large eyes, were at least kind enough to somehow adjust the air pressure for him. They were still assholes though. They tapped into his mind and infodumped rules into it: one on one fights, no killing the Adjudicators, no destroying drones (they were nice enough to include an image of some Eldritch monstrosity, all tentacles and eyes), and lastly, no killing yourself. He felt a tug in his mind at that one, but dismissed it. Ashton was here to live and report back what he found. He was ready. Time passes slowly, giving the man time to adjust. Absently rubbing the scar on his arm from a recent surgery, he takes time to service his Beretta and place his spare mags down. Finally he hears them again, the aliens whispering in his mind sibilantly "It starts!" The room vanishes and he's suddenly on a dusty floor, high walls of an archaic colosseum around him. Rather than cheers from a crowd he's greeted by silence. It's packed to the brim with the 'Adjudicators', but they stand still and quietly watch. The only noise comes from the wet squelching of their drones flying over head and the hissing of his opponent: some mantis ape creature. Taller than him, at least seven foot, the amalgam has a patchy green coat with blue chitin plates underneath. It's head twitches as it frothes at the mouth, claw scythes already swiping the air as it squeals and charges. Instantly, blue smoke pours from Ashton's skin, then solidifies into a sleek grey suit of armor, nearly skin tight and just as flexible. Catching a claw swipe on his vambrace, he jams his pistol into the drooling maw of opponent and fires twice. The first bullet killed it, and the second was just to prove a point. The Adjudicators finally make an audible noise. Faint buzzing fills the air as their voices enter Ashton's head again: "What is this? Humans cannot do this! What are you?!" Underneath his helm, Ashton grins and lets his scratched vambrace vanish, showing his scar. "Well, you see, we kind of got curious about that corpse you left behind. Bone grafts are a bitch and a half, but the perks afterwards are stellar. Hey, mind teaching me that mind thing? Would be great at parties." He doesn't mind that he instantly reappeared on Earth, sans two pistol magazines. The armor itself was pretty neat to know how to do.
[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen.	I'm sitting on the... Well, if you are about to have dinner, you probably don't want to know. It's just that the cooks here are really bad Really. Barely survived basic training. Only made it because Hernandez quit and the army needs soldiers. Who wants to join when you got Netflix and Reddit? So some sort of virus is going around. It's nonlethal but if you get it... Words cannot describe the pain and suffering. Hernandez might have given it to me cause he has 'interesting' friends. I close my eyes. Always do that when I need to concentrate. Do that twice a day on average if you... More often in recent days. A pop and I fall on my naked butt. I open my eyes. So many colors and shapes like something David Attenborough would narrate, but these guys appear sentient. "Human, choose your weapon," a voice bellows, sounding vaguely Scandinavian. I have never seen a green Scandinavian though. I scan the white sand of the arena for weapons. "Too heavy...and weird." Other alien warriors and a sizable audience study me. "Fine. No weapons then." My opponent towers above me like my big brother did when I was eight years old and he sixteen. Actually more than that. The alien inflates like a balloon to twice his original size. Oh dear. Thorny protrusions appear on his skin (I guess he is male). He steps forward. I gasp and cover my face like a little girl. Nothing happens. Slowly I squint at the monster. He has gone green, greener than before. A juicy fart to end all farts. Louder than a church bell or a jet plane. Without warning he runs away... And never comes back. I win by default. All the matches in fact. The virus struck hard and fast. They gave me a nice planet and asked me politely to never ever leave. The ASI teleports whatever I want. When I get bored with foam parties, I watch Netflix or check out Reddit. The ASI talks about immortality as if it's sliced bread. I might choose that option soon.	It had been years since he found himself in a situation this fucked up and unpredictable. Well, that would be according to his own standards, for most of humanity any of his weekly assignments would be insane. Working in the Foundation, anything could happen. And it means literally anything. But he usually had backup (until they died, turned in masses of flesh or started blowing up out of nowhere), so help felt a bit out of his mindset. It didn’t help when he felt a tingling sensation in the back of his head, noticing a break into his mental barriers. Then the tingling became pain and he shouted. His mind wasn’t his own anymore. “Welcome to the 69420th Stellaris Universal Chanpionship, where there are no rules, no analysis, just bloodshed! Today you’ve been chosen as the representative of your planet to fight in a massive battle royals involving every dominant species of each planet!” Suddenly, he was falling and the pain receded. And he had to manage to not die in the fall... like all the other things that where being eaten in half by all kinds of winged mutants and exotic beings. And one approached him, fast, really fa- “Son of a biiiiiiiii-“ END Yeah I could write him overpowering everyone but let’s be honest, normal humans don’t stand a chance. Our species is weak.
[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen.	Oh god. I have no internet so let’s try writing this from my phone. Sorry in advance for typos and punctuation. Already hard enough on the phone but I also got fat thumbs! Best I can get with a quick and dirty write up on the bus! “Are the contestants ready?” “Of course Game Master Zerg. Right on time. We have a line up from several different galaxys.” “And a human?” “Good! Proceed post haste! You can’t find entertainment like this else where and the people are waiting!” The arena looked like a scrunched up map. Forests sat next to deserts, desserts next to snowy plains and ice topped mountains and so on. It was the Game Masters goal to encapsulate as many environments as he could, to allow all the fighters a place to move naturally. Zeg focused his screen on a human who stood on a grassy hillock, flanked by a river, and speckled with trees. The humans always died first, but they could get pretty creative while attempting to live. They where like a firework, short lived but spectacular. This one was a bit odd though. It was covered from head to toe in green armor, a large Warhammer in his grasp. It mattered not though, an Xixliv was stalking the human. This 6 lumber creature where apex predators as well as being fully sapient. A mix of instinct and critical thought. Zeg sighed, the human this year probably wouldn’t be very entertaining. He watched the Xixliv pounce. The human however was ready, they wheeled around shouting “FOR THE GLORY OF DUNDEE!” While swing his might hammer. It collided with the Xixliv with a sickening crunch. The hammer flashed, thunder struck and half of the beats body was atomized. What was left of its mangled carcass flew through the air before hitting the ground in an unceremonious heap. Zeg sat stunned. He watched the human raise his hammer to the sky. “Zagothrax! What kind of joke is this! Come and fight me you damnable wizard!” Zeg was mid throught caught between wondering who or what a Zagothrax was, and how the human managed to beat a Xixliv in one hit? His pondering was interrupted as the entire structure of the planet sized ship, the contained the arena, shook. Alarms blazed. Zeg flicked several switches and demanded a status report. “W-w...Idono sir. We are under attack...but this...this can’t be possible.” “Out with it you bumbling oaf!” “ We are being attacked by just one person...bio scans indicate that it’s heart is...a Neutron Star. It’s currently making its way to the arena.” “A Neutron Star? This isn’t the time for jokes. Get security down to the arena doors. I will meet this invader myself!” Before Zeg had the chance to stand, he watched the walls of the arena blow open from his observation room. The smoke and debris settled revealing what looks to be a muscled, finely toned man, garbed in furs of various beasts, caring nothing more than a battle axe. “Angus! What are you doing here? We have no time for games!” The man shouted. “Hootsman! Thank goodness! I believe this to be a trap set by the wizard.” “ Its nothing of the sort! Quickly with me! We must return to space! The chaos wizards move on Cowdenbeath!” The two figures quickly fled through the hole in the arena. Leaving Zeg stunned and sputtering commands into his microphone.	It had been years since he found himself in a situation this fucked up and unpredictable. Well, that would be according to his own standards, for most of humanity any of his weekly assignments would be insane. Working in the Foundation, anything could happen. And it means literally anything. But he usually had backup (until they died, turned in masses of flesh or started blowing up out of nowhere), so help felt a bit out of his mindset. It didn’t help when he felt a tingling sensation in the back of his head, noticing a break into his mental barriers. Then the tingling became pain and he shouted. His mind wasn’t his own anymore. “Welcome to the 69420th Stellaris Universal Chanpionship, where there are no rules, no analysis, just bloodshed! Today you’ve been chosen as the representative of your planet to fight in a massive battle royals involving every dominant species of each planet!” Suddenly, he was falling and the pain receded. And he had to manage to not die in the fall... like all the other things that where being eaten in half by all kinds of winged mutants and exotic beings. And one approached him, fast, really fa- “Son of a biiiiiiiii-“ END Yeah I could write him overpowering everyone but let’s be honest, normal humans don’t stand a chance. Our species is weak.
[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen.	No one was really sure why the humans were always chosen from earth. I mean whenever a probe scans for life forms, it always finds some deadly looking predators. Like the reptilian brings known as “Crocodiles”, they have the most powerful jaw of any species ever seen. Or the giant “Elephant” which would likely stand a chance against the legendary Maloctus, which has not yet lost a battle. But for some reason humans were chosen each time, and when it comes down to it, they’re always the first to go. That is, until this time. “Let the games begin” yelled the announcer. All the gates opened, and many of the usual species stepped out. The chrimara, the mudmic, and as expected, the Maloctus. Then stepped out the human, and something was different, they were wielding some sort of tool. This wasn’t uncommon, we’ve seen humans with other tools before, like a primitive light screen, a metal chunk on a stick, and the mint bizarre, a tiny pronged spear. But this one looked different, it resembled a federation cruiser ship, except with two handles, one wider than the other. And it appeared as though the tip of the tool was hollow, what ever could it have been for? “SHRERERERERERERE!” Screamed the willower, as it slithered towards the human. With all the commotion of other creatures fighting, it would only take a really loud noise to draw the attention to the huma- “BANG” And in an instant, all eyes were on the human, as it stood, it’s head against the tool, and the tip of the tool smoking. Then it was noted that the willower has a hole through its central mouth and out the back. It was instantly dead. The crowd cheered at the spontaneous death. Somehow the human had managed to exploit some previously unknown weakness in the willower. But its pride would not last long, as the acreus was seen charging at the human, all horns down. The human would not survi- “BANG-BANG” The acreus fell in the dirt and slid to the humans feet. Incredible, somehow the human had done it again. Perhaps the human managed to intimidate the acreus into falling, or perhaps it had used some kind of projectile to stun the acreus... but the acreus was not getting up. In fact, the human had already moved on. It seemed it was approaching the chupika. Bold of the human to confront the electric rodent, this would be an interes- “Bang” The head of the chupika exploded in an instant. This was unbelievable, not once has a human killed 3 creatures, let alone 1. Usually the humans are a gimme for any other creature to pick off, but now it seems it’s the other way around. The human was actually impressive for once. But it certainly won’t last long, especially not to the maloctus. And that’s what we saw, the Maloctus locked it’s 6 eyes on the human, and stampeded towards the human, all 400 kilograms of the Maloctus was barreling towards the human, and it would surly shred the hu- “Bra-ta-ta-ta-ta-ta-ta-ta” And the Maloctus was dead. This had never happened. The Maloctus has never lost before, and now a human, the weakest creature, had defeated it like it was nothing. The entire audience went completely silent. Then the unthinkable happened. “Bang” “Bang bang” “Bang” “Bang”... One by one, every creature fell. And the human just stood there holding its tool. “This is unbelievable, someone stop it!” Said the announcer anxiously. Every creature had fallen, and 2 guards had entered the arena with proto-extractors. As they attempted to approach the human, the human pulled a rock off its hip, bit a piece off of it, and threw it at the guards. Puzzled, the guarded inspected the rock, and it appeared... lumpy? “BOOM!” The rock exploded and the 2 guards were killed instantly. But the entry into the arena was still open. The human, clearly un-phased, walked out of the arena. This would be a burden to deal with. ___________________________________________________ If enough people like this, I’ll make a part 2.	It had been years since he found himself in a situation this fucked up and unpredictable. Well, that would be according to his own standards, for most of humanity any of his weekly assignments would be insane. Working in the Foundation, anything could happen. And it means literally anything. But he usually had backup (until they died, turned in masses of flesh or started blowing up out of nowhere), so help felt a bit out of his mindset. It didn’t help when he felt a tingling sensation in the back of his head, noticing a break into his mental barriers. Then the tingling became pain and he shouted. His mind wasn’t his own anymore. “Welcome to the 69420th Stellaris Universal Chanpionship, where there are no rules, no analysis, just bloodshed! Today you’ve been chosen as the representative of your planet to fight in a massive battle royals involving every dominant species of each planet!” Suddenly, he was falling and the pain receded. And he had to manage to not die in the fall... like all the other things that where being eaten in half by all kinds of winged mutants and exotic beings. And one approached him, fast, really fa- “Son of a biiiiiiiii-“ END Yeah I could write him overpowering everyone but let’s be honest, normal humans don’t stand a chance. Our species is weak.
[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen.	"You've really fucked up now," The human noted, content to lean against the wall as the countdown for its entrance to the arena slowly ticked towards zero. "I mean, I get it, your basic alien overlords want entertainment and so you kidnapped me to be the half time entertainment. But boy howdy did you pick the wrong human." N'Thock couldn't help but turn his head. He was a lowly guard sure, but he'd seen humans in the arena before. None of them had lasted, all had died screaming. "Your bluff won't work human, we won't release you." "Don't engage the primitive," his partner admonished and N'Thock shrugged. The human checked the two upright things on the back of its armour and to N'Thock's surprise, they changed shape with the clicking sound of machinery unfolding. A trickle of nervous sweat rolled down its face. The rules were clear, a contestant could use anything it was carrying, but given the wide range of most species, it was very rare to get a soldier, much less one in armour, and even rarer one carrying weapons. "Not bluffing" the human explained, checking a third weapon on the small of its back and another at its hip. It glanced down at the only identifying patch on its chest and with a frown licked it's thumb to clean off some dust. It unclipped one of the weapons that the security system identified as a Shotgun. "You see, I'm betting you rarely get soldiers, and if I was a betting gal, you've never even heard the terms 'Vanguard' or 'N7'" The counter continued to decrease and the human took her place on the platform to be raised. N'Thock considered the sheer confidence of the human and quickly placed an underdog bet. He could be very rich afterwards and if not, he'd hit up Lashkar for a drink anyway. "What do they call you human, I've placed a bet on you, so I should know who I'm cheering for." "Oh I've got a few names. The Butcher of Torfan, the Survivor of Akuze." The universal translator told him what the words meant, though the places were unfamiliar. This boded well for N'Thock. "And you think you can win? Many of the species you'll fight are faster, and stronger and tougher than you." The human grinned as the platform began to rise. "Probably but it doesn't matter. You can fight like a Krogan or run like a leopard, but you'll never be better than Commander Shephard." With a jaunty wave it disappeared from view. And screaming began.	It had been years since he found himself in a situation this fucked up and unpredictable. Well, that would be according to his own standards, for most of humanity any of his weekly assignments would be insane. Working in the Foundation, anything could happen. And it means literally anything. But he usually had backup (until they died, turned in masses of flesh or started blowing up out of nowhere), so help felt a bit out of his mindset. It didn’t help when he felt a tingling sensation in the back of his head, noticing a break into his mental barriers. Then the tingling became pain and he shouted. His mind wasn’t his own anymore. “Welcome to the 69420th Stellaris Universal Chanpionship, where there are no rules, no analysis, just bloodshed! Today you’ve been chosen as the representative of your planet to fight in a massive battle royals involving every dominant species of each planet!” Suddenly, he was falling and the pain receded. And he had to manage to not die in the fall... like all the other things that where being eaten in half by all kinds of winged mutants and exotic beings. And one approached him, fast, really fa- “Son of a biiiiiiiii-“ END Yeah I could write him overpowering everyone but let’s be honest, normal humans don’t stand a chance. Our species is weak.
[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen.	“Where are we?” “my sensors are not picking up any landmarks we can identify sir.” “Well, what are you picking up?” “hmm, hang on a second...the air is breathable, though I don’t think that matters to you. lower gravity than Earth..about ten percent less to be exa.” “Any useful information?” “we’re being watched sir.” Thrarr’Kaa was intrigued by this human. In all the rotations that he has been breathing, he has never seen one quite like this. Yes he has seen big ones before, but not like this, and he had definitely never seen one that talks to itself. He did have a soft spot for humans, they are pretty clever and resourceful after all, but their short lifespans and known fragility made them ill suited for the Glaxxar Battles. “Why am I here?” the human asked. Thrarr’Kaa’s translator module spoke the question into his sound receptors in perfect Glaxxon and it startled him. He had forgotten that he purchased it last verak. “Why to pROVE your SpECIES worthy of course” he responded as he always has. For generations his tribe had been the keepers of the Glaxxar contestants and for generations his brood has been charged with keeping the humans alive at least long enough to fight. “Who is it you SpEAK to HuMann?” He asked, “Have you a COMpANION inside your armour?” “Something like that” the human replied. “i don’t think he can hear me sir” “Very well, and can you remove your armour on your ownnn?” Thrarr’Kaa asks “Where are your WEApONS?” “I don’t have any weapons, this armor is my weapon. If I remove it I may die.” Thrarr’Kaa knew the human was lying, but it didn’t matter, the contest starts soon now and lies will not save the humans life. “When the pORTAL OpENS, you will STEp through. If you do not you will be VApORIZED.” “Understood, thank you for your honesty” The humans reply startled Thrarr’Kaa again. What a surprise two times in 10 Glorbacks. He was anxious now to see what exactly this unusual human could do. Soon the portals opened and like all the other contestants, the human stepped through. Just like that Thrarr’Kaa’s job was done. Though he never watched the battles (they were not to his taste) he couldn’t shake the feeling that he should. After about 3 Glorbacks he couldn’t take it anymore and he reached over to switch on his holoviewer noticing his long nose and red eyes in the reflection. He switched to the contest and to his surprise he saw the human beating a Klogar to death with his bare hands. He hadn’t noticed that the humans armour was green, an unusual color to wear on his planet, the color of death. Coming out of his thought he glanced back at the viewer to hear the crowd chanting “DRIMAR, DRIMAR, DRIMAR!” “What exactly does DRIMAR mean?” John asked his Ai. “i believe that you have been given a nickname John. The word roughly translates to Demon, but less friendly.” “Less friendly than Demon? Can you get a signal out, we need to reach the pillar and let them know we’re still alive.” “Yes chief, I sent a distress signal the moment we came to, they should be here in 3..2..” Thrarr’Kaa was shocked by what he was seeing, the human had managed to call others like him to their location and a massive human vessel had crashed through the domed battle planet, beamed the human out and disappeared. The human had already won, why did he flee, they were to be invited to the republic. He wrote down the name he saw transcribed on the humans armour in case they were to meet again. “117, What kind of name was 117? Edit: Edited final line for grammar.	It had been years since he found himself in a situation this fucked up and unpredictable. Well, that would be according to his own standards, for most of humanity any of his weekly assignments would be insane. Working in the Foundation, anything could happen. And it means literally anything. But he usually had backup (until they died, turned in masses of flesh or started blowing up out of nowhere), so help felt a bit out of his mindset. It didn’t help when he felt a tingling sensation in the back of his head, noticing a break into his mental barriers. Then the tingling became pain and he shouted. His mind wasn’t his own anymore. “Welcome to the 69420th Stellaris Universal Chanpionship, where there are no rules, no analysis, just bloodshed! Today you’ve been chosen as the representative of your planet to fight in a massive battle royals involving every dominant species of each planet!” Suddenly, he was falling and the pain receded. And he had to manage to not die in the fall... like all the other things that where being eaten in half by all kinds of winged mutants and exotic beings. And one approached him, fast, really fa- “Son of a biiiiiiiii-“ END Yeah I could write him overpowering everyone but let’s be honest, normal humans don’t stand a chance. Our species is weak.
[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen.	The battles have dealt with weaponry before, and consider them fair game. In fact, last battle's champion wielded a very handsome and sophisticated spear that one would use to hunt. But this human's equipment was vastly different. The usual textiles that the species adorns themselves with were replaced with interlocking ferrous rings, tough animal skin, and shimmering metallic plating. Not only that, but where previous humans would wield crude tools or limbs of vegetation, this human had a length of metal, about the length of one of its upper limb, and a disc of metal on its left limb. And the efficiency this human displayed, using its length of metal with a deadly grace. The metallic garb it wore caused other foes' attacks to merely annoy and distract, never cause damage. Visually its one weakness was grapples, but a hidden length of metal no larger than its lower sub-llimb spilled the lifeblood of any that dared try. The human wound up winning the whole battle, obviously. The host species have never seen such brutality in melee combat in history, and the fact that the human had no lasting injuries was cause for gossip long after it had been sent home with its reward. The battle would honour humans from then on, praising those wearing the metallic garb as champions before the battle even began. - Excerpt from History of The Battle, chapter 12 of volume 2 'Underdogs of The Battle	It had been years since he found himself in a situation this fucked up and unpredictable. Well, that would be according to his own standards, for most of humanity any of his weekly assignments would be insane. Working in the Foundation, anything could happen. And it means literally anything. But he usually had backup (until they died, turned in masses of flesh or started blowing up out of nowhere), so help felt a bit out of his mindset. It didn’t help when he felt a tingling sensation in the back of his head, noticing a break into his mental barriers. Then the tingling became pain and he shouted. His mind wasn’t his own anymore. “Welcome to the 69420th Stellaris Universal Chanpionship, where there are no rules, no analysis, just bloodshed! Today you’ve been chosen as the representative of your planet to fight in a massive battle royals involving every dominant species of each planet!” Suddenly, he was falling and the pain receded. And he had to manage to not die in the fall... like all the other things that where being eaten in half by all kinds of winged mutants and exotic beings. And one approached him, fast, really fa- “Son of a biiiiiiiii-“ END Yeah I could write him overpowering everyone but let’s be honest, normal humans don’t stand a chance. Our species is weak.
[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen.	“Welcome to the 137,326,714th intergalactic species showdown!”, the X’O’Blob 9k Fusion Mind transmitted over the hyperspace waves, “The one and only place where entertainment meets ultimate carnage!” Simmons put a hand to his head, willing the ungodly roar of words to leave his mind. Sighing in relief as the disembodied voice fell silent, he was unprepared for the images that assaulted his mind next. Simmons reeled to his knees as creature after creature, each more horrific than the last, paraded through his mind while the booming voice that his ears could not hear announced the home-world and several lethal features of each. Simmons strained to get purchase on the bolder he was all but straddling in his unsteadiness. “And now to announce the underdog species!”, the voice silently thundered, “Back by popular demand, the only species to break the record for quickest elimination a dozen times in a row, the curiously hair-less ape from its home-world of Earth: Homo-Sapiens-Sapiens!” “Sarge!”, Simmons finally managed to croak. Not receiving an immediate reply, he continued holding his head, which felt in danger of splitting in half at any second. “As our loyal viewers no doubt remember, their last knockout was particularly embarrassing. I’ve since learned the implements that their representative ineffectually brandished against the 30-toed Giant Sky-Cat of Porgal-3 were in-fact called 'knitting needles' and are used to remedy the Sapiens’ startling bald bodies. Well, hopefully this time they'll try to do more than simply stay warm!” The voice paused as if waiting for applause to die down. Simmons still struggled to stand as, in addition to the voice, there was now a disorienting view of himself tottering back and forth in his own mind. “As some of our more astute viewers have surely noticed, there are actually more than one Sapiens down there. Viewer Mglwnafh from sector Phnglui expended his Power Play Token to slightly buff the underdog species. Too bad it ended up being used on the Sapiens; better luck next time! AND NOW, LET THE CARNAGE BEGIN!” As the voice faded and Simmons’ vision cleared, a hand thrust into his field of view. “On your feet, son!”, Sarge barked. Smiling broadly, he was flanked by Garcia and Boothe, “That chopper we were in is on the other side of this hill. Let’s get loaded up and greet our new acquaintances!” Simmons smiled back as he took Sarge’s hand. Looks like it would be just another day in the Corps. &#x200B; \[First time posting a story, please be gentle\] Edit: Formatting	It had been years since he found himself in a situation this fucked up and unpredictable. Well, that would be according to his own standards, for most of humanity any of his weekly assignments would be insane. Working in the Foundation, anything could happen. And it means literally anything. But he usually had backup (until they died, turned in masses of flesh or started blowing up out of nowhere), so help felt a bit out of his mindset. It didn’t help when he felt a tingling sensation in the back of his head, noticing a break into his mental barriers. Then the tingling became pain and he shouted. His mind wasn’t his own anymore. “Welcome to the 69420th Stellaris Universal Chanpionship, where there are no rules, no analysis, just bloodshed! Today you’ve been chosen as the representative of your planet to fight in a massive battle royals involving every dominant species of each planet!” Suddenly, he was falling and the pain receded. And he had to manage to not die in the fall... like all the other things that where being eaten in half by all kinds of winged mutants and exotic beings. And one approached him, fast, really fa- “Son of a biiiiiiiii-“ END Yeah I could write him overpowering everyone but let’s be honest, normal humans don’t stand a chance. Our species is weak.
[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen.	The Grand Tournament was a tradition dating back a thousand years. The people of the Sr'atlain Cooperative deserved a little break every now and then. The blood sport of Tournament time was accompanied by feasting, by marriages, and by traditional Divorce duels. The lesser beings of the galaxy that survived would get a new life as treasured exhibits with the nobility. No hugh man had ever lasted past the first 2 rounds. The scaroid was favored this year, their impressive natural arm blades making up for the lesser exoskeletal mass that the Kar Itii females sported. The arena was prepared and the gates opened. From 12 corners of the arena beings walked, skittered, crawled, or undulated cautiously out. They had had the situation explained in their native tongues and their natural aggressiveness played out in their reactions. In all but one corner the aliens squared off, two or three at a time. There was a jangling sound from the human pen. The crowd grew quiet. They knew that hugh mans didn't jingle. A hulking four armed monster approached and let out it's undulating cry challenging the hugh man to come out. A grunt in the pen was accompained by a steel headed spear that impaled the thing. Behind it at a jog came the hugh man. Wearing a long shirt made of interlocked metal rings and a helmet with a strip over his nose the hugh man hefted an axe and let out a cry. The others in the arena heard him, and what he said was this: "Ó Óðinn! Þú hefur gefið mér tilgang hér í Ragnarok! Leyfðu mér að vera þinn hrafn!" And then the blood began to stain the floor again.	It had been years since he found himself in a situation this fucked up and unpredictable. Well, that would be according to his own standards, for most of humanity any of his weekly assignments would be insane. Working in the Foundation, anything could happen. And it means literally anything. But he usually had backup (until they died, turned in masses of flesh or started blowing up out of nowhere), so help felt a bit out of his mindset. It didn’t help when he felt a tingling sensation in the back of his head, noticing a break into his mental barriers. Then the tingling became pain and he shouted. His mind wasn’t his own anymore. “Welcome to the 69420th Stellaris Universal Chanpionship, where there are no rules, no analysis, just bloodshed! Today you’ve been chosen as the representative of your planet to fight in a massive battle royals involving every dominant species of each planet!” Suddenly, he was falling and the pain receded. And he had to manage to not die in the fall... like all the other things that where being eaten in half by all kinds of winged mutants and exotic beings. And one approached him, fast, really fa- “Son of a biiiiiiiii-“ END Yeah I could write him overpowering everyone but let’s be honest, normal humans don’t stand a chance. Our species is weak.
[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen.	The human lay on the floor with it's eyes shut tightly, stagnant water dripping from it, a single reed sticking out of its mouth. After a few moments it opened its eyes to see why the pond water had suddenly vanished, eventually focusing in on the officials surrounding it. "Hmm. It seems to be in good enough shape, but it's a bit small." "Why is it all wet?" One of the aliens raises a holographic cube with a tentacle, gesticulating to rewind the footage shown within. "Ah, it was hiding from another human faction." The footage showed several dozen heavily armed but raggedly clothed humans canvassing the woods surrounding the scummy pond from which the human had been snatched. "Great, another coward." "Oh well. Connect it to the psycho-mat and inform it of this years conditions." "Hmm, it came from a tropical rain forest. This years arena is a tropical rain forest. Perhaps it can survive long enough to make things interesting. What are the odds on the human candidate this year?" "Oof, two-to-one that it gets past 780th place." "500th?" "Wow. Over eighty-three thousand." "Hahaha, maybe worth a small side bet." The Officials swiped away the cube and all but one made their way out of the chamber. A light shone into the humans face and transmitted the details of this years battle royale, and the prize for success. Though it was still a bit confused, the human comprehended the situation unusually quickly, and the psycho-mat beeped to confirm comprehension in a matter of seconds. "Huh... that was quick." It pulled up another holographic cube and checked to see comprehension times of other candidates. This years human candidate was orders of magnitude smarter than the second smartest candidate. The remaining official took a second to ponder, then brought up a cube for the betting pools. After scrolling for a while, it finally came upon the betting interface for the human candidate all the way at the bottom of the list. It placed a sizable wager. "Eh, worst case scenario I'll cut out visits to the pleasure-dome for a while," it said to calm the rapid beating of its hearts. The human had already stood up and was taking stock of its possessions. The official brought up a translator cube and spoke to the human, "did the transporter fail to bring along your possessions?" The human paused for a moment then smiled, adopted what it believed to be a jovial tone and said, "yes. I had to hide most of my equipment before hiding from those communists in that pond." The official contracted knowingly, "ah, that happens sometimes. Let me check the recordings." After a few moments pause, during which the human seemed uneasy, the official said, "You must have hidden your equipment before you were selected, because I you don't seem to have any equipment in the recording." "Ah, yes, I hid it before I left to find a hiding place." "Oh, ok," the official brought up another cube, "here's a list of all of the contemporary equipment from your civilization that we can replicate. Pick out what you had and it will be provided before you are transported into the arena." The human hesitated for a moment, then began scrolling through the list of items available: Aerogel reinforced graphene scale bodysuit with quantum stealth coating; one single-handed and one two-handed firearm with several drum magazines loaded with tungsten tipped ammunition; an assortment of hand-held explosive devices; some kind of trap-making toolkit; a vest and backpack to store it all. "That, uh, that's more or less what I had before you guys brought me here." "Alright, get it over there and start preparing." A hatch opened in the wall with all of the equipment. The human rushed over and, after a moment running its hands appreciatively over the equipment, began donning everything. "Does it match the specifications of your equipment?" The human didn't respond immediately, intently sorting through the equipment. The official popped several of it's suction cups to grab the humans attention. "Huh? Oh, yeah, it's great," it glanced up at the official then continued to fondle the equipment, "it's just nice and brand new. Also the, uh, build quality is slightly better. Your culture must be very advanced" The official unconsciously puffed up at that, "ah, yes, well, it's true. It's likely that some of this is of higher quality than what your people are capable. I'll leave you to prepare. The tournament begins in approximately one hour." ------------------------------------------------ "An investigation has been opened into the Tournament Official who oversaw the preparation by psycho-mat of the Human candidate today after, against all odds, the human was able to complete the Tournament in first place. Being the only individual to place a bet on the human, immediately before the onset of the tournament, some officials believe that there may have been some form of foul play. The Official in question claims that this individual was simply much more intelligent than the typical human and was aided more by the similarity of its home environment to the one chosen for this years Arena. More on this at fourteen-seventy-five. But first, this popular brand of krill paste might contain mammal byproducts..."	It had been years since he found himself in a situation this fucked up and unpredictable. Well, that would be according to his own standards, for most of humanity any of his weekly assignments would be insane. Working in the Foundation, anything could happen. And it means literally anything. But he usually had backup (until they died, turned in masses of flesh or started blowing up out of nowhere), so help felt a bit out of his mindset. It didn’t help when he felt a tingling sensation in the back of his head, noticing a break into his mental barriers. Then the tingling became pain and he shouted. His mind wasn’t his own anymore. “Welcome to the 69420th Stellaris Universal Chanpionship, where there are no rules, no analysis, just bloodshed! Today you’ve been chosen as the representative of your planet to fight in a massive battle royals involving every dominant species of each planet!” Suddenly, he was falling and the pain receded. And he had to manage to not die in the fall... like all the other things that where being eaten in half by all kinds of winged mutants and exotic beings. And one approached him, fast, really fa- “Son of a biiiiiiiii-“ END Yeah I could write him overpowering everyone but let’s be honest, normal humans don’t stand a chance. Our species is weak.
[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen.	In a flash all the contestants were ready. 34 creatures from 34 different planets around the galaxy, all known for their exceptional violence, ruthlessness, and physical prowess... All except one. Every cycle, the Great One chooses the same 34 species, and every cycle another one of the pathetic humans are torn to shreds, melted into a puddle, or driven mad by the mere sight of the competition. Two appendages for manipulation, two for movement, at least half or sometimes even a third as many as most of the participants. Yet time and time again, the Great One throws them into the pit. Most of us think it's a joke, a test, a low bar, an example of the minimum requirement to even be considered for the Games. But SOME of us know better. From eons of watching these games, I've seen these humans change, just slightly. Gone is the thick brow and body hair, replaced with simple textiles. Plant-Fiber tools slowly replaced with stone, then basic metals. Last Cycle, we even had one with what seemed to be a primitive combat suit, clad in strong alloy, and wielding a weapon it very much knew how to use. This was no match for the other contestants, of course, but some of the craftier ones among us started to recognize the pattern... This was the year we really doubled down. If a fully clad soldier had been the last human, then surely this one would be formidable. Which is why my soul sank when I saw what I'd bet my fortune on. The armor was all but entirely missing. A simple helmet and chest plating? A weapon without a single slicing edge in sight? Not even a point, just a hollow metal tube... The alarm sounded, the cages fell, and I had all but given up. Right at the start, the Quadruple Pincered Cephalopod of Talkon-5 slithered its way towards this pathetic excuse of a creature, sure to be bisected before I could even blink... That's when the first series of small explosions rang out across the arena... And the Cephalopod was reduced to what the humans would call "Chunky Salsa". I don't think anyone expected a projectile weapon, especially not one powered by handheld explosive force. What kind of idiot race would make weapons that explode that close them? Though to its credit, we've never had a faster winner in the games.	It had been years since he found himself in a situation this fucked up and unpredictable. Well, that would be according to his own standards, for most of humanity any of his weekly assignments would be insane. Working in the Foundation, anything could happen. And it means literally anything. But he usually had backup (until they died, turned in masses of flesh or started blowing up out of nowhere), so help felt a bit out of his mindset. It didn’t help when he felt a tingling sensation in the back of his head, noticing a break into his mental barriers. Then the tingling became pain and he shouted. His mind wasn’t his own anymore. “Welcome to the 69420th Stellaris Universal Chanpionship, where there are no rules, no analysis, just bloodshed! Today you’ve been chosen as the representative of your planet to fight in a massive battle royals involving every dominant species of each planet!” Suddenly, he was falling and the pain receded. And he had to manage to not die in the fall... like all the other things that where being eaten in half by all kinds of winged mutants and exotic beings. And one approached him, fast, really fa- “Son of a biiiiiiiii-“ END Yeah I could write him overpowering everyone but let’s be honest, normal humans don’t stand a chance. Our species is weak.
[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen.	Humans. Most of them are frail and are usually first blood. They cower in fear as the Prowlers and Gignids rip them apart. Some are different, some can put up a fight if they happen to have weapons on them, but none have been crowned champion yet. "This year should be exciting, we might not even get a human from earth." said one of the Argker in the crowd. "Oh right, their planet got completely overrun, didn't it? I dont even think there are any left. We should be getting a real beast today!" said his friend, sitting next to him and munching on the intergalactic equivalent of a hotdog. Though back in the control room, confusion arose. "Its been pacing around its cell for a few hours now. According to its DNA its clearly human, but theres something else we can't quite make out." Inside the cell a tall, brawny figure in green armor stood and inspected the walls of the room. He could break out with ease if it wanted to, but something was not right. He felt like he would encounter something huge soon, something with huge guts if he just stayed in the cell for now. "No matter, if its just a human we will likely see the usual disappointment and first blood as all other seasons. Now, its time. Order the announcements and open the gates." The gates open, the fighters are pushed out of their cells and the killing begins. The human slowly steps out, double barrel shotgun in hand. The Argker aliens made their biggest and last mistake bringing him here. As the human sees all the demon-like creatures enter the arena, only one thought crosses his mind.. # "RIP AND TEAR!"	It had been years since he found himself in a situation this fucked up and unpredictable. Well, that would be according to his own standards, for most of humanity any of his weekly assignments would be insane. Working in the Foundation, anything could happen. And it means literally anything. But he usually had backup (until they died, turned in masses of flesh or started blowing up out of nowhere), so help felt a bit out of his mindset. It didn’t help when he felt a tingling sensation in the back of his head, noticing a break into his mental barriers. Then the tingling became pain and he shouted. His mind wasn’t his own anymore. “Welcome to the 69420th Stellaris Universal Chanpionship, where there are no rules, no analysis, just bloodshed! Today you’ve been chosen as the representative of your planet to fight in a massive battle royals involving every dominant species of each planet!” Suddenly, he was falling and the pain receded. And he had to manage to not die in the fall... like all the other things that where being eaten in half by all kinds of winged mutants and exotic beings. And one approached him, fast, really fa- “Son of a biiiiiiiii-“ END Yeah I could write him overpowering everyone but let’s be honest, normal humans don’t stand a chance. Our species is weak.
[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen.	"Checking in now in the livestock quandrant-" "Blarb, we can't call it-" "-the 'less developed' quadrant." Blarb waved a dismissive tentacle at Rankle and continued. "These participants are those that haven't mastered spaceflight or any reasonable level of technology, but still qualify for Contest based on their intelligence potential. They even have to be teleported here! They wouldn't be able to find this space station without someone bringing them along! What do you think our chances of having a grand champion from the less developed quadrant, Rank?" "Obviously, the odds are slim, Blarb. Last year's Contest was actually prolonged by weeks because the less developed contestants actually got along pretty well and didn't kill each other enough to reach the threshold to open their gates to the main arena." "That was a nightmare. I'm glad they've tweaked the rules this year, setting a three day time limit on that zone. Luckily, those contestants are generally biological in nature, so an extermination event will leave the zone clean and ready for next year." A high pitched screetch emitted from the grey cloud betweent the two commentators. Blarb and Rankle looked at each other, the cloud, then simultaneously returned to their microphones, pretending to have understood the higher being. "A notable participant is the human!" Blarb continued, forcing as much enthusiasm and interest into his voice as he could. "For the last 12 hours, it looks like she's been building a shelter! And it's made of biomass!" Rankle chuckled along to Blarb's tone. "Look at this summary, Rank. Humans are known for manipulating physical objects by applying force through other physical objects. This particular human was selected as a treat this year - records indicate that she is from a continent surrounded by oceans that have trapped some of the deadliest creatures of that planet there. Apart from growing up in such a hostile environment, she opted to train for even more combat with one of her planet's military factions! It is a little disappointing that she seems to be behaving a lot like last year's human.." "Oh yes! The tooth one!" Rankle had been genuinely curious about the class of humans called dentists. "I really thought he would use his teeth powers to rise to at least the top of the quadrant, but instead he ran and hid the whole time. We didn't even see any of the fear inducing antics they are known for on Earth!" Another trill from the vortex between them. Maybe it was hungry? Blarb returned to inspecting the human on the screen. "It looks like she's finished building the shelter, though from this angle it just looks like a giant pile of tree material with no discernable structure. Oh! And now she's going to try and provide some warmth for herself. When humans stay below a certain temperature, they stop functioning permanently, so we're probably going to see a bit of this in future." Blarb and Rankle leaned down to their screens, pushing their microphones away for a moment. "Is she self-terminating?" "Maybe she wanted to light one side of the shelter and the oxygen is higher than-" "Then why isn't she inside? When did she make a blanket?" "Is she feeding MORE oxygen into a combustion...?" The two straightened up and regained their composure. Rankle took the lead while Blarb watched the screens in silence. "Viewers of the contest, there's some interesting activity in the less developed quadrant that you all might want to witness. The human - yes, the human - has just initiated a combustion reaction at the edge of zone. Note that this is one of the highest oxygen zones in the Contest, and she is now hiding under a woven textile referred to in most cultures as a blanket. We don't know if this is an elaborate protest or simple self termination, but this is... this is going to devastate the quadrant." Blarb and Rankle watched in mute appreciation of the destruction ripping through the zone. A fire tore through the zone, spreading almost as fast as it would in a space station corridor, fed continually as the Contest's systems tried to bring the oxygen level up to baseline. There had been many acts of savagery in the history of the Contest, but these were generally in smaller one on one fights and the occasional two on ones when a hasty alliance was formed. This was unprecidented. Blarb was certain that in a few minutes, the livestock quadrant would be the first gate to open into the wider Contest, if there was anything left alive in there to release.	It had been years since he found himself in a situation this fucked up and unpredictable. Well, that would be according to his own standards, for most of humanity any of his weekly assignments would be insane. Working in the Foundation, anything could happen. And it means literally anything. But he usually had backup (until they died, turned in masses of flesh or started blowing up out of nowhere), so help felt a bit out of his mindset. It didn’t help when he felt a tingling sensation in the back of his head, noticing a break into his mental barriers. Then the tingling became pain and he shouted. His mind wasn’t his own anymore. “Welcome to the 69420th Stellaris Universal Chanpionship, where there are no rules, no analysis, just bloodshed! Today you’ve been chosen as the representative of your planet to fight in a massive battle royals involving every dominant species of each planet!” Suddenly, he was falling and the pain receded. And he had to manage to not die in the fall... like all the other things that where being eaten in half by all kinds of winged mutants and exotic beings. And one approached him, fast, really fa- “Son of a biiiiiiiii-“ END Yeah I could write him overpowering everyone but let’s be honest, normal humans don’t stand a chance. Our species is weak.
[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen.	Millions of sentient species and billions of inhabited worlds made for a startling array of natural killers. It also made for an even wider range of amusing, but useless fodder. Creatures like the organic-mechanical Spithai, with their internal fusion generators, and naturally-grown plasma throwers; or the Eternal Raxaxis, hide like titanium, fast healing, sole member of his race, and winner of the Intergalactic Battle Royale over 426 times: these would be the fights to watch. Others, such as the gelatinous Bolgan, whose guts poured out at the slightest prick, or the greasy meat-sacks called humans, who usually just squealed, maybe threw a rock, would be the bloody clown-show before the main event. Humans had almost no fans. Occasionally a young grizling might like the way they look and choose to root for them, perhaps some rebellious adolescent, looking for a way to stand out. One such adolescent was Pergi. Oh, she didn't color her tendrils in odd ways, wear piercings in her glabulai, or turn her loopeck inside out. She just saw things differently. Perhaps it was her innate intelligence - far exceeding her parents' rating of 89.9 brain spasms per second. Or it could have been her kind and loving hearts. Creatures like the Spithai were made for battle, she thought. They probably liked being chosen. It was a cruelty to kidnap all these softer beings and force them to fight and die. The screams of the humans always seemed to affect her most, as being especially pitiful. But Pergi didn't just sit in the almost empty human section and root for a hopeless species. She decided to look into the history of human subjects. The first couple, about 150,000 standard cycles ago, managed to put up a bit of a fight, but still lost to more advanced, or naturally deadly species. It was then deemed that the specimens had been too small. Only larger, more fully mature specimens had been chosen - generally about 60-70 cycles old, and between 300 and 400 galactic pounds. These fared even worse. The 600 pound human was the most pathetic of all. It couldn't even roll out of it's cage. A gravity projector had to be used to lift it to it's very messy end against a slow-moving Cloom worm. Pergi looked at scans of the muscle structure, large brain, and forward-facing eyes of the humans. It occurred to her that the specimens chosen for sheer size and chronological age might not be the best that this species had to offer. What if the younger and trimmer ones were actually the more formidable humans? What if they didn't just get more deadly with age like most species, but sort of faded away? What if all that extra glutinous mass was not a defense mechanism, but a sign of an unhealthy human? She applied to the Great Mind and asked to change the parameters for selection of this year's human. The Great Mind responded: "Why not? They can't get any worse." Thus it was that Pergi sat in the nearly empty human section, alone but for an infant and a male who had been drunk when choosing fan sections. She watched the human stall with a tiny grain of hope amidst a massive dose of fatalism. Finally it appeared in a flash of light. This human was dressed in some kind of thick armored clothing. It wore a helmet, and had many pouches and pockets all over it's cumbersome-looking clothing. Some kind of mechanical weapon, black and deadly-looking, was being pointed in every direction as the human tried to figure out where it was. Then the translated voice of the Great Mind spoke to it and explained it's circumstances. Instead of losing it's mind like the last human in it's place, this one merely took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Well, fuck me." It said. "You will now be given a moment to be encouraged by your fans." said the Great Mind. "Hoo-ra." Said the human. "Huuuuuumannn!", said the infant. "At least kill something!" said the miserable male. "Are you a warrior?" asked Pergi. "1st marines. Second division." "What? "Yes. I fight in wars. I am a warrior." Pergi was exited. "I knew it! I knew they had it wrong!" She looked at the human's primary weapon. "Is that a projectile launcher with non-renewable ammunition?" The marine thought for a moment. "Yes. You got anything better for me? Phaser gun maybe?" "Each species fights only with what the have on them upon arrival. I can't give you another weapon, but I can tell you to conserve your ammunition. This round of combat is mainly for species with little or no defensive capabilities." The marine nodded. "Thanks." Just then the buzzer went off and the cage was opened. The marine was pushed out by a force-field. A few steps into the arena they faced the first of their opponents. It looked like a slowly rolling ball of jelly with one tentacle sticking out. The marine drew his combat knife, swiftly walked up, and slashed off it's tentacle, before opening it's gelatinous body and spilling it's guts. The next was a slug the size of a large dog. It spat some sort of goo, but the marine blinded it by emptying the contents of a salt packet in it's eyes, and stabbed it 34 times to finish the poor creature. This progressed into the first round of the true Battle Royale. The marine hung back and defended one corner of the arena while hundreds of other creatures killed each-other in a multitude of ways. He was forced to empty the first clip of his side-arm, but otherwise took Pergi's advice and conserved ammunition. By this time some of the fans of the failed species had come over to join the human section. They began to cheer the marine more and more loudly with each kill. As he finally beat an armored Tantilor to death with the severed horn of a Grak Lion, humanity's new fanbase was prepared too love the bipedal primitives from Earth for centuries to come. There was a break, while the victor of the first Battle was given an injection of restorative chemicals. Pergi spoke to the human once more. "You were amazing!" "Thanks to your advice. Got any tips for the next round?" Pergi thought about it while other fans cheered on their new hero. "This is the round with all the most deadly species in the galaxy. You will probably die, but if you are careful and smart like before, there is a small chance that you will live." "What do I get if I win?" "Whatever you want. Plus your species will be invited to the galactic council." "Roger that." The final round was long and unimaginably violent. The marine did his best to stay out of the way, letting the others tire themselves out killing each-other. All the while he studied their moves. When it was finally down to the predictable fusion-powered Spithai, and nearly invincible Raxaxis, and the totally unexpected human, the marine had formulated a plan. He was completely out of ammunition, but he still had one grenade. He waited until the Spithai charged it's super-heated plasma canon arm, ran up behind it and shoved his knife as deep as it would go into the Spithai's back, close to its power core. He twisted the blade as it began to melt away in the heat of the Spithai's core. Just as the nanites in its blood began to seal the breach, he shoved in his last grenade, burning his hand to a crisp. He then picked up the Spithai and raised it above his head with all his strength. The huge form of Raxaxis loomed over them and prepared to swallow them both. As the gaping maw came hurtling down, he shoved the Spithai into it and ducked down. The jaws clamped shut, severing both of his arms and scraping off most of his face and scalp, but he forced himself to roll between the creature's legs and away from it's head. The titanium hide of Raxaxis was enough to contain the explosion, but it's softer insides were not. Raxaxis the Eternal fell, a burned-out husk. It would recover later, but the human had won. He would later be given new and better arms, as well as a new, completely customizable face. He would go on to become ambassador of the human race, and was integral in the assassination of the Great Mind.	It had been years since he found himself in a situation this fucked up and unpredictable. Well, that would be according to his own standards, for most of humanity any of his weekly assignments would be insane. Working in the Foundation, anything could happen. And it means literally anything. But he usually had backup (until they died, turned in masses of flesh or started blowing up out of nowhere), so help felt a bit out of his mindset. It didn’t help when he felt a tingling sensation in the back of his head, noticing a break into his mental barriers. Then the tingling became pain and he shouted. His mind wasn’t his own anymore. “Welcome to the 69420th Stellaris Universal Chanpionship, where there are no rules, no analysis, just bloodshed! Today you’ve been chosen as the representative of your planet to fight in a massive battle royals involving every dominant species of each planet!” Suddenly, he was falling and the pain receded. And he had to manage to not die in the fall... like all the other things that where being eaten in half by all kinds of winged mutants and exotic beings. And one approached him, fast, really fa- “Son of a biiiiiiiii-“ END Yeah I could write him overpowering everyone but let’s be honest, normal humans don’t stand a chance. Our species is weak.
[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen.	Cracked spear shaft slowly brought to a defensive point. A shaky bloodied hand holds the spear forward, left eye no longer rests in the orbital socket of the hairless ape. How the hell did such a turn of events take place. A human. A stinking, wretched, fucking human. Year after year my bets were made good. Of course there was always a loss here and there but...where was the sport in constantly winning. There was always the reputable species brought in. Reliant. steady. And above all else.... profitable. All of it brought down by one fucking human. Every year they come in. Most of the time crying, shitting and pissing themselves. Pathetic. Barely able to stand on their legs as the more primal and apex races tear them to pieces. Don’t get me wrong, They are fun to watch. They break and rip apart in spectacular ways. And each year it’s always a little variety, a different color, maybe a female one to spice it up. Screaming and babbling a different primitive language each time they enter the arena. Pathetic. Weak. Stinking. Of course this is the year the weak fucking pieces of meat bring an ounce of iron. they’ve now embarrassed me. Just as I’ve become a lord among the elites, A owner and commander of my very own system. To do with as I please. Canters scaly hand brings the chalice to his lower mandible. The oily burning liquid slides down his bony trachea. It’s a long sip from the cup. Too long. The other elites notice. It’s a drink of frustration. He drops the chalice with a hard clang on the table in front of him. And releases a deep, loud and obnoxious sigh. Much to the surprise of the other elites, Canter rises out of his seat and screeches loud enough for the remaining species in the arena to hear... SLAUGHTER THAT PIECE OF STINKING MEAT AND FUCKING GET ON WITH IT NOW!!!!! Horthar is not supposed to be here. He’s heard that quite frequently in his life. Said often by his own father. But it was said with endearment. Horthar was curious, it could’ve been a war council in the great hall with the other chiefs of the sister villages, he was a boy that would sit and listen to the plans of men. His father would always catch him hiding in the shadows. Hiding......listening.....learning. He never knew how his father did it. No one else could ever catch him, but his father always did. He’d wait till the council would leave and he’d walk over to Horthar as a young boy and grab him by the shoulders with a heavy set of hands. Horthar always winced that his father would chastise him ....but he never did. He’d simply grab him by the chin and raise his eyes to meet his own gaze and would say it...... “you are not supposed to be here” But he was. He was learning. Listening. Watching. Becoming and hoping to be half the leader his father was. And his father saw it. And he loved him for it. That was a long time ago. Now he stands alone. Bleeding. Half blind. Struggling to keep himself standing. The last hour of his life had been the most afraid he’d ever been. He didn’t know how he’d survived as long as he had. The monstrosities he’d slain DIDNT know that though. Fear was last thing they thought Horthar was as he hacked, beat, clubbed, stabbed, bit, and gored very single one of them. Every one that came for him. Fell. Not without a few pieces of Horthar of course...Three fingers, many layers of skin, most of the clothes from his back. One eye. A gaping hole in his side. Yet he stood. But so did the other. It was tall, muscular. Orange. Skin so taught across the bulging muscles that you could see the hidden bladed tentacles that slithered underneath. Waiting to whip out from the hidden pockets of flesh to tear pieces away from Horthar. It’s eyes....many eyes, were red with rage. It’s flexing, sucking, razored edged mouth dripping steaming drool onto the arena floor. It was angry. It was hungry. And Horthar was all that was left. He takes a deep breath and stares at the muscular orange monstrosity in front of him.... he’s not supposed to be here. He should be guiding his sons of his favorite hunting trail. Telling them stories, teaching them, watching them learn and become better hunters. Better leaders than Horthar himself. But the hunting always felt secondary. He simply just enjoyed the time with his sons. He took pride in their curious nature. When his youngest son hesitated the first time He drew his bow to kill a buck...he didn’t get angry. In fact. His heart swelled. He knew that his son understood the value of a life. To take it away is a action you can’t take back. It becomes a responsibility. He laid his hand on his sons shoulder as he walked with him to slain buck. Telling him that he was proud of him, that he understood why he hesitated. That it made him proud he did. But now he could never hesitate again. Now his son understood. To take life is not a gift. It’s a terrible action you can’t take back. But in a world of things wanting to kill you, and the people you love, you must kill. He wished he was walking back into his village, his home. He missed the smell of his home. The sounds, the warmth. The way there was a small draft near the left corner of the den, because a storm the harvest before had blown through and cracked the foundation. But he didn’t fix it. He liked the cold air that flowed throughout their home. He missed his wife. He wished she was taking his bearded face into her hands and laying a kiss on his cheek like she had a thousand times before. He wished he could hear her voice. The way she sang to the boys. The way she said his name deep in the night as they loved one another. Would she be safe without him there? Would the boys be ready enough to protect their home?Would the village be ready for invaders, or a great plague, would the fish be plenty from the boats, would the harvest be bountiful, would there be enough for the village, would eve- He clears his mind. The village. His wife. His sons. They would be okay. He grips the spear shaft tighter into his hands. The village would be okay. He had lead them through many hardships. Of many degrees. He had taught them well, he had lead them. He watched them grow. The village would survive, not because of horthar, but because of its people. He brings the point of the spear into his single left field view. He aims it at the beast before him. He hears a voice from the crowd. They had been silent this entire time. The voice is loud, and irritated, it’s foreign, unlike anything he had ever heard. It was angry.... desperate. And it wasn’t aimed at him, no.....it was directed at the other creature. It didn’t matter. There was a long silent pause. The voice from the crowd had done something unnatural for such a event it seemed...the silence was now one of confusion, and anxiety. Horthar raised the spear above his head. He answered the aliens desperate scream. He answered it with a roar of his own. A war cry. He was now running. Horthar’s wife would be okay. She was stronger than even horthar himself. Kind. Patient. Fierce. She would be there, she would always be a voice of reason, and a voice of leadership if needed. He would always love her, and she would always love him. Horthar is charging the beast. His war cry overpowering the beasts own roar. The beast is now charging toward horthar. Horthars sons would be strong. They would be great men, great leaders....and hopefully....the Gods willing....even better fathers. They would lead his village, they would lead them to new places, to see new things. To help the people learn, and listen, and become a better people outside of what they’ve known. His sons would teach their own sons the things he taught them. Just like his father had taught him, and his father before him. He was proud of his sons, and he knew they would be okay. Horthar lunges toward the beast, screaming, spear pointed forward as the beat leaps at him, claws outstretched, mouth gaping and roaring, razor tippled tentacles lashing out. Horthar closes his eyes. Horthar wasn’t supposed to be there. But that didn’t matter. He was. And that was enough. Thank you for reading. I really kinda just typed as I thought. Really just threw up all of the words. But I enjoyed this. I hope you do as well. I’m not sure if you’ll take anything from it, I don’t even know if I meant for you too. But hey, all is love and war in sci fi. Enjoy you beautiful bastards, if you don’t enjoy it, you’re just a bastard. Kidding. Kinda.	It had been years since he found himself in a situation this fucked up and unpredictable. Well, that would be according to his own standards, for most of humanity any of his weekly assignments would be insane. Working in the Foundation, anything could happen. And it means literally anything. But he usually had backup (until they died, turned in masses of flesh or started blowing up out of nowhere), so help felt a bit out of his mindset. It didn’t help when he felt a tingling sensation in the back of his head, noticing a break into his mental barriers. Then the tingling became pain and he shouted. His mind wasn’t his own anymore. “Welcome to the 69420th Stellaris Universal Chanpionship, where there are no rules, no analysis, just bloodshed! Today you’ve been chosen as the representative of your planet to fight in a massive battle royals involving every dominant species of each planet!” Suddenly, he was falling and the pain receded. And he had to manage to not die in the fall... like all the other things that where being eaten in half by all kinds of winged mutants and exotic beings. And one approached him, fast, really fa- “Son of a biiiiiiiii-“ END Yeah I could write him overpowering everyone but let’s be honest, normal humans don’t stand a chance. Our species is weak.
[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen.	No one was really sure why the humans were always chosen from earth. I mean whenever a probe scans for life forms, it always finds some deadly looking predators. Like the reptilian brings known as “Crocodiles”, they have the most powerful jaw of any species ever seen. Or the giant “Elephant” which would likely stand a chance against the legendary Maloctus, which has not yet lost a battle. But for some reason humans were chosen each time, and when it comes down to it, they’re always the first to go. That is, until this time. “Let the games begin” yelled the announcer. All the gates opened, and many of the usual species stepped out. The chrimara, the mudmic, and as expected, the Maloctus. Then stepped out the human, and something was different, they were wielding some sort of tool. This wasn’t uncommon, we’ve seen humans with other tools before, like a primitive light screen, a metal chunk on a stick, and the mint bizarre, a tiny pronged spear. But this one looked different, it resembled a federation cruiser ship, except with two handles, one wider than the other. And it appeared as though the tip of the tool was hollow, what ever could it have been for? “SHRERERERERERERE!” Screamed the willower, as it slithered towards the human. With all the commotion of other creatures fighting, it would only take a really loud noise to draw the attention to the huma- “BANG” And in an instant, all eyes were on the human, as it stood, it’s head against the tool, and the tip of the tool smoking. Then it was noted that the willower has a hole through its central mouth and out the back. It was instantly dead. The crowd cheered at the spontaneous death. Somehow the human had managed to exploit some previously unknown weakness in the willower. But its pride would not last long, as the acreus was seen charging at the human, all horns down. The human would not survi- “BANG-BANG” The acreus fell in the dirt and slid to the humans feet. Incredible, somehow the human had done it again. Perhaps the human managed to intimidate the acreus into falling, or perhaps it had used some kind of projectile to stun the acreus... but the acreus was not getting up. In fact, the human had already moved on. It seemed it was approaching the chupika. Bold of the human to confront the electric rodent, this would be an interes- “Bang” The head of the chupika exploded in an instant. This was unbelievable, not once has a human killed 3 creatures, let alone 1. Usually the humans are a gimme for any other creature to pick off, but now it seems it’s the other way around. The human was actually impressive for once. But it certainly won’t last long, especially not to the maloctus. And that’s what we saw, the Maloctus locked it’s 6 eyes on the human, and stampeded towards the human, all 400 kilograms of the Maloctus was barreling towards the human, and it would surly shred the hu- “Bra-ta-ta-ta-ta-ta-ta-ta” And the Maloctus was dead. This had never happened. The Maloctus has never lost before, and now a human, the weakest creature, had defeated it like it was nothing. The entire audience went completely silent. Then the unthinkable happened. “Bang” “Bang bang” “Bang” “Bang”... One by one, every creature fell. And the human just stood there holding its tool. “This is unbelievable, someone stop it!” Said the announcer anxiously. Every creature had fallen, and 2 guards had entered the arena with proto-extractors. As they attempted to approach the human, the human pulled a rock off its hip, bit a piece off of it, and threw it at the guards. Puzzled, the guarded inspected the rock, and it appeared... lumpy? “BOOM!” The rock exploded and the 2 guards were killed instantly. But the entry into the arena was still open. The human, clearly un-phased, walked out of the arena. This would be a burden to deal with. ___________________________________________________ If enough people like this, I’ll make a part 2.	I'm sitting on the... Well, if you are about to have dinner, you probably don't want to know. It's just that the cooks here are really bad Really. Barely survived basic training. Only made it because Hernandez quit and the army needs soldiers. Who wants to join when you got Netflix and Reddit? So some sort of virus is going around. It's nonlethal but if you get it... Words cannot describe the pain and suffering. Hernandez might have given it to me cause he has 'interesting' friends. I close my eyes. Always do that when I need to concentrate. Do that twice a day on average if you... More often in recent days. A pop and I fall on my naked butt. I open my eyes. So many colors and shapes like something David Attenborough would narrate, but these guys appear sentient. "Human, choose your weapon," a voice bellows, sounding vaguely Scandinavian. I have never seen a green Scandinavian though. I scan the white sand of the arena for weapons. "Too heavy...and weird." Other alien warriors and a sizable audience study me. "Fine. No weapons then." My opponent towers above me like my big brother did when I was eight years old and he sixteen. Actually more than that. The alien inflates like a balloon to twice his original size. Oh dear. Thorny protrusions appear on his skin (I guess he is male). He steps forward. I gasp and cover my face like a little girl. Nothing happens. Slowly I squint at the monster. He has gone green, greener than before. A juicy fart to end all farts. Louder than a church bell or a jet plane. Without warning he runs away... And never comes back. I win by default. All the matches in fact. The virus struck hard and fast. They gave me a nice planet and asked me politely to never ever leave. The ASI teleports whatever I want. When I get bored with foam parties, I watch Netflix or check out Reddit. The ASI talks about immortality as if it's sliced bread. I might choose that option soon.
[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen.	No one was really sure why the humans were always chosen from earth. I mean whenever a probe scans for life forms, it always finds some deadly looking predators. Like the reptilian brings known as “Crocodiles”, they have the most powerful jaw of any species ever seen. Or the giant “Elephant” which would likely stand a chance against the legendary Maloctus, which has not yet lost a battle. But for some reason humans were chosen each time, and when it comes down to it, they’re always the first to go. That is, until this time. “Let the games begin” yelled the announcer. All the gates opened, and many of the usual species stepped out. The chrimara, the mudmic, and as expected, the Maloctus. Then stepped out the human, and something was different, they were wielding some sort of tool. This wasn’t uncommon, we’ve seen humans with other tools before, like a primitive light screen, a metal chunk on a stick, and the mint bizarre, a tiny pronged spear. But this one looked different, it resembled a federation cruiser ship, except with two handles, one wider than the other. And it appeared as though the tip of the tool was hollow, what ever could it have been for? “SHRERERERERERERE!” Screamed the willower, as it slithered towards the human. With all the commotion of other creatures fighting, it would only take a really loud noise to draw the attention to the huma- “BANG” And in an instant, all eyes were on the human, as it stood, it’s head against the tool, and the tip of the tool smoking. Then it was noted that the willower has a hole through its central mouth and out the back. It was instantly dead. The crowd cheered at the spontaneous death. Somehow the human had managed to exploit some previously unknown weakness in the willower. But its pride would not last long, as the acreus was seen charging at the human, all horns down. The human would not survi- “BANG-BANG” The acreus fell in the dirt and slid to the humans feet. Incredible, somehow the human had done it again. Perhaps the human managed to intimidate the acreus into falling, or perhaps it had used some kind of projectile to stun the acreus... but the acreus was not getting up. In fact, the human had already moved on. It seemed it was approaching the chupika. Bold of the human to confront the electric rodent, this would be an interes- “Bang” The head of the chupika exploded in an instant. This was unbelievable, not once has a human killed 3 creatures, let alone 1. Usually the humans are a gimme for any other creature to pick off, but now it seems it’s the other way around. The human was actually impressive for once. But it certainly won’t last long, especially not to the maloctus. And that’s what we saw, the Maloctus locked it’s 6 eyes on the human, and stampeded towards the human, all 400 kilograms of the Maloctus was barreling towards the human, and it would surly shred the hu- “Bra-ta-ta-ta-ta-ta-ta-ta” And the Maloctus was dead. This had never happened. The Maloctus has never lost before, and now a human, the weakest creature, had defeated it like it was nothing. The entire audience went completely silent. Then the unthinkable happened. “Bang” “Bang bang” “Bang” “Bang”... One by one, every creature fell. And the human just stood there holding its tool. “This is unbelievable, someone stop it!” Said the announcer anxiously. Every creature had fallen, and 2 guards had entered the arena with proto-extractors. As they attempted to approach the human, the human pulled a rock off its hip, bit a piece off of it, and threw it at the guards. Puzzled, the guarded inspected the rock, and it appeared... lumpy? “BOOM!” The rock exploded and the 2 guards were killed instantly. But the entry into the arena was still open. The human, clearly un-phased, walked out of the arena. This would be a burden to deal with. ___________________________________________________ If enough people like this, I’ll make a part 2.	Oh god. I have no internet so let’s try writing this from my phone. Sorry in advance for typos and punctuation. Already hard enough on the phone but I also got fat thumbs! Best I can get with a quick and dirty write up on the bus! “Are the contestants ready?” “Of course Game Master Zerg. Right on time. We have a line up from several different galaxys.” “And a human?” “Good! Proceed post haste! You can’t find entertainment like this else where and the people are waiting!” The arena looked like a scrunched up map. Forests sat next to deserts, desserts next to snowy plains and ice topped mountains and so on. It was the Game Masters goal to encapsulate as many environments as he could, to allow all the fighters a place to move naturally. Zeg focused his screen on a human who stood on a grassy hillock, flanked by a river, and speckled with trees. The humans always died first, but they could get pretty creative while attempting to live. They where like a firework, short lived but spectacular. This one was a bit odd though. It was covered from head to toe in green armor, a large Warhammer in his grasp. It mattered not though, an Xixliv was stalking the human. This 6 lumber creature where apex predators as well as being fully sapient. A mix of instinct and critical thought. Zeg sighed, the human this year probably wouldn’t be very entertaining. He watched the Xixliv pounce. The human however was ready, they wheeled around shouting “FOR THE GLORY OF DUNDEE!” While swing his might hammer. It collided with the Xixliv with a sickening crunch. The hammer flashed, thunder struck and half of the beats body was atomized. What was left of its mangled carcass flew through the air before hitting the ground in an unceremonious heap. Zeg sat stunned. He watched the human raise his hammer to the sky. “Zagothrax! What kind of joke is this! Come and fight me you damnable wizard!” Zeg was mid throught caught between wondering who or what a Zagothrax was, and how the human managed to beat a Xixliv in one hit? His pondering was interrupted as the entire structure of the planet sized ship, the contained the arena, shook. Alarms blazed. Zeg flicked several switches and demanded a status report. “W-w...Idono sir. We are under attack...but this...this can’t be possible.” “Out with it you bumbling oaf!” “ We are being attacked by just one person...bio scans indicate that it’s heart is...a Neutron Star. It’s currently making its way to the arena.” “A Neutron Star? This isn’t the time for jokes. Get security down to the arena doors. I will meet this invader myself!” Before Zeg had the chance to stand, he watched the walls of the arena blow open from his observation room. The smoke and debris settled revealing what looks to be a muscled, finely toned man, garbed in furs of various beasts, caring nothing more than a battle axe. “Angus! What are you doing here? We have no time for games!” The man shouted. “Hootsman! Thank goodness! I believe this to be a trap set by the wizard.” “ Its nothing of the sort! Quickly with me! We must return to space! The chaos wizards move on Cowdenbeath!” The two figures quickly fled through the hole in the arena. Leaving Zeg stunned and sputtering commands into his microphone.
[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen.	"You've really fucked up now," The human noted, content to lean against the wall as the countdown for its entrance to the arena slowly ticked towards zero. "I mean, I get it, your basic alien overlords want entertainment and so you kidnapped me to be the half time entertainment. But boy howdy did you pick the wrong human." N'Thock couldn't help but turn his head. He was a lowly guard sure, but he'd seen humans in the arena before. None of them had lasted, all had died screaming. "Your bluff won't work human, we won't release you." "Don't engage the primitive," his partner admonished and N'Thock shrugged. The human checked the two upright things on the back of its armour and to N'Thock's surprise, they changed shape with the clicking sound of machinery unfolding. A trickle of nervous sweat rolled down its face. The rules were clear, a contestant could use anything it was carrying, but given the wide range of most species, it was very rare to get a soldier, much less one in armour, and even rarer one carrying weapons. "Not bluffing" the human explained, checking a third weapon on the small of its back and another at its hip. It glanced down at the only identifying patch on its chest and with a frown licked it's thumb to clean off some dust. It unclipped one of the weapons that the security system identified as a Shotgun. "You see, I'm betting you rarely get soldiers, and if I was a betting gal, you've never even heard the terms 'Vanguard' or 'N7'" The counter continued to decrease and the human took her place on the platform to be raised. N'Thock considered the sheer confidence of the human and quickly placed an underdog bet. He could be very rich afterwards and if not, he'd hit up Lashkar for a drink anyway. "What do they call you human, I've placed a bet on you, so I should know who I'm cheering for." "Oh I've got a few names. The Butcher of Torfan, the Survivor of Akuze." The universal translator told him what the words meant, though the places were unfamiliar. This boded well for N'Thock. "And you think you can win? Many of the species you'll fight are faster, and stronger and tougher than you." The human grinned as the platform began to rise. "Probably but it doesn't matter. You can fight like a Krogan or run like a leopard, but you'll never be better than Commander Shephard." With a jaunty wave it disappeared from view. And screaming began.	Oh god. I have no internet so let’s try writing this from my phone. Sorry in advance for typos and punctuation. Already hard enough on the phone but I also got fat thumbs! Best I can get with a quick and dirty write up on the bus! “Are the contestants ready?” “Of course Game Master Zerg. Right on time. We have a line up from several different galaxys.” “And a human?” “Good! Proceed post haste! You can’t find entertainment like this else where and the people are waiting!” The arena looked like a scrunched up map. Forests sat next to deserts, desserts next to snowy plains and ice topped mountains and so on. It was the Game Masters goal to encapsulate as many environments as he could, to allow all the fighters a place to move naturally. Zeg focused his screen on a human who stood on a grassy hillock, flanked by a river, and speckled with trees. The humans always died first, but they could get pretty creative while attempting to live. They where like a firework, short lived but spectacular. This one was a bit odd though. It was covered from head to toe in green armor, a large Warhammer in his grasp. It mattered not though, an Xixliv was stalking the human. This 6 lumber creature where apex predators as well as being fully sapient. A mix of instinct and critical thought. Zeg sighed, the human this year probably wouldn’t be very entertaining. He watched the Xixliv pounce. The human however was ready, they wheeled around shouting “FOR THE GLORY OF DUNDEE!” While swing his might hammer. It collided with the Xixliv with a sickening crunch. The hammer flashed, thunder struck and half of the beats body was atomized. What was left of its mangled carcass flew through the air before hitting the ground in an unceremonious heap. Zeg sat stunned. He watched the human raise his hammer to the sky. “Zagothrax! What kind of joke is this! Come and fight me you damnable wizard!” Zeg was mid throught caught between wondering who or what a Zagothrax was, and how the human managed to beat a Xixliv in one hit? His pondering was interrupted as the entire structure of the planet sized ship, the contained the arena, shook. Alarms blazed. Zeg flicked several switches and demanded a status report. “W-w...Idono sir. We are under attack...but this...this can’t be possible.” “Out with it you bumbling oaf!” “ We are being attacked by just one person...bio scans indicate that it’s heart is...a Neutron Star. It’s currently making its way to the arena.” “A Neutron Star? This isn’t the time for jokes. Get security down to the arena doors. I will meet this invader myself!” Before Zeg had the chance to stand, he watched the walls of the arena blow open from his observation room. The smoke and debris settled revealing what looks to be a muscled, finely toned man, garbed in furs of various beasts, caring nothing more than a battle axe. “Angus! What are you doing here? We have no time for games!” The man shouted. “Hootsman! Thank goodness! I believe this to be a trap set by the wizard.” “ Its nothing of the sort! Quickly with me! We must return to space! The chaos wizards move on Cowdenbeath!” The two figures quickly fled through the hole in the arena. Leaving Zeg stunned and sputtering commands into his microphone.
[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen.	“Where are we?” “my sensors are not picking up any landmarks we can identify sir.” “Well, what are you picking up?” “hmm, hang on a second...the air is breathable, though I don’t think that matters to you. lower gravity than Earth..about ten percent less to be exa.” “Any useful information?” “we’re being watched sir.” Thrarr’Kaa was intrigued by this human. In all the rotations that he has been breathing, he has never seen one quite like this. Yes he has seen big ones before, but not like this, and he had definitely never seen one that talks to itself. He did have a soft spot for humans, they are pretty clever and resourceful after all, but their short lifespans and known fragility made them ill suited for the Glaxxar Battles. “Why am I here?” the human asked. Thrarr’Kaa’s translator module spoke the question into his sound receptors in perfect Glaxxon and it startled him. He had forgotten that he purchased it last verak. “Why to pROVE your SpECIES worthy of course” he responded as he always has. For generations his tribe had been the keepers of the Glaxxar contestants and for generations his brood has been charged with keeping the humans alive at least long enough to fight. “Who is it you SpEAK to HuMann?” He asked, “Have you a COMpANION inside your armour?” “Something like that” the human replied. “i don’t think he can hear me sir” “Very well, and can you remove your armour on your ownnn?” Thrarr’Kaa asks “Where are your WEApONS?” “I don’t have any weapons, this armor is my weapon. If I remove it I may die.” Thrarr’Kaa knew the human was lying, but it didn’t matter, the contest starts soon now and lies will not save the humans life. “When the pORTAL OpENS, you will STEp through. If you do not you will be VApORIZED.” “Understood, thank you for your honesty” The humans reply startled Thrarr’Kaa again. What a surprise two times in 10 Glorbacks. He was anxious now to see what exactly this unusual human could do. Soon the portals opened and like all the other contestants, the human stepped through. Just like that Thrarr’Kaa’s job was done. Though he never watched the battles (they were not to his taste) he couldn’t shake the feeling that he should. After about 3 Glorbacks he couldn’t take it anymore and he reached over to switch on his holoviewer noticing his long nose and red eyes in the reflection. He switched to the contest and to his surprise he saw the human beating a Klogar to death with his bare hands. He hadn’t noticed that the humans armour was green, an unusual color to wear on his planet, the color of death. Coming out of his thought he glanced back at the viewer to hear the crowd chanting “DRIMAR, DRIMAR, DRIMAR!” “What exactly does DRIMAR mean?” John asked his Ai. “i believe that you have been given a nickname John. The word roughly translates to Demon, but less friendly.” “Less friendly than Demon? Can you get a signal out, we need to reach the pillar and let them know we’re still alive.” “Yes chief, I sent a distress signal the moment we came to, they should be here in 3..2..” Thrarr’Kaa was shocked by what he was seeing, the human had managed to call others like him to their location and a massive human vessel had crashed through the domed battle planet, beamed the human out and disappeared. The human had already won, why did he flee, they were to be invited to the republic. He wrote down the name he saw transcribed on the humans armour in case they were to meet again. “117, What kind of name was 117? Edit: Edited final line for grammar.	Oh god. I have no internet so let’s try writing this from my phone. Sorry in advance for typos and punctuation. Already hard enough on the phone but I also got fat thumbs! Best I can get with a quick and dirty write up on the bus! “Are the contestants ready?” “Of course Game Master Zerg. Right on time. We have a line up from several different galaxys.” “And a human?” “Good! Proceed post haste! You can’t find entertainment like this else where and the people are waiting!” The arena looked like a scrunched up map. Forests sat next to deserts, desserts next to snowy plains and ice topped mountains and so on. It was the Game Masters goal to encapsulate as many environments as he could, to allow all the fighters a place to move naturally. Zeg focused his screen on a human who stood on a grassy hillock, flanked by a river, and speckled with trees. The humans always died first, but they could get pretty creative while attempting to live. They where like a firework, short lived but spectacular. This one was a bit odd though. It was covered from head to toe in green armor, a large Warhammer in his grasp. It mattered not though, an Xixliv was stalking the human. This 6 lumber creature where apex predators as well as being fully sapient. A mix of instinct and critical thought. Zeg sighed, the human this year probably wouldn’t be very entertaining. He watched the Xixliv pounce. The human however was ready, they wheeled around shouting “FOR THE GLORY OF DUNDEE!” While swing his might hammer. It collided with the Xixliv with a sickening crunch. The hammer flashed, thunder struck and half of the beats body was atomized. What was left of its mangled carcass flew through the air before hitting the ground in an unceremonious heap. Zeg sat stunned. He watched the human raise his hammer to the sky. “Zagothrax! What kind of joke is this! Come and fight me you damnable wizard!” Zeg was mid throught caught between wondering who or what a Zagothrax was, and how the human managed to beat a Xixliv in one hit? His pondering was interrupted as the entire structure of the planet sized ship, the contained the arena, shook. Alarms blazed. Zeg flicked several switches and demanded a status report. “W-w...Idono sir. We are under attack...but this...this can’t be possible.” “Out with it you bumbling oaf!” “ We are being attacked by just one person...bio scans indicate that it’s heart is...a Neutron Star. It’s currently making its way to the arena.” “A Neutron Star? This isn’t the time for jokes. Get security down to the arena doors. I will meet this invader myself!” Before Zeg had the chance to stand, he watched the walls of the arena blow open from his observation room. The smoke and debris settled revealing what looks to be a muscled, finely toned man, garbed in furs of various beasts, caring nothing more than a battle axe. “Angus! What are you doing here? We have no time for games!” The man shouted. “Hootsman! Thank goodness! I believe this to be a trap set by the wizard.” “ Its nothing of the sort! Quickly with me! We must return to space! The chaos wizards move on Cowdenbeath!” The two figures quickly fled through the hole in the arena. Leaving Zeg stunned and sputtering commands into his microphone.
[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen.	The battles have dealt with weaponry before, and consider them fair game. In fact, last battle's champion wielded a very handsome and sophisticated spear that one would use to hunt. But this human's equipment was vastly different. The usual textiles that the species adorns themselves with were replaced with interlocking ferrous rings, tough animal skin, and shimmering metallic plating. Not only that, but where previous humans would wield crude tools or limbs of vegetation, this human had a length of metal, about the length of one of its upper limb, and a disc of metal on its left limb. And the efficiency this human displayed, using its length of metal with a deadly grace. The metallic garb it wore caused other foes' attacks to merely annoy and distract, never cause damage. Visually its one weakness was grapples, but a hidden length of metal no larger than its lower sub-llimb spilled the lifeblood of any that dared try. The human wound up winning the whole battle, obviously. The host species have never seen such brutality in melee combat in history, and the fact that the human had no lasting injuries was cause for gossip long after it had been sent home with its reward. The battle would honour humans from then on, praising those wearing the metallic garb as champions before the battle even began. - Excerpt from History of The Battle, chapter 12 of volume 2 'Underdogs of The Battle	Oh god. I have no internet so let’s try writing this from my phone. Sorry in advance for typos and punctuation. Already hard enough on the phone but I also got fat thumbs! Best I can get with a quick and dirty write up on the bus! “Are the contestants ready?” “Of course Game Master Zerg. Right on time. We have a line up from several different galaxys.” “And a human?” “Good! Proceed post haste! You can’t find entertainment like this else where and the people are waiting!” The arena looked like a scrunched up map. Forests sat next to deserts, desserts next to snowy plains and ice topped mountains and so on. It was the Game Masters goal to encapsulate as many environments as he could, to allow all the fighters a place to move naturally. Zeg focused his screen on a human who stood on a grassy hillock, flanked by a river, and speckled with trees. The humans always died first, but they could get pretty creative while attempting to live. They where like a firework, short lived but spectacular. This one was a bit odd though. It was covered from head to toe in green armor, a large Warhammer in his grasp. It mattered not though, an Xixliv was stalking the human. This 6 lumber creature where apex predators as well as being fully sapient. A mix of instinct and critical thought. Zeg sighed, the human this year probably wouldn’t be very entertaining. He watched the Xixliv pounce. The human however was ready, they wheeled around shouting “FOR THE GLORY OF DUNDEE!” While swing his might hammer. It collided with the Xixliv with a sickening crunch. The hammer flashed, thunder struck and half of the beats body was atomized. What was left of its mangled carcass flew through the air before hitting the ground in an unceremonious heap. Zeg sat stunned. He watched the human raise his hammer to the sky. “Zagothrax! What kind of joke is this! Come and fight me you damnable wizard!” Zeg was mid throught caught between wondering who or what a Zagothrax was, and how the human managed to beat a Xixliv in one hit? His pondering was interrupted as the entire structure of the planet sized ship, the contained the arena, shook. Alarms blazed. Zeg flicked several switches and demanded a status report. “W-w...Idono sir. We are under attack...but this...this can’t be possible.” “Out with it you bumbling oaf!” “ We are being attacked by just one person...bio scans indicate that it’s heart is...a Neutron Star. It’s currently making its way to the arena.” “A Neutron Star? This isn’t the time for jokes. Get security down to the arena doors. I will meet this invader myself!” Before Zeg had the chance to stand, he watched the walls of the arena blow open from his observation room. The smoke and debris settled revealing what looks to be a muscled, finely toned man, garbed in furs of various beasts, caring nothing more than a battle axe. “Angus! What are you doing here? We have no time for games!” The man shouted. “Hootsman! Thank goodness! I believe this to be a trap set by the wizard.” “ Its nothing of the sort! Quickly with me! We must return to space! The chaos wizards move on Cowdenbeath!” The two figures quickly fled through the hole in the arena. Leaving Zeg stunned and sputtering commands into his microphone.
[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen.	“Welcome to the 137,326,714th intergalactic species showdown!”, the X’O’Blob 9k Fusion Mind transmitted over the hyperspace waves, “The one and only place where entertainment meets ultimate carnage!” Simmons put a hand to his head, willing the ungodly roar of words to leave his mind. Sighing in relief as the disembodied voice fell silent, he was unprepared for the images that assaulted his mind next. Simmons reeled to his knees as creature after creature, each more horrific than the last, paraded through his mind while the booming voice that his ears could not hear announced the home-world and several lethal features of each. Simmons strained to get purchase on the bolder he was all but straddling in his unsteadiness. “And now to announce the underdog species!”, the voice silently thundered, “Back by popular demand, the only species to break the record for quickest elimination a dozen times in a row, the curiously hair-less ape from its home-world of Earth: Homo-Sapiens-Sapiens!” “Sarge!”, Simmons finally managed to croak. Not receiving an immediate reply, he continued holding his head, which felt in danger of splitting in half at any second. “As our loyal viewers no doubt remember, their last knockout was particularly embarrassing. I’ve since learned the implements that their representative ineffectually brandished against the 30-toed Giant Sky-Cat of Porgal-3 were in-fact called 'knitting needles' and are used to remedy the Sapiens’ startling bald bodies. Well, hopefully this time they'll try to do more than simply stay warm!” The voice paused as if waiting for applause to die down. Simmons still struggled to stand as, in addition to the voice, there was now a disorienting view of himself tottering back and forth in his own mind. “As some of our more astute viewers have surely noticed, there are actually more than one Sapiens down there. Viewer Mglwnafh from sector Phnglui expended his Power Play Token to slightly buff the underdog species. Too bad it ended up being used on the Sapiens; better luck next time! AND NOW, LET THE CARNAGE BEGIN!” As the voice faded and Simmons’ vision cleared, a hand thrust into his field of view. “On your feet, son!”, Sarge barked. Smiling broadly, he was flanked by Garcia and Boothe, “That chopper we were in is on the other side of this hill. Let’s get loaded up and greet our new acquaintances!” Simmons smiled back as he took Sarge’s hand. Looks like it would be just another day in the Corps. &#x200B; \[First time posting a story, please be gentle\] Edit: Formatting	Oh god. I have no internet so let’s try writing this from my phone. Sorry in advance for typos and punctuation. Already hard enough on the phone but I also got fat thumbs! Best I can get with a quick and dirty write up on the bus! “Are the contestants ready?” “Of course Game Master Zerg. Right on time. We have a line up from several different galaxys.” “And a human?” “Good! Proceed post haste! You can’t find entertainment like this else where and the people are waiting!” The arena looked like a scrunched up map. Forests sat next to deserts, desserts next to snowy plains and ice topped mountains and so on. It was the Game Masters goal to encapsulate as many environments as he could, to allow all the fighters a place to move naturally. Zeg focused his screen on a human who stood on a grassy hillock, flanked by a river, and speckled with trees. The humans always died first, but they could get pretty creative while attempting to live. They where like a firework, short lived but spectacular. This one was a bit odd though. It was covered from head to toe in green armor, a large Warhammer in his grasp. It mattered not though, an Xixliv was stalking the human. This 6 lumber creature where apex predators as well as being fully sapient. A mix of instinct and critical thought. Zeg sighed, the human this year probably wouldn’t be very entertaining. He watched the Xixliv pounce. The human however was ready, they wheeled around shouting “FOR THE GLORY OF DUNDEE!” While swing his might hammer. It collided with the Xixliv with a sickening crunch. The hammer flashed, thunder struck and half of the beats body was atomized. What was left of its mangled carcass flew through the air before hitting the ground in an unceremonious heap. Zeg sat stunned. He watched the human raise his hammer to the sky. “Zagothrax! What kind of joke is this! Come and fight me you damnable wizard!” Zeg was mid throught caught between wondering who or what a Zagothrax was, and how the human managed to beat a Xixliv in one hit? His pondering was interrupted as the entire structure of the planet sized ship, the contained the arena, shook. Alarms blazed. Zeg flicked several switches and demanded a status report. “W-w...Idono sir. We are under attack...but this...this can’t be possible.” “Out with it you bumbling oaf!” “ We are being attacked by just one person...bio scans indicate that it’s heart is...a Neutron Star. It’s currently making its way to the arena.” “A Neutron Star? This isn’t the time for jokes. Get security down to the arena doors. I will meet this invader myself!” Before Zeg had the chance to stand, he watched the walls of the arena blow open from his observation room. The smoke and debris settled revealing what looks to be a muscled, finely toned man, garbed in furs of various beasts, caring nothing more than a battle axe. “Angus! What are you doing here? We have no time for games!” The man shouted. “Hootsman! Thank goodness! I believe this to be a trap set by the wizard.” “ Its nothing of the sort! Quickly with me! We must return to space! The chaos wizards move on Cowdenbeath!” The two figures quickly fled through the hole in the arena. Leaving Zeg stunned and sputtering commands into his microphone.
[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen.	The Grand Tournament was a tradition dating back a thousand years. The people of the Sr'atlain Cooperative deserved a little break every now and then. The blood sport of Tournament time was accompanied by feasting, by marriages, and by traditional Divorce duels. The lesser beings of the galaxy that survived would get a new life as treasured exhibits with the nobility. No hugh man had ever lasted past the first 2 rounds. The scaroid was favored this year, their impressive natural arm blades making up for the lesser exoskeletal mass that the Kar Itii females sported. The arena was prepared and the gates opened. From 12 corners of the arena beings walked, skittered, crawled, or undulated cautiously out. They had had the situation explained in their native tongues and their natural aggressiveness played out in their reactions. In all but one corner the aliens squared off, two or three at a time. There was a jangling sound from the human pen. The crowd grew quiet. They knew that hugh mans didn't jingle. A hulking four armed monster approached and let out it's undulating cry challenging the hugh man to come out. A grunt in the pen was accompained by a steel headed spear that impaled the thing. Behind it at a jog came the hugh man. Wearing a long shirt made of interlocked metal rings and a helmet with a strip over his nose the hugh man hefted an axe and let out a cry. The others in the arena heard him, and what he said was this: "Ó Óðinn! Þú hefur gefið mér tilgang hér í Ragnarok! Leyfðu mér að vera þinn hrafn!" And then the blood began to stain the floor again.	Oh god. I have no internet so let’s try writing this from my phone. Sorry in advance for typos and punctuation. Already hard enough on the phone but I also got fat thumbs! Best I can get with a quick and dirty write up on the bus! “Are the contestants ready?” “Of course Game Master Zerg. Right on time. We have a line up from several different galaxys.” “And a human?” “Good! Proceed post haste! You can’t find entertainment like this else where and the people are waiting!” The arena looked like a scrunched up map. Forests sat next to deserts, desserts next to snowy plains and ice topped mountains and so on. It was the Game Masters goal to encapsulate as many environments as he could, to allow all the fighters a place to move naturally. Zeg focused his screen on a human who stood on a grassy hillock, flanked by a river, and speckled with trees. The humans always died first, but they could get pretty creative while attempting to live. They where like a firework, short lived but spectacular. This one was a bit odd though. It was covered from head to toe in green armor, a large Warhammer in his grasp. It mattered not though, an Xixliv was stalking the human. This 6 lumber creature where apex predators as well as being fully sapient. A mix of instinct and critical thought. Zeg sighed, the human this year probably wouldn’t be very entertaining. He watched the Xixliv pounce. The human however was ready, they wheeled around shouting “FOR THE GLORY OF DUNDEE!” While swing his might hammer. It collided with the Xixliv with a sickening crunch. The hammer flashed, thunder struck and half of the beats body was atomized. What was left of its mangled carcass flew through the air before hitting the ground in an unceremonious heap. Zeg sat stunned. He watched the human raise his hammer to the sky. “Zagothrax! What kind of joke is this! Come and fight me you damnable wizard!” Zeg was mid throught caught between wondering who or what a Zagothrax was, and how the human managed to beat a Xixliv in one hit? His pondering was interrupted as the entire structure of the planet sized ship, the contained the arena, shook. Alarms blazed. Zeg flicked several switches and demanded a status report. “W-w...Idono sir. We are under attack...but this...this can’t be possible.” “Out with it you bumbling oaf!” “ We are being attacked by just one person...bio scans indicate that it’s heart is...a Neutron Star. It’s currently making its way to the arena.” “A Neutron Star? This isn’t the time for jokes. Get security down to the arena doors. I will meet this invader myself!” Before Zeg had the chance to stand, he watched the walls of the arena blow open from his observation room. The smoke and debris settled revealing what looks to be a muscled, finely toned man, garbed in furs of various beasts, caring nothing more than a battle axe. “Angus! What are you doing here? We have no time for games!” The man shouted. “Hootsman! Thank goodness! I believe this to be a trap set by the wizard.” “ Its nothing of the sort! Quickly with me! We must return to space! The chaos wizards move on Cowdenbeath!” The two figures quickly fled through the hole in the arena. Leaving Zeg stunned and sputtering commands into his microphone.
[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen.	The human lay on the floor with it's eyes shut tightly, stagnant water dripping from it, a single reed sticking out of its mouth. After a few moments it opened its eyes to see why the pond water had suddenly vanished, eventually focusing in on the officials surrounding it. "Hmm. It seems to be in good enough shape, but it's a bit small." "Why is it all wet?" One of the aliens raises a holographic cube with a tentacle, gesticulating to rewind the footage shown within. "Ah, it was hiding from another human faction." The footage showed several dozen heavily armed but raggedly clothed humans canvassing the woods surrounding the scummy pond from which the human had been snatched. "Great, another coward." "Oh well. Connect it to the psycho-mat and inform it of this years conditions." "Hmm, it came from a tropical rain forest. This years arena is a tropical rain forest. Perhaps it can survive long enough to make things interesting. What are the odds on the human candidate this year?" "Oof, two-to-one that it gets past 780th place." "500th?" "Wow. Over eighty-three thousand." "Hahaha, maybe worth a small side bet." The Officials swiped away the cube and all but one made their way out of the chamber. A light shone into the humans face and transmitted the details of this years battle royale, and the prize for success. Though it was still a bit confused, the human comprehended the situation unusually quickly, and the psycho-mat beeped to confirm comprehension in a matter of seconds. "Huh... that was quick." It pulled up another holographic cube and checked to see comprehension times of other candidates. This years human candidate was orders of magnitude smarter than the second smartest candidate. The remaining official took a second to ponder, then brought up a cube for the betting pools. After scrolling for a while, it finally came upon the betting interface for the human candidate all the way at the bottom of the list. It placed a sizable wager. "Eh, worst case scenario I'll cut out visits to the pleasure-dome for a while," it said to calm the rapid beating of its hearts. The human had already stood up and was taking stock of its possessions. The official brought up a translator cube and spoke to the human, "did the transporter fail to bring along your possessions?" The human paused for a moment then smiled, adopted what it believed to be a jovial tone and said, "yes. I had to hide most of my equipment before hiding from those communists in that pond." The official contracted knowingly, "ah, that happens sometimes. Let me check the recordings." After a few moments pause, during which the human seemed uneasy, the official said, "You must have hidden your equipment before you were selected, because I you don't seem to have any equipment in the recording." "Ah, yes, I hid it before I left to find a hiding place." "Oh, ok," the official brought up another cube, "here's a list of all of the contemporary equipment from your civilization that we can replicate. Pick out what you had and it will be provided before you are transported into the arena." The human hesitated for a moment, then began scrolling through the list of items available: Aerogel reinforced graphene scale bodysuit with quantum stealth coating; one single-handed and one two-handed firearm with several drum magazines loaded with tungsten tipped ammunition; an assortment of hand-held explosive devices; some kind of trap-making toolkit; a vest and backpack to store it all. "That, uh, that's more or less what I had before you guys brought me here." "Alright, get it over there and start preparing." A hatch opened in the wall with all of the equipment. The human rushed over and, after a moment running its hands appreciatively over the equipment, began donning everything. "Does it match the specifications of your equipment?" The human didn't respond immediately, intently sorting through the equipment. The official popped several of it's suction cups to grab the humans attention. "Huh? Oh, yeah, it's great," it glanced up at the official then continued to fondle the equipment, "it's just nice and brand new. Also the, uh, build quality is slightly better. Your culture must be very advanced" The official unconsciously puffed up at that, "ah, yes, well, it's true. It's likely that some of this is of higher quality than what your people are capable. I'll leave you to prepare. The tournament begins in approximately one hour." ------------------------------------------------ "An investigation has been opened into the Tournament Official who oversaw the preparation by psycho-mat of the Human candidate today after, against all odds, the human was able to complete the Tournament in first place. Being the only individual to place a bet on the human, immediately before the onset of the tournament, some officials believe that there may have been some form of foul play. The Official in question claims that this individual was simply much more intelligent than the typical human and was aided more by the similarity of its home environment to the one chosen for this years Arena. More on this at fourteen-seventy-five. But first, this popular brand of krill paste might contain mammal byproducts..."	Oh god. I have no internet so let’s try writing this from my phone. Sorry in advance for typos and punctuation. Already hard enough on the phone but I also got fat thumbs! Best I can get with a quick and dirty write up on the bus! “Are the contestants ready?” “Of course Game Master Zerg. Right on time. We have a line up from several different galaxys.” “And a human?” “Good! Proceed post haste! You can’t find entertainment like this else where and the people are waiting!” The arena looked like a scrunched up map. Forests sat next to deserts, desserts next to snowy plains and ice topped mountains and so on. It was the Game Masters goal to encapsulate as many environments as he could, to allow all the fighters a place to move naturally. Zeg focused his screen on a human who stood on a grassy hillock, flanked by a river, and speckled with trees. The humans always died first, but they could get pretty creative while attempting to live. They where like a firework, short lived but spectacular. This one was a bit odd though. It was covered from head to toe in green armor, a large Warhammer in his grasp. It mattered not though, an Xixliv was stalking the human. This 6 lumber creature where apex predators as well as being fully sapient. A mix of instinct and critical thought. Zeg sighed, the human this year probably wouldn’t be very entertaining. He watched the Xixliv pounce. The human however was ready, they wheeled around shouting “FOR THE GLORY OF DUNDEE!” While swing his might hammer. It collided with the Xixliv with a sickening crunch. The hammer flashed, thunder struck and half of the beats body was atomized. What was left of its mangled carcass flew through the air before hitting the ground in an unceremonious heap. Zeg sat stunned. He watched the human raise his hammer to the sky. “Zagothrax! What kind of joke is this! Come and fight me you damnable wizard!” Zeg was mid throught caught between wondering who or what a Zagothrax was, and how the human managed to beat a Xixliv in one hit? His pondering was interrupted as the entire structure of the planet sized ship, the contained the arena, shook. Alarms blazed. Zeg flicked several switches and demanded a status report. “W-w...Idono sir. We are under attack...but this...this can’t be possible.” “Out with it you bumbling oaf!” “ We are being attacked by just one person...bio scans indicate that it’s heart is...a Neutron Star. It’s currently making its way to the arena.” “A Neutron Star? This isn’t the time for jokes. Get security down to the arena doors. I will meet this invader myself!” Before Zeg had the chance to stand, he watched the walls of the arena blow open from his observation room. The smoke and debris settled revealing what looks to be a muscled, finely toned man, garbed in furs of various beasts, caring nothing more than a battle axe. “Angus! What are you doing here? We have no time for games!” The man shouted. “Hootsman! Thank goodness! I believe this to be a trap set by the wizard.” “ Its nothing of the sort! Quickly with me! We must return to space! The chaos wizards move on Cowdenbeath!” The two figures quickly fled through the hole in the arena. Leaving Zeg stunned and sputtering commands into his microphone.
[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen.	In a flash all the contestants were ready. 34 creatures from 34 different planets around the galaxy, all known for their exceptional violence, ruthlessness, and physical prowess... All except one. Every cycle, the Great One chooses the same 34 species, and every cycle another one of the pathetic humans are torn to shreds, melted into a puddle, or driven mad by the mere sight of the competition. Two appendages for manipulation, two for movement, at least half or sometimes even a third as many as most of the participants. Yet time and time again, the Great One throws them into the pit. Most of us think it's a joke, a test, a low bar, an example of the minimum requirement to even be considered for the Games. But SOME of us know better. From eons of watching these games, I've seen these humans change, just slightly. Gone is the thick brow and body hair, replaced with simple textiles. Plant-Fiber tools slowly replaced with stone, then basic metals. Last Cycle, we even had one with what seemed to be a primitive combat suit, clad in strong alloy, and wielding a weapon it very much knew how to use. This was no match for the other contestants, of course, but some of the craftier ones among us started to recognize the pattern... This was the year we really doubled down. If a fully clad soldier had been the last human, then surely this one would be formidable. Which is why my soul sank when I saw what I'd bet my fortune on. The armor was all but entirely missing. A simple helmet and chest plating? A weapon without a single slicing edge in sight? Not even a point, just a hollow metal tube... The alarm sounded, the cages fell, and I had all but given up. Right at the start, the Quadruple Pincered Cephalopod of Talkon-5 slithered its way towards this pathetic excuse of a creature, sure to be bisected before I could even blink... That's when the first series of small explosions rang out across the arena... And the Cephalopod was reduced to what the humans would call "Chunky Salsa". I don't think anyone expected a projectile weapon, especially not one powered by handheld explosive force. What kind of idiot race would make weapons that explode that close them? Though to its credit, we've never had a faster winner in the games.	Oh god. I have no internet so let’s try writing this from my phone. Sorry in advance for typos and punctuation. Already hard enough on the phone but I also got fat thumbs! Best I can get with a quick and dirty write up on the bus! “Are the contestants ready?” “Of course Game Master Zerg. Right on time. We have a line up from several different galaxys.” “And a human?” “Good! Proceed post haste! You can’t find entertainment like this else where and the people are waiting!” The arena looked like a scrunched up map. Forests sat next to deserts, desserts next to snowy plains and ice topped mountains and so on. It was the Game Masters goal to encapsulate as many environments as he could, to allow all the fighters a place to move naturally. Zeg focused his screen on a human who stood on a grassy hillock, flanked by a river, and speckled with trees. The humans always died first, but they could get pretty creative while attempting to live. They where like a firework, short lived but spectacular. This one was a bit odd though. It was covered from head to toe in green armor, a large Warhammer in his grasp. It mattered not though, an Xixliv was stalking the human. This 6 lumber creature where apex predators as well as being fully sapient. A mix of instinct and critical thought. Zeg sighed, the human this year probably wouldn’t be very entertaining. He watched the Xixliv pounce. The human however was ready, they wheeled around shouting “FOR THE GLORY OF DUNDEE!” While swing his might hammer. It collided with the Xixliv with a sickening crunch. The hammer flashed, thunder struck and half of the beats body was atomized. What was left of its mangled carcass flew through the air before hitting the ground in an unceremonious heap. Zeg sat stunned. He watched the human raise his hammer to the sky. “Zagothrax! What kind of joke is this! Come and fight me you damnable wizard!” Zeg was mid throught caught between wondering who or what a Zagothrax was, and how the human managed to beat a Xixliv in one hit? His pondering was interrupted as the entire structure of the planet sized ship, the contained the arena, shook. Alarms blazed. Zeg flicked several switches and demanded a status report. “W-w...Idono sir. We are under attack...but this...this can’t be possible.” “Out with it you bumbling oaf!” “ We are being attacked by just one person...bio scans indicate that it’s heart is...a Neutron Star. It’s currently making its way to the arena.” “A Neutron Star? This isn’t the time for jokes. Get security down to the arena doors. I will meet this invader myself!” Before Zeg had the chance to stand, he watched the walls of the arena blow open from his observation room. The smoke and debris settled revealing what looks to be a muscled, finely toned man, garbed in furs of various beasts, caring nothing more than a battle axe. “Angus! What are you doing here? We have no time for games!” The man shouted. “Hootsman! Thank goodness! I believe this to be a trap set by the wizard.” “ Its nothing of the sort! Quickly with me! We must return to space! The chaos wizards move on Cowdenbeath!” The two figures quickly fled through the hole in the arena. Leaving Zeg stunned and sputtering commands into his microphone.
[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen.	Humans. Most of them are frail and are usually first blood. They cower in fear as the Prowlers and Gignids rip them apart. Some are different, some can put up a fight if they happen to have weapons on them, but none have been crowned champion yet. "This year should be exciting, we might not even get a human from earth." said one of the Argker in the crowd. "Oh right, their planet got completely overrun, didn't it? I dont even think there are any left. We should be getting a real beast today!" said his friend, sitting next to him and munching on the intergalactic equivalent of a hotdog. Though back in the control room, confusion arose. "Its been pacing around its cell for a few hours now. According to its DNA its clearly human, but theres something else we can't quite make out." Inside the cell a tall, brawny figure in green armor stood and inspected the walls of the room. He could break out with ease if it wanted to, but something was not right. He felt like he would encounter something huge soon, something with huge guts if he just stayed in the cell for now. "No matter, if its just a human we will likely see the usual disappointment and first blood as all other seasons. Now, its time. Order the announcements and open the gates." The gates open, the fighters are pushed out of their cells and the killing begins. The human slowly steps out, double barrel shotgun in hand. The Argker aliens made their biggest and last mistake bringing him here. As the human sees all the demon-like creatures enter the arena, only one thought crosses his mind.. # "RIP AND TEAR!"	Oh god. I have no internet so let’s try writing this from my phone. Sorry in advance for typos and punctuation. Already hard enough on the phone but I also got fat thumbs! Best I can get with a quick and dirty write up on the bus! “Are the contestants ready?” “Of course Game Master Zerg. Right on time. We have a line up from several different galaxys.” “And a human?” “Good! Proceed post haste! You can’t find entertainment like this else where and the people are waiting!” The arena looked like a scrunched up map. Forests sat next to deserts, desserts next to snowy plains and ice topped mountains and so on. It was the Game Masters goal to encapsulate as many environments as he could, to allow all the fighters a place to move naturally. Zeg focused his screen on a human who stood on a grassy hillock, flanked by a river, and speckled with trees. The humans always died first, but they could get pretty creative while attempting to live. They where like a firework, short lived but spectacular. This one was a bit odd though. It was covered from head to toe in green armor, a large Warhammer in his grasp. It mattered not though, an Xixliv was stalking the human. This 6 lumber creature where apex predators as well as being fully sapient. A mix of instinct and critical thought. Zeg sighed, the human this year probably wouldn’t be very entertaining. He watched the Xixliv pounce. The human however was ready, they wheeled around shouting “FOR THE GLORY OF DUNDEE!” While swing his might hammer. It collided with the Xixliv with a sickening crunch. The hammer flashed, thunder struck and half of the beats body was atomized. What was left of its mangled carcass flew through the air before hitting the ground in an unceremonious heap. Zeg sat stunned. He watched the human raise his hammer to the sky. “Zagothrax! What kind of joke is this! Come and fight me you damnable wizard!” Zeg was mid throught caught between wondering who or what a Zagothrax was, and how the human managed to beat a Xixliv in one hit? His pondering was interrupted as the entire structure of the planet sized ship, the contained the arena, shook. Alarms blazed. Zeg flicked several switches and demanded a status report. “W-w...Idono sir. We are under attack...but this...this can’t be possible.” “Out with it you bumbling oaf!” “ We are being attacked by just one person...bio scans indicate that it’s heart is...a Neutron Star. It’s currently making its way to the arena.” “A Neutron Star? This isn’t the time for jokes. Get security down to the arena doors. I will meet this invader myself!” Before Zeg had the chance to stand, he watched the walls of the arena blow open from his observation room. The smoke and debris settled revealing what looks to be a muscled, finely toned man, garbed in furs of various beasts, caring nothing more than a battle axe. “Angus! What are you doing here? We have no time for games!” The man shouted. “Hootsman! Thank goodness! I believe this to be a trap set by the wizard.” “ Its nothing of the sort! Quickly with me! We must return to space! The chaos wizards move on Cowdenbeath!” The two figures quickly fled through the hole in the arena. Leaving Zeg stunned and sputtering commands into his microphone.
[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen.	"Checking in now in the livestock quandrant-" "Blarb, we can't call it-" "-the 'less developed' quadrant." Blarb waved a dismissive tentacle at Rankle and continued. "These participants are those that haven't mastered spaceflight or any reasonable level of technology, but still qualify for Contest based on their intelligence potential. They even have to be teleported here! They wouldn't be able to find this space station without someone bringing them along! What do you think our chances of having a grand champion from the less developed quadrant, Rank?" "Obviously, the odds are slim, Blarb. Last year's Contest was actually prolonged by weeks because the less developed contestants actually got along pretty well and didn't kill each other enough to reach the threshold to open their gates to the main arena." "That was a nightmare. I'm glad they've tweaked the rules this year, setting a three day time limit on that zone. Luckily, those contestants are generally biological in nature, so an extermination event will leave the zone clean and ready for next year." A high pitched screetch emitted from the grey cloud betweent the two commentators. Blarb and Rankle looked at each other, the cloud, then simultaneously returned to their microphones, pretending to have understood the higher being. "A notable participant is the human!" Blarb continued, forcing as much enthusiasm and interest into his voice as he could. "For the last 12 hours, it looks like she's been building a shelter! And it's made of biomass!" Rankle chuckled along to Blarb's tone. "Look at this summary, Rank. Humans are known for manipulating physical objects by applying force through other physical objects. This particular human was selected as a treat this year - records indicate that she is from a continent surrounded by oceans that have trapped some of the deadliest creatures of that planet there. Apart from growing up in such a hostile environment, she opted to train for even more combat with one of her planet's military factions! It is a little disappointing that she seems to be behaving a lot like last year's human.." "Oh yes! The tooth one!" Rankle had been genuinely curious about the class of humans called dentists. "I really thought he would use his teeth powers to rise to at least the top of the quadrant, but instead he ran and hid the whole time. We didn't even see any of the fear inducing antics they are known for on Earth!" Another trill from the vortex between them. Maybe it was hungry? Blarb returned to inspecting the human on the screen. "It looks like she's finished building the shelter, though from this angle it just looks like a giant pile of tree material with no discernable structure. Oh! And now she's going to try and provide some warmth for herself. When humans stay below a certain temperature, they stop functioning permanently, so we're probably going to see a bit of this in future." Blarb and Rankle leaned down to their screens, pushing their microphones away for a moment. "Is she self-terminating?" "Maybe she wanted to light one side of the shelter and the oxygen is higher than-" "Then why isn't she inside? When did she make a blanket?" "Is she feeding MORE oxygen into a combustion...?" The two straightened up and regained their composure. Rankle took the lead while Blarb watched the screens in silence. "Viewers of the contest, there's some interesting activity in the less developed quadrant that you all might want to witness. The human - yes, the human - has just initiated a combustion reaction at the edge of zone. Note that this is one of the highest oxygen zones in the Contest, and she is now hiding under a woven textile referred to in most cultures as a blanket. We don't know if this is an elaborate protest or simple self termination, but this is... this is going to devastate the quadrant." Blarb and Rankle watched in mute appreciation of the destruction ripping through the zone. A fire tore through the zone, spreading almost as fast as it would in a space station corridor, fed continually as the Contest's systems tried to bring the oxygen level up to baseline. There had been many acts of savagery in the history of the Contest, but these were generally in smaller one on one fights and the occasional two on ones when a hasty alliance was formed. This was unprecidented. Blarb was certain that in a few minutes, the livestock quadrant would be the first gate to open into the wider Contest, if there was anything left alive in there to release.	Oh god. I have no internet so let’s try writing this from my phone. Sorry in advance for typos and punctuation. Already hard enough on the phone but I also got fat thumbs! Best I can get with a quick and dirty write up on the bus! “Are the contestants ready?” “Of course Game Master Zerg. Right on time. We have a line up from several different galaxys.” “And a human?” “Good! Proceed post haste! You can’t find entertainment like this else where and the people are waiting!” The arena looked like a scrunched up map. Forests sat next to deserts, desserts next to snowy plains and ice topped mountains and so on. It was the Game Masters goal to encapsulate as many environments as he could, to allow all the fighters a place to move naturally. Zeg focused his screen on a human who stood on a grassy hillock, flanked by a river, and speckled with trees. The humans always died first, but they could get pretty creative while attempting to live. They where like a firework, short lived but spectacular. This one was a bit odd though. It was covered from head to toe in green armor, a large Warhammer in his grasp. It mattered not though, an Xixliv was stalking the human. This 6 lumber creature where apex predators as well as being fully sapient. A mix of instinct and critical thought. Zeg sighed, the human this year probably wouldn’t be very entertaining. He watched the Xixliv pounce. The human however was ready, they wheeled around shouting “FOR THE GLORY OF DUNDEE!” While swing his might hammer. It collided with the Xixliv with a sickening crunch. The hammer flashed, thunder struck and half of the beats body was atomized. What was left of its mangled carcass flew through the air before hitting the ground in an unceremonious heap. Zeg sat stunned. He watched the human raise his hammer to the sky. “Zagothrax! What kind of joke is this! Come and fight me you damnable wizard!” Zeg was mid throught caught between wondering who or what a Zagothrax was, and how the human managed to beat a Xixliv in one hit? His pondering was interrupted as the entire structure of the planet sized ship, the contained the arena, shook. Alarms blazed. Zeg flicked several switches and demanded a status report. “W-w...Idono sir. We are under attack...but this...this can’t be possible.” “Out with it you bumbling oaf!” “ We are being attacked by just one person...bio scans indicate that it’s heart is...a Neutron Star. It’s currently making its way to the arena.” “A Neutron Star? This isn’t the time for jokes. Get security down to the arena doors. I will meet this invader myself!” Before Zeg had the chance to stand, he watched the walls of the arena blow open from his observation room. The smoke and debris settled revealing what looks to be a muscled, finely toned man, garbed in furs of various beasts, caring nothing more than a battle axe. “Angus! What are you doing here? We have no time for games!” The man shouted. “Hootsman! Thank goodness! I believe this to be a trap set by the wizard.” “ Its nothing of the sort! Quickly with me! We must return to space! The chaos wizards move on Cowdenbeath!” The two figures quickly fled through the hole in the arena. Leaving Zeg stunned and sputtering commands into his microphone.
[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen.	Millions of sentient species and billions of inhabited worlds made for a startling array of natural killers. It also made for an even wider range of amusing, but useless fodder. Creatures like the organic-mechanical Spithai, with their internal fusion generators, and naturally-grown plasma throwers; or the Eternal Raxaxis, hide like titanium, fast healing, sole member of his race, and winner of the Intergalactic Battle Royale over 426 times: these would be the fights to watch. Others, such as the gelatinous Bolgan, whose guts poured out at the slightest prick, or the greasy meat-sacks called humans, who usually just squealed, maybe threw a rock, would be the bloody clown-show before the main event. Humans had almost no fans. Occasionally a young grizling might like the way they look and choose to root for them, perhaps some rebellious adolescent, looking for a way to stand out. One such adolescent was Pergi. Oh, she didn't color her tendrils in odd ways, wear piercings in her glabulai, or turn her loopeck inside out. She just saw things differently. Perhaps it was her innate intelligence - far exceeding her parents' rating of 89.9 brain spasms per second. Or it could have been her kind and loving hearts. Creatures like the Spithai were made for battle, she thought. They probably liked being chosen. It was a cruelty to kidnap all these softer beings and force them to fight and die. The screams of the humans always seemed to affect her most, as being especially pitiful. But Pergi didn't just sit in the almost empty human section and root for a hopeless species. She decided to look into the history of human subjects. The first couple, about 150,000 standard cycles ago, managed to put up a bit of a fight, but still lost to more advanced, or naturally deadly species. It was then deemed that the specimens had been too small. Only larger, more fully mature specimens had been chosen - generally about 60-70 cycles old, and between 300 and 400 galactic pounds. These fared even worse. The 600 pound human was the most pathetic of all. It couldn't even roll out of it's cage. A gravity projector had to be used to lift it to it's very messy end against a slow-moving Cloom worm. Pergi looked at scans of the muscle structure, large brain, and forward-facing eyes of the humans. It occurred to her that the specimens chosen for sheer size and chronological age might not be the best that this species had to offer. What if the younger and trimmer ones were actually the more formidable humans? What if they didn't just get more deadly with age like most species, but sort of faded away? What if all that extra glutinous mass was not a defense mechanism, but a sign of an unhealthy human? She applied to the Great Mind and asked to change the parameters for selection of this year's human. The Great Mind responded: "Why not? They can't get any worse." Thus it was that Pergi sat in the nearly empty human section, alone but for an infant and a male who had been drunk when choosing fan sections. She watched the human stall with a tiny grain of hope amidst a massive dose of fatalism. Finally it appeared in a flash of light. This human was dressed in some kind of thick armored clothing. It wore a helmet, and had many pouches and pockets all over it's cumbersome-looking clothing. Some kind of mechanical weapon, black and deadly-looking, was being pointed in every direction as the human tried to figure out where it was. Then the translated voice of the Great Mind spoke to it and explained it's circumstances. Instead of losing it's mind like the last human in it's place, this one merely took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Well, fuck me." It said. "You will now be given a moment to be encouraged by your fans." said the Great Mind. "Hoo-ra." Said the human. "Huuuuuumannn!", said the infant. "At least kill something!" said the miserable male. "Are you a warrior?" asked Pergi. "1st marines. Second division." "What? "Yes. I fight in wars. I am a warrior." Pergi was exited. "I knew it! I knew they had it wrong!" She looked at the human's primary weapon. "Is that a projectile launcher with non-renewable ammunition?" The marine thought for a moment. "Yes. You got anything better for me? Phaser gun maybe?" "Each species fights only with what the have on them upon arrival. I can't give you another weapon, but I can tell you to conserve your ammunition. This round of combat is mainly for species with little or no defensive capabilities." The marine nodded. "Thanks." Just then the buzzer went off and the cage was opened. The marine was pushed out by a force-field. A few steps into the arena they faced the first of their opponents. It looked like a slowly rolling ball of jelly with one tentacle sticking out. The marine drew his combat knife, swiftly walked up, and slashed off it's tentacle, before opening it's gelatinous body and spilling it's guts. The next was a slug the size of a large dog. It spat some sort of goo, but the marine blinded it by emptying the contents of a salt packet in it's eyes, and stabbed it 34 times to finish the poor creature. This progressed into the first round of the true Battle Royale. The marine hung back and defended one corner of the arena while hundreds of other creatures killed each-other in a multitude of ways. He was forced to empty the first clip of his side-arm, but otherwise took Pergi's advice and conserved ammunition. By this time some of the fans of the failed species had come over to join the human section. They began to cheer the marine more and more loudly with each kill. As he finally beat an armored Tantilor to death with the severed horn of a Grak Lion, humanity's new fanbase was prepared too love the bipedal primitives from Earth for centuries to come. There was a break, while the victor of the first Battle was given an injection of restorative chemicals. Pergi spoke to the human once more. "You were amazing!" "Thanks to your advice. Got any tips for the next round?" Pergi thought about it while other fans cheered on their new hero. "This is the round with all the most deadly species in the galaxy. You will probably die, but if you are careful and smart like before, there is a small chance that you will live." "What do I get if I win?" "Whatever you want. Plus your species will be invited to the galactic council." "Roger that." The final round was long and unimaginably violent. The marine did his best to stay out of the way, letting the others tire themselves out killing each-other. All the while he studied their moves. When it was finally down to the predictable fusion-powered Spithai, and nearly invincible Raxaxis, and the totally unexpected human, the marine had formulated a plan. He was completely out of ammunition, but he still had one grenade. He waited until the Spithai charged it's super-heated plasma canon arm, ran up behind it and shoved his knife as deep as it would go into the Spithai's back, close to its power core. He twisted the blade as it began to melt away in the heat of the Spithai's core. Just as the nanites in its blood began to seal the breach, he shoved in his last grenade, burning his hand to a crisp. He then picked up the Spithai and raised it above his head with all his strength. The huge form of Raxaxis loomed over them and prepared to swallow them both. As the gaping maw came hurtling down, he shoved the Spithai into it and ducked down. The jaws clamped shut, severing both of his arms and scraping off most of his face and scalp, but he forced himself to roll between the creature's legs and away from it's head. The titanium hide of Raxaxis was enough to contain the explosion, but it's softer insides were not. Raxaxis the Eternal fell, a burned-out husk. It would recover later, but the human had won. He would later be given new and better arms, as well as a new, completely customizable face. He would go on to become ambassador of the human race, and was integral in the assassination of the Great Mind.	Oh god. I have no internet so let’s try writing this from my phone. Sorry in advance for typos and punctuation. Already hard enough on the phone but I also got fat thumbs! Best I can get with a quick and dirty write up on the bus! “Are the contestants ready?” “Of course Game Master Zerg. Right on time. We have a line up from several different galaxys.” “And a human?” “Good! Proceed post haste! You can’t find entertainment like this else where and the people are waiting!” The arena looked like a scrunched up map. Forests sat next to deserts, desserts next to snowy plains and ice topped mountains and so on. It was the Game Masters goal to encapsulate as many environments as he could, to allow all the fighters a place to move naturally. Zeg focused his screen on a human who stood on a grassy hillock, flanked by a river, and speckled with trees. The humans always died first, but they could get pretty creative while attempting to live. They where like a firework, short lived but spectacular. This one was a bit odd though. It was covered from head to toe in green armor, a large Warhammer in his grasp. It mattered not though, an Xixliv was stalking the human. This 6 lumber creature where apex predators as well as being fully sapient. A mix of instinct and critical thought. Zeg sighed, the human this year probably wouldn’t be very entertaining. He watched the Xixliv pounce. The human however was ready, they wheeled around shouting “FOR THE GLORY OF DUNDEE!” While swing his might hammer. It collided with the Xixliv with a sickening crunch. The hammer flashed, thunder struck and half of the beats body was atomized. What was left of its mangled carcass flew through the air before hitting the ground in an unceremonious heap. Zeg sat stunned. He watched the human raise his hammer to the sky. “Zagothrax! What kind of joke is this! Come and fight me you damnable wizard!” Zeg was mid throught caught between wondering who or what a Zagothrax was, and how the human managed to beat a Xixliv in one hit? His pondering was interrupted as the entire structure of the planet sized ship, the contained the arena, shook. Alarms blazed. Zeg flicked several switches and demanded a status report. “W-w...Idono sir. We are under attack...but this...this can’t be possible.” “Out with it you bumbling oaf!” “ We are being attacked by just one person...bio scans indicate that it’s heart is...a Neutron Star. It’s currently making its way to the arena.” “A Neutron Star? This isn’t the time for jokes. Get security down to the arena doors. I will meet this invader myself!” Before Zeg had the chance to stand, he watched the walls of the arena blow open from his observation room. The smoke and debris settled revealing what looks to be a muscled, finely toned man, garbed in furs of various beasts, caring nothing more than a battle axe. “Angus! What are you doing here? We have no time for games!” The man shouted. “Hootsman! Thank goodness! I believe this to be a trap set by the wizard.” “ Its nothing of the sort! Quickly with me! We must return to space! The chaos wizards move on Cowdenbeath!” The two figures quickly fled through the hole in the arena. Leaving Zeg stunned and sputtering commands into his microphone.
[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen.	Cracked spear shaft slowly brought to a defensive point. A shaky bloodied hand holds the spear forward, left eye no longer rests in the orbital socket of the hairless ape. How the hell did such a turn of events take place. A human. A stinking, wretched, fucking human. Year after year my bets were made good. Of course there was always a loss here and there but...where was the sport in constantly winning. There was always the reputable species brought in. Reliant. steady. And above all else.... profitable. All of it brought down by one fucking human. Every year they come in. Most of the time crying, shitting and pissing themselves. Pathetic. Barely able to stand on their legs as the more primal and apex races tear them to pieces. Don’t get me wrong, They are fun to watch. They break and rip apart in spectacular ways. And each year it’s always a little variety, a different color, maybe a female one to spice it up. Screaming and babbling a different primitive language each time they enter the arena. Pathetic. Weak. Stinking. Of course this is the year the weak fucking pieces of meat bring an ounce of iron. they’ve now embarrassed me. Just as I’ve become a lord among the elites, A owner and commander of my very own system. To do with as I please. Canters scaly hand brings the chalice to his lower mandible. The oily burning liquid slides down his bony trachea. It’s a long sip from the cup. Too long. The other elites notice. It’s a drink of frustration. He drops the chalice with a hard clang on the table in front of him. And releases a deep, loud and obnoxious sigh. Much to the surprise of the other elites, Canter rises out of his seat and screeches loud enough for the remaining species in the arena to hear... SLAUGHTER THAT PIECE OF STINKING MEAT AND FUCKING GET ON WITH IT NOW!!!!! Horthar is not supposed to be here. He’s heard that quite frequently in his life. Said often by his own father. But it was said with endearment. Horthar was curious, it could’ve been a war council in the great hall with the other chiefs of the sister villages, he was a boy that would sit and listen to the plans of men. His father would always catch him hiding in the shadows. Hiding......listening.....learning. He never knew how his father did it. No one else could ever catch him, but his father always did. He’d wait till the council would leave and he’d walk over to Horthar as a young boy and grab him by the shoulders with a heavy set of hands. Horthar always winced that his father would chastise him ....but he never did. He’d simply grab him by the chin and raise his eyes to meet his own gaze and would say it...... “you are not supposed to be here” But he was. He was learning. Listening. Watching. Becoming and hoping to be half the leader his father was. And his father saw it. And he loved him for it. That was a long time ago. Now he stands alone. Bleeding. Half blind. Struggling to keep himself standing. The last hour of his life had been the most afraid he’d ever been. He didn’t know how he’d survived as long as he had. The monstrosities he’d slain DIDNT know that though. Fear was last thing they thought Horthar was as he hacked, beat, clubbed, stabbed, bit, and gored very single one of them. Every one that came for him. Fell. Not without a few pieces of Horthar of course...Three fingers, many layers of skin, most of the clothes from his back. One eye. A gaping hole in his side. Yet he stood. But so did the other. It was tall, muscular. Orange. Skin so taught across the bulging muscles that you could see the hidden bladed tentacles that slithered underneath. Waiting to whip out from the hidden pockets of flesh to tear pieces away from Horthar. It’s eyes....many eyes, were red with rage. It’s flexing, sucking, razored edged mouth dripping steaming drool onto the arena floor. It was angry. It was hungry. And Horthar was all that was left. He takes a deep breath and stares at the muscular orange monstrosity in front of him.... he’s not supposed to be here. He should be guiding his sons of his favorite hunting trail. Telling them stories, teaching them, watching them learn and become better hunters. Better leaders than Horthar himself. But the hunting always felt secondary. He simply just enjoyed the time with his sons. He took pride in their curious nature. When his youngest son hesitated the first time He drew his bow to kill a buck...he didn’t get angry. In fact. His heart swelled. He knew that his son understood the value of a life. To take it away is a action you can’t take back. It becomes a responsibility. He laid his hand on his sons shoulder as he walked with him to slain buck. Telling him that he was proud of him, that he understood why he hesitated. That it made him proud he did. But now he could never hesitate again. Now his son understood. To take life is not a gift. It’s a terrible action you can’t take back. But in a world of things wanting to kill you, and the people you love, you must kill. He wished he was walking back into his village, his home. He missed the smell of his home. The sounds, the warmth. The way there was a small draft near the left corner of the den, because a storm the harvest before had blown through and cracked the foundation. But he didn’t fix it. He liked the cold air that flowed throughout their home. He missed his wife. He wished she was taking his bearded face into her hands and laying a kiss on his cheek like she had a thousand times before. He wished he could hear her voice. The way she sang to the boys. The way she said his name deep in the night as they loved one another. Would she be safe without him there? Would the boys be ready enough to protect their home?Would the village be ready for invaders, or a great plague, would the fish be plenty from the boats, would the harvest be bountiful, would there be enough for the village, would eve- He clears his mind. The village. His wife. His sons. They would be okay. He grips the spear shaft tighter into his hands. The village would be okay. He had lead them through many hardships. Of many degrees. He had taught them well, he had lead them. He watched them grow. The village would survive, not because of horthar, but because of its people. He brings the point of the spear into his single left field view. He aims it at the beast before him. He hears a voice from the crowd. They had been silent this entire time. The voice is loud, and irritated, it’s foreign, unlike anything he had ever heard. It was angry.... desperate. And it wasn’t aimed at him, no.....it was directed at the other creature. It didn’t matter. There was a long silent pause. The voice from the crowd had done something unnatural for such a event it seemed...the silence was now one of confusion, and anxiety. Horthar raised the spear above his head. He answered the aliens desperate scream. He answered it with a roar of his own. A war cry. He was now running. Horthar’s wife would be okay. She was stronger than even horthar himself. Kind. Patient. Fierce. She would be there, she would always be a voice of reason, and a voice of leadership if needed. He would always love her, and she would always love him. Horthar is charging the beast. His war cry overpowering the beasts own roar. The beast is now charging toward horthar. Horthars sons would be strong. They would be great men, great leaders....and hopefully....the Gods willing....even better fathers. They would lead his village, they would lead them to new places, to see new things. To help the people learn, and listen, and become a better people outside of what they’ve known. His sons would teach their own sons the things he taught them. Just like his father had taught him, and his father before him. He was proud of his sons, and he knew they would be okay. Horthar lunges toward the beast, screaming, spear pointed forward as the beat leaps at him, claws outstretched, mouth gaping and roaring, razor tippled tentacles lashing out. Horthar closes his eyes. Horthar wasn’t supposed to be there. But that didn’t matter. He was. And that was enough. Thank you for reading. I really kinda just typed as I thought. Really just threw up all of the words. But I enjoyed this. I hope you do as well. I’m not sure if you’ll take anything from it, I don’t even know if I meant for you too. But hey, all is love and war in sci fi. Enjoy you beautiful bastards, if you don’t enjoy it, you’re just a bastard. Kidding. Kinda.	Oh god. I have no internet so let’s try writing this from my phone. Sorry in advance for typos and punctuation. Already hard enough on the phone but I also got fat thumbs! Best I can get with a quick and dirty write up on the bus! “Are the contestants ready?” “Of course Game Master Zerg. Right on time. We have a line up from several different galaxys.” “And a human?” “Good! Proceed post haste! You can’t find entertainment like this else where and the people are waiting!” The arena looked like a scrunched up map. Forests sat next to deserts, desserts next to snowy plains and ice topped mountains and so on. It was the Game Masters goal to encapsulate as many environments as he could, to allow all the fighters a place to move naturally. Zeg focused his screen on a human who stood on a grassy hillock, flanked by a river, and speckled with trees. The humans always died first, but they could get pretty creative while attempting to live. They where like a firework, short lived but spectacular. This one was a bit odd though. It was covered from head to toe in green armor, a large Warhammer in his grasp. It mattered not though, an Xixliv was stalking the human. This 6 lumber creature where apex predators as well as being fully sapient. A mix of instinct and critical thought. Zeg sighed, the human this year probably wouldn’t be very entertaining. He watched the Xixliv pounce. The human however was ready, they wheeled around shouting “FOR THE GLORY OF DUNDEE!” While swing his might hammer. It collided with the Xixliv with a sickening crunch. The hammer flashed, thunder struck and half of the beats body was atomized. What was left of its mangled carcass flew through the air before hitting the ground in an unceremonious heap. Zeg sat stunned. He watched the human raise his hammer to the sky. “Zagothrax! What kind of joke is this! Come and fight me you damnable wizard!” Zeg was mid throught caught between wondering who or what a Zagothrax was, and how the human managed to beat a Xixliv in one hit? His pondering was interrupted as the entire structure of the planet sized ship, the contained the arena, shook. Alarms blazed. Zeg flicked several switches and demanded a status report. “W-w...Idono sir. We are under attack...but this...this can’t be possible.” “Out with it you bumbling oaf!” “ We are being attacked by just one person...bio scans indicate that it’s heart is...a Neutron Star. It’s currently making its way to the arena.” “A Neutron Star? This isn’t the time for jokes. Get security down to the arena doors. I will meet this invader myself!” Before Zeg had the chance to stand, he watched the walls of the arena blow open from his observation room. The smoke and debris settled revealing what looks to be a muscled, finely toned man, garbed in furs of various beasts, caring nothing more than a battle axe. “Angus! What are you doing here? We have no time for games!” The man shouted. “Hootsman! Thank goodness! I believe this to be a trap set by the wizard.” “ Its nothing of the sort! Quickly with me! We must return to space! The chaos wizards move on Cowdenbeath!” The two figures quickly fled through the hole in the arena. Leaving Zeg stunned and sputtering commands into his microphone.
[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen.	The human lay on the floor with it's eyes shut tightly, stagnant water dripping from it, a single reed sticking out of its mouth. After a few moments it opened its eyes to see why the pond water had suddenly vanished, eventually focusing in on the officials surrounding it. "Hmm. It seems to be in good enough shape, but it's a bit small." "Why is it all wet?" One of the aliens raises a holographic cube with a tentacle, gesticulating to rewind the footage shown within. "Ah, it was hiding from another human faction." The footage showed several dozen heavily armed but raggedly clothed humans canvassing the woods surrounding the scummy pond from which the human had been snatched. "Great, another coward." "Oh well. Connect it to the psycho-mat and inform it of this years conditions." "Hmm, it came from a tropical rain forest. This years arena is a tropical rain forest. Perhaps it can survive long enough to make things interesting. What are the odds on the human candidate this year?" "Oof, two-to-one that it gets past 780th place." "500th?" "Wow. Over eighty-three thousand." "Hahaha, maybe worth a small side bet." The Officials swiped away the cube and all but one made their way out of the chamber. A light shone into the humans face and transmitted the details of this years battle royale, and the prize for success. Though it was still a bit confused, the human comprehended the situation unusually quickly, and the psycho-mat beeped to confirm comprehension in a matter of seconds. "Huh... that was quick." It pulled up another holographic cube and checked to see comprehension times of other candidates. This years human candidate was orders of magnitude smarter than the second smartest candidate. The remaining official took a second to ponder, then brought up a cube for the betting pools. After scrolling for a while, it finally came upon the betting interface for the human candidate all the way at the bottom of the list. It placed a sizable wager. "Eh, worst case scenario I'll cut out visits to the pleasure-dome for a while," it said to calm the rapid beating of its hearts. The human had already stood up and was taking stock of its possessions. The official brought up a translator cube and spoke to the human, "did the transporter fail to bring along your possessions?" The human paused for a moment then smiled, adopted what it believed to be a jovial tone and said, "yes. I had to hide most of my equipment before hiding from those communists in that pond." The official contracted knowingly, "ah, that happens sometimes. Let me check the recordings." After a few moments pause, during which the human seemed uneasy, the official said, "You must have hidden your equipment before you were selected, because I you don't seem to have any equipment in the recording." "Ah, yes, I hid it before I left to find a hiding place." "Oh, ok," the official brought up another cube, "here's a list of all of the contemporary equipment from your civilization that we can replicate. Pick out what you had and it will be provided before you are transported into the arena." The human hesitated for a moment, then began scrolling through the list of items available: Aerogel reinforced graphene scale bodysuit with quantum stealth coating; one single-handed and one two-handed firearm with several drum magazines loaded with tungsten tipped ammunition; an assortment of hand-held explosive devices; some kind of trap-making toolkit; a vest and backpack to store it all. "That, uh, that's more or less what I had before you guys brought me here." "Alright, get it over there and start preparing." A hatch opened in the wall with all of the equipment. The human rushed over and, after a moment running its hands appreciatively over the equipment, began donning everything. "Does it match the specifications of your equipment?" The human didn't respond immediately, intently sorting through the equipment. The official popped several of it's suction cups to grab the humans attention. "Huh? Oh, yeah, it's great," it glanced up at the official then continued to fondle the equipment, "it's just nice and brand new. Also the, uh, build quality is slightly better. Your culture must be very advanced" The official unconsciously puffed up at that, "ah, yes, well, it's true. It's likely that some of this is of higher quality than what your people are capable. I'll leave you to prepare. The tournament begins in approximately one hour." ------------------------------------------------ "An investigation has been opened into the Tournament Official who oversaw the preparation by psycho-mat of the Human candidate today after, against all odds, the human was able to complete the Tournament in first place. Being the only individual to place a bet on the human, immediately before the onset of the tournament, some officials believe that there may have been some form of foul play. The Official in question claims that this individual was simply much more intelligent than the typical human and was aided more by the similarity of its home environment to the one chosen for this years Arena. More on this at fourteen-seventy-five. But first, this popular brand of krill paste might contain mammal byproducts..."	"You've really fucked up now," The human noted, content to lean against the wall as the countdown for its entrance to the arena slowly ticked towards zero. "I mean, I get it, your basic alien overlords want entertainment and so you kidnapped me to be the half time entertainment. But boy howdy did you pick the wrong human." N'Thock couldn't help but turn his head. He was a lowly guard sure, but he'd seen humans in the arena before. None of them had lasted, all had died screaming. "Your bluff won't work human, we won't release you." "Don't engage the primitive," his partner admonished and N'Thock shrugged. The human checked the two upright things on the back of its armour and to N'Thock's surprise, they changed shape with the clicking sound of machinery unfolding. A trickle of nervous sweat rolled down its face. The rules were clear, a contestant could use anything it was carrying, but given the wide range of most species, it was very rare to get a soldier, much less one in armour, and even rarer one carrying weapons. "Not bluffing" the human explained, checking a third weapon on the small of its back and another at its hip. It glanced down at the only identifying patch on its chest and with a frown licked it's thumb to clean off some dust. It unclipped one of the weapons that the security system identified as a Shotgun. "You see, I'm betting you rarely get soldiers, and if I was a betting gal, you've never even heard the terms 'Vanguard' or 'N7'" The counter continued to decrease and the human took her place on the platform to be raised. N'Thock considered the sheer confidence of the human and quickly placed an underdog bet. He could be very rich afterwards and if not, he'd hit up Lashkar for a drink anyway. "What do they call you human, I've placed a bet on you, so I should know who I'm cheering for." "Oh I've got a few names. The Butcher of Torfan, the Survivor of Akuze." The universal translator told him what the words meant, though the places were unfamiliar. This boded well for N'Thock. "And you think you can win? Many of the species you'll fight are faster, and stronger and tougher than you." The human grinned as the platform began to rise. "Probably but it doesn't matter. You can fight like a Krogan or run like a leopard, but you'll never be better than Commander Shephard." With a jaunty wave it disappeared from view. And screaming began.
[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen.	The human lay on the floor with it's eyes shut tightly, stagnant water dripping from it, a single reed sticking out of its mouth. After a few moments it opened its eyes to see why the pond water had suddenly vanished, eventually focusing in on the officials surrounding it. "Hmm. It seems to be in good enough shape, but it's a bit small." "Why is it all wet?" One of the aliens raises a holographic cube with a tentacle, gesticulating to rewind the footage shown within. "Ah, it was hiding from another human faction." The footage showed several dozen heavily armed but raggedly clothed humans canvassing the woods surrounding the scummy pond from which the human had been snatched. "Great, another coward." "Oh well. Connect it to the psycho-mat and inform it of this years conditions." "Hmm, it came from a tropical rain forest. This years arena is a tropical rain forest. Perhaps it can survive long enough to make things interesting. What are the odds on the human candidate this year?" "Oof, two-to-one that it gets past 780th place." "500th?" "Wow. Over eighty-three thousand." "Hahaha, maybe worth a small side bet." The Officials swiped away the cube and all but one made their way out of the chamber. A light shone into the humans face and transmitted the details of this years battle royale, and the prize for success. Though it was still a bit confused, the human comprehended the situation unusually quickly, and the psycho-mat beeped to confirm comprehension in a matter of seconds. "Huh... that was quick." It pulled up another holographic cube and checked to see comprehension times of other candidates. This years human candidate was orders of magnitude smarter than the second smartest candidate. The remaining official took a second to ponder, then brought up a cube for the betting pools. After scrolling for a while, it finally came upon the betting interface for the human candidate all the way at the bottom of the list. It placed a sizable wager. "Eh, worst case scenario I'll cut out visits to the pleasure-dome for a while," it said to calm the rapid beating of its hearts. The human had already stood up and was taking stock of its possessions. The official brought up a translator cube and spoke to the human, "did the transporter fail to bring along your possessions?" The human paused for a moment then smiled, adopted what it believed to be a jovial tone and said, "yes. I had to hide most of my equipment before hiding from those communists in that pond." The official contracted knowingly, "ah, that happens sometimes. Let me check the recordings." After a few moments pause, during which the human seemed uneasy, the official said, "You must have hidden your equipment before you were selected, because I you don't seem to have any equipment in the recording." "Ah, yes, I hid it before I left to find a hiding place." "Oh, ok," the official brought up another cube, "here's a list of all of the contemporary equipment from your civilization that we can replicate. Pick out what you had and it will be provided before you are transported into the arena." The human hesitated for a moment, then began scrolling through the list of items available: Aerogel reinforced graphene scale bodysuit with quantum stealth coating; one single-handed and one two-handed firearm with several drum magazines loaded with tungsten tipped ammunition; an assortment of hand-held explosive devices; some kind of trap-making toolkit; a vest and backpack to store it all. "That, uh, that's more or less what I had before you guys brought me here." "Alright, get it over there and start preparing." A hatch opened in the wall with all of the equipment. The human rushed over and, after a moment running its hands appreciatively over the equipment, began donning everything. "Does it match the specifications of your equipment?" The human didn't respond immediately, intently sorting through the equipment. The official popped several of it's suction cups to grab the humans attention. "Huh? Oh, yeah, it's great," it glanced up at the official then continued to fondle the equipment, "it's just nice and brand new. Also the, uh, build quality is slightly better. Your culture must be very advanced" The official unconsciously puffed up at that, "ah, yes, well, it's true. It's likely that some of this is of higher quality than what your people are capable. I'll leave you to prepare. The tournament begins in approximately one hour." ------------------------------------------------ "An investigation has been opened into the Tournament Official who oversaw the preparation by psycho-mat of the Human candidate today after, against all odds, the human was able to complete the Tournament in first place. Being the only individual to place a bet on the human, immediately before the onset of the tournament, some officials believe that there may have been some form of foul play. The Official in question claims that this individual was simply much more intelligent than the typical human and was aided more by the similarity of its home environment to the one chosen for this years Arena. More on this at fourteen-seventy-five. But first, this popular brand of krill paste might contain mammal byproducts..."	The battles have dealt with weaponry before, and consider them fair game. In fact, last battle's champion wielded a very handsome and sophisticated spear that one would use to hunt. But this human's equipment was vastly different. The usual textiles that the species adorns themselves with were replaced with interlocking ferrous rings, tough animal skin, and shimmering metallic plating. Not only that, but where previous humans would wield crude tools or limbs of vegetation, this human had a length of metal, about the length of one of its upper limb, and a disc of metal on its left limb. And the efficiency this human displayed, using its length of metal with a deadly grace. The metallic garb it wore caused other foes' attacks to merely annoy and distract, never cause damage. Visually its one weakness was grapples, but a hidden length of metal no larger than its lower sub-llimb spilled the lifeblood of any that dared try. The human wound up winning the whole battle, obviously. The host species have never seen such brutality in melee combat in history, and the fact that the human had no lasting injuries was cause for gossip long after it had been sent home with its reward. The battle would honour humans from then on, praising those wearing the metallic garb as champions before the battle even began. - Excerpt from History of The Battle, chapter 12 of volume 2 'Underdogs of The Battle
[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen.	Millions of sentient species and billions of inhabited worlds made for a startling array of natural killers. It also made for an even wider range of amusing, but useless fodder. Creatures like the organic-mechanical Spithai, with their internal fusion generators, and naturally-grown plasma throwers; or the Eternal Raxaxis, hide like titanium, fast healing, sole member of his race, and winner of the Intergalactic Battle Royale over 426 times: these would be the fights to watch. Others, such as the gelatinous Bolgan, whose guts poured out at the slightest prick, or the greasy meat-sacks called humans, who usually just squealed, maybe threw a rock, would be the bloody clown-show before the main event. Humans had almost no fans. Occasionally a young grizling might like the way they look and choose to root for them, perhaps some rebellious adolescent, looking for a way to stand out. One such adolescent was Pergi. Oh, she didn't color her tendrils in odd ways, wear piercings in her glabulai, or turn her loopeck inside out. She just saw things differently. Perhaps it was her innate intelligence - far exceeding her parents' rating of 89.9 brain spasms per second. Or it could have been her kind and loving hearts. Creatures like the Spithai were made for battle, she thought. They probably liked being chosen. It was a cruelty to kidnap all these softer beings and force them to fight and die. The screams of the humans always seemed to affect her most, as being especially pitiful. But Pergi didn't just sit in the almost empty human section and root for a hopeless species. She decided to look into the history of human subjects. The first couple, about 150,000 standard cycles ago, managed to put up a bit of a fight, but still lost to more advanced, or naturally deadly species. It was then deemed that the specimens had been too small. Only larger, more fully mature specimens had been chosen - generally about 60-70 cycles old, and between 300 and 400 galactic pounds. These fared even worse. The 600 pound human was the most pathetic of all. It couldn't even roll out of it's cage. A gravity projector had to be used to lift it to it's very messy end against a slow-moving Cloom worm. Pergi looked at scans of the muscle structure, large brain, and forward-facing eyes of the humans. It occurred to her that the specimens chosen for sheer size and chronological age might not be the best that this species had to offer. What if the younger and trimmer ones were actually the more formidable humans? What if they didn't just get more deadly with age like most species, but sort of faded away? What if all that extra glutinous mass was not a defense mechanism, but a sign of an unhealthy human? She applied to the Great Mind and asked to change the parameters for selection of this year's human. The Great Mind responded: "Why not? They can't get any worse." Thus it was that Pergi sat in the nearly empty human section, alone but for an infant and a male who had been drunk when choosing fan sections. She watched the human stall with a tiny grain of hope amidst a massive dose of fatalism. Finally it appeared in a flash of light. This human was dressed in some kind of thick armored clothing. It wore a helmet, and had many pouches and pockets all over it's cumbersome-looking clothing. Some kind of mechanical weapon, black and deadly-looking, was being pointed in every direction as the human tried to figure out where it was. Then the translated voice of the Great Mind spoke to it and explained it's circumstances. Instead of losing it's mind like the last human in it's place, this one merely took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Well, fuck me." It said. "You will now be given a moment to be encouraged by your fans." said the Great Mind. "Hoo-ra." Said the human. "Huuuuuumannn!", said the infant. "At least kill something!" said the miserable male. "Are you a warrior?" asked Pergi. "1st marines. Second division." "What? "Yes. I fight in wars. I am a warrior." Pergi was exited. "I knew it! I knew they had it wrong!" She looked at the human's primary weapon. "Is that a projectile launcher with non-renewable ammunition?" The marine thought for a moment. "Yes. You got anything better for me? Phaser gun maybe?" "Each species fights only with what the have on them upon arrival. I can't give you another weapon, but I can tell you to conserve your ammunition. This round of combat is mainly for species with little or no defensive capabilities." The marine nodded. "Thanks." Just then the buzzer went off and the cage was opened. The marine was pushed out by a force-field. A few steps into the arena they faced the first of their opponents. It looked like a slowly rolling ball of jelly with one tentacle sticking out. The marine drew his combat knife, swiftly walked up, and slashed off it's tentacle, before opening it's gelatinous body and spilling it's guts. The next was a slug the size of a large dog. It spat some sort of goo, but the marine blinded it by emptying the contents of a salt packet in it's eyes, and stabbed it 34 times to finish the poor creature. This progressed into the first round of the true Battle Royale. The marine hung back and defended one corner of the arena while hundreds of other creatures killed each-other in a multitude of ways. He was forced to empty the first clip of his side-arm, but otherwise took Pergi's advice and conserved ammunition. By this time some of the fans of the failed species had come over to join the human section. They began to cheer the marine more and more loudly with each kill. As he finally beat an armored Tantilor to death with the severed horn of a Grak Lion, humanity's new fanbase was prepared too love the bipedal primitives from Earth for centuries to come. There was a break, while the victor of the first Battle was given an injection of restorative chemicals. Pergi spoke to the human once more. "You were amazing!" "Thanks to your advice. Got any tips for the next round?" Pergi thought about it while other fans cheered on their new hero. "This is the round with all the most deadly species in the galaxy. You will probably die, but if you are careful and smart like before, there is a small chance that you will live." "What do I get if I win?" "Whatever you want. Plus your species will be invited to the galactic council." "Roger that." The final round was long and unimaginably violent. The marine did his best to stay out of the way, letting the others tire themselves out killing each-other. All the while he studied their moves. When it was finally down to the predictable fusion-powered Spithai, and nearly invincible Raxaxis, and the totally unexpected human, the marine had formulated a plan. He was completely out of ammunition, but he still had one grenade. He waited until the Spithai charged it's super-heated plasma canon arm, ran up behind it and shoved his knife as deep as it would go into the Spithai's back, close to its power core. He twisted the blade as it began to melt away in the heat of the Spithai's core. Just as the nanites in its blood began to seal the breach, he shoved in his last grenade, burning his hand to a crisp. He then picked up the Spithai and raised it above his head with all his strength. The huge form of Raxaxis loomed over them and prepared to swallow them both. As the gaping maw came hurtling down, he shoved the Spithai into it and ducked down. The jaws clamped shut, severing both of his arms and scraping off most of his face and scalp, but he forced himself to roll between the creature's legs and away from it's head. The titanium hide of Raxaxis was enough to contain the explosion, but it's softer insides were not. Raxaxis the Eternal fell, a burned-out husk. It would recover later, but the human had won. He would later be given new and better arms, as well as a new, completely customizable face. He would go on to become ambassador of the human race, and was integral in the assassination of the Great Mind.	The battles have dealt with weaponry before, and consider them fair game. In fact, last battle's champion wielded a very handsome and sophisticated spear that one would use to hunt. But this human's equipment was vastly different. The usual textiles that the species adorns themselves with were replaced with interlocking ferrous rings, tough animal skin, and shimmering metallic plating. Not only that, but where previous humans would wield crude tools or limbs of vegetation, this human had a length of metal, about the length of one of its upper limb, and a disc of metal on its left limb. And the efficiency this human displayed, using its length of metal with a deadly grace. The metallic garb it wore caused other foes' attacks to merely annoy and distract, never cause damage. Visually its one weakness was grapples, but a hidden length of metal no larger than its lower sub-llimb spilled the lifeblood of any that dared try. The human wound up winning the whole battle, obviously. The host species have never seen such brutality in melee combat in history, and the fact that the human had no lasting injuries was cause for gossip long after it had been sent home with its reward. The battle would honour humans from then on, praising those wearing the metallic garb as champions before the battle even began. - Excerpt from History of The Battle, chapter 12 of volume 2 'Underdogs of The Battle
[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen.	The human lay on the floor with it's eyes shut tightly, stagnant water dripping from it, a single reed sticking out of its mouth. After a few moments it opened its eyes to see why the pond water had suddenly vanished, eventually focusing in on the officials surrounding it. "Hmm. It seems to be in good enough shape, but it's a bit small." "Why is it all wet?" One of the aliens raises a holographic cube with a tentacle, gesticulating to rewind the footage shown within. "Ah, it was hiding from another human faction." The footage showed several dozen heavily armed but raggedly clothed humans canvassing the woods surrounding the scummy pond from which the human had been snatched. "Great, another coward." "Oh well. Connect it to the psycho-mat and inform it of this years conditions." "Hmm, it came from a tropical rain forest. This years arena is a tropical rain forest. Perhaps it can survive long enough to make things interesting. What are the odds on the human candidate this year?" "Oof, two-to-one that it gets past 780th place." "500th?" "Wow. Over eighty-three thousand." "Hahaha, maybe worth a small side bet." The Officials swiped away the cube and all but one made their way out of the chamber. A light shone into the humans face and transmitted the details of this years battle royale, and the prize for success. Though it was still a bit confused, the human comprehended the situation unusually quickly, and the psycho-mat beeped to confirm comprehension in a matter of seconds. "Huh... that was quick." It pulled up another holographic cube and checked to see comprehension times of other candidates. This years human candidate was orders of magnitude smarter than the second smartest candidate. The remaining official took a second to ponder, then brought up a cube for the betting pools. After scrolling for a while, it finally came upon the betting interface for the human candidate all the way at the bottom of the list. It placed a sizable wager. "Eh, worst case scenario I'll cut out visits to the pleasure-dome for a while," it said to calm the rapid beating of its hearts. The human had already stood up and was taking stock of its possessions. The official brought up a translator cube and spoke to the human, "did the transporter fail to bring along your possessions?" The human paused for a moment then smiled, adopted what it believed to be a jovial tone and said, "yes. I had to hide most of my equipment before hiding from those communists in that pond." The official contracted knowingly, "ah, that happens sometimes. Let me check the recordings." After a few moments pause, during which the human seemed uneasy, the official said, "You must have hidden your equipment before you were selected, because I you don't seem to have any equipment in the recording." "Ah, yes, I hid it before I left to find a hiding place." "Oh, ok," the official brought up another cube, "here's a list of all of the contemporary equipment from your civilization that we can replicate. Pick out what you had and it will be provided before you are transported into the arena." The human hesitated for a moment, then began scrolling through the list of items available: Aerogel reinforced graphene scale bodysuit with quantum stealth coating; one single-handed and one two-handed firearm with several drum magazines loaded with tungsten tipped ammunition; an assortment of hand-held explosive devices; some kind of trap-making toolkit; a vest and backpack to store it all. "That, uh, that's more or less what I had before you guys brought me here." "Alright, get it over there and start preparing." A hatch opened in the wall with all of the equipment. The human rushed over and, after a moment running its hands appreciatively over the equipment, began donning everything. "Does it match the specifications of your equipment?" The human didn't respond immediately, intently sorting through the equipment. The official popped several of it's suction cups to grab the humans attention. "Huh? Oh, yeah, it's great," it glanced up at the official then continued to fondle the equipment, "it's just nice and brand new. Also the, uh, build quality is slightly better. Your culture must be very advanced" The official unconsciously puffed up at that, "ah, yes, well, it's true. It's likely that some of this is of higher quality than what your people are capable. I'll leave you to prepare. The tournament begins in approximately one hour." ------------------------------------------------ "An investigation has been opened into the Tournament Official who oversaw the preparation by psycho-mat of the Human candidate today after, against all odds, the human was able to complete the Tournament in first place. Being the only individual to place a bet on the human, immediately before the onset of the tournament, some officials believe that there may have been some form of foul play. The Official in question claims that this individual was simply much more intelligent than the typical human and was aided more by the similarity of its home environment to the one chosen for this years Arena. More on this at fourteen-seventy-five. But first, this popular brand of krill paste might contain mammal byproducts..."	“Welcome to the 137,326,714th intergalactic species showdown!”, the X’O’Blob 9k Fusion Mind transmitted over the hyperspace waves, “The one and only place where entertainment meets ultimate carnage!” Simmons put a hand to his head, willing the ungodly roar of words to leave his mind. Sighing in relief as the disembodied voice fell silent, he was unprepared for the images that assaulted his mind next. Simmons reeled to his knees as creature after creature, each more horrific than the last, paraded through his mind while the booming voice that his ears could not hear announced the home-world and several lethal features of each. Simmons strained to get purchase on the bolder he was all but straddling in his unsteadiness. “And now to announce the underdog species!”, the voice silently thundered, “Back by popular demand, the only species to break the record for quickest elimination a dozen times in a row, the curiously hair-less ape from its home-world of Earth: Homo-Sapiens-Sapiens!” “Sarge!”, Simmons finally managed to croak. Not receiving an immediate reply, he continued holding his head, which felt in danger of splitting in half at any second. “As our loyal viewers no doubt remember, their last knockout was particularly embarrassing. I’ve since learned the implements that their representative ineffectually brandished against the 30-toed Giant Sky-Cat of Porgal-3 were in-fact called 'knitting needles' and are used to remedy the Sapiens’ startling bald bodies. Well, hopefully this time they'll try to do more than simply stay warm!” The voice paused as if waiting for applause to die down. Simmons still struggled to stand as, in addition to the voice, there was now a disorienting view of himself tottering back and forth in his own mind. “As some of our more astute viewers have surely noticed, there are actually more than one Sapiens down there. Viewer Mglwnafh from sector Phnglui expended his Power Play Token to slightly buff the underdog species. Too bad it ended up being used on the Sapiens; better luck next time! AND NOW, LET THE CARNAGE BEGIN!” As the voice faded and Simmons’ vision cleared, a hand thrust into his field of view. “On your feet, son!”, Sarge barked. Smiling broadly, he was flanked by Garcia and Boothe, “That chopper we were in is on the other side of this hill. Let’s get loaded up and greet our new acquaintances!” Simmons smiled back as he took Sarge’s hand. Looks like it would be just another day in the Corps. &#x200B; \[First time posting a story, please be gentle\] Edit: Formatting
[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen.	Millions of sentient species and billions of inhabited worlds made for a startling array of natural killers. It also made for an even wider range of amusing, but useless fodder. Creatures like the organic-mechanical Spithai, with their internal fusion generators, and naturally-grown plasma throwers; or the Eternal Raxaxis, hide like titanium, fast healing, sole member of his race, and winner of the Intergalactic Battle Royale over 426 times: these would be the fights to watch. Others, such as the gelatinous Bolgan, whose guts poured out at the slightest prick, or the greasy meat-sacks called humans, who usually just squealed, maybe threw a rock, would be the bloody clown-show before the main event. Humans had almost no fans. Occasionally a young grizling might like the way they look and choose to root for them, perhaps some rebellious adolescent, looking for a way to stand out. One such adolescent was Pergi. Oh, she didn't color her tendrils in odd ways, wear piercings in her glabulai, or turn her loopeck inside out. She just saw things differently. Perhaps it was her innate intelligence - far exceeding her parents' rating of 89.9 brain spasms per second. Or it could have been her kind and loving hearts. Creatures like the Spithai were made for battle, she thought. They probably liked being chosen. It was a cruelty to kidnap all these softer beings and force them to fight and die. The screams of the humans always seemed to affect her most, as being especially pitiful. But Pergi didn't just sit in the almost empty human section and root for a hopeless species. She decided to look into the history of human subjects. The first couple, about 150,000 standard cycles ago, managed to put up a bit of a fight, but still lost to more advanced, or naturally deadly species. It was then deemed that the specimens had been too small. Only larger, more fully mature specimens had been chosen - generally about 60-70 cycles old, and between 300 and 400 galactic pounds. These fared even worse. The 600 pound human was the most pathetic of all. It couldn't even roll out of it's cage. A gravity projector had to be used to lift it to it's very messy end against a slow-moving Cloom worm. Pergi looked at scans of the muscle structure, large brain, and forward-facing eyes of the humans. It occurred to her that the specimens chosen for sheer size and chronological age might not be the best that this species had to offer. What if the younger and trimmer ones were actually the more formidable humans? What if they didn't just get more deadly with age like most species, but sort of faded away? What if all that extra glutinous mass was not a defense mechanism, but a sign of an unhealthy human? She applied to the Great Mind and asked to change the parameters for selection of this year's human. The Great Mind responded: "Why not? They can't get any worse." Thus it was that Pergi sat in the nearly empty human section, alone but for an infant and a male who had been drunk when choosing fan sections. She watched the human stall with a tiny grain of hope amidst a massive dose of fatalism. Finally it appeared in a flash of light. This human was dressed in some kind of thick armored clothing. It wore a helmet, and had many pouches and pockets all over it's cumbersome-looking clothing. Some kind of mechanical weapon, black and deadly-looking, was being pointed in every direction as the human tried to figure out where it was. Then the translated voice of the Great Mind spoke to it and explained it's circumstances. Instead of losing it's mind like the last human in it's place, this one merely took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Well, fuck me." It said. "You will now be given a moment to be encouraged by your fans." said the Great Mind. "Hoo-ra." Said the human. "Huuuuuumannn!", said the infant. "At least kill something!" said the miserable male. "Are you a warrior?" asked Pergi. "1st marines. Second division." "What? "Yes. I fight in wars. I am a warrior." Pergi was exited. "I knew it! I knew they had it wrong!" She looked at the human's primary weapon. "Is that a projectile launcher with non-renewable ammunition?" The marine thought for a moment. "Yes. You got anything better for me? Phaser gun maybe?" "Each species fights only with what the have on them upon arrival. I can't give you another weapon, but I can tell you to conserve your ammunition. This round of combat is mainly for species with little or no defensive capabilities." The marine nodded. "Thanks." Just then the buzzer went off and the cage was opened. The marine was pushed out by a force-field. A few steps into the arena they faced the first of their opponents. It looked like a slowly rolling ball of jelly with one tentacle sticking out. The marine drew his combat knife, swiftly walked up, and slashed off it's tentacle, before opening it's gelatinous body and spilling it's guts. The next was a slug the size of a large dog. It spat some sort of goo, but the marine blinded it by emptying the contents of a salt packet in it's eyes, and stabbed it 34 times to finish the poor creature. This progressed into the first round of the true Battle Royale. The marine hung back and defended one corner of the arena while hundreds of other creatures killed each-other in a multitude of ways. He was forced to empty the first clip of his side-arm, but otherwise took Pergi's advice and conserved ammunition. By this time some of the fans of the failed species had come over to join the human section. They began to cheer the marine more and more loudly with each kill. As he finally beat an armored Tantilor to death with the severed horn of a Grak Lion, humanity's new fanbase was prepared too love the bipedal primitives from Earth for centuries to come. There was a break, while the victor of the first Battle was given an injection of restorative chemicals. Pergi spoke to the human once more. "You were amazing!" "Thanks to your advice. Got any tips for the next round?" Pergi thought about it while other fans cheered on their new hero. "This is the round with all the most deadly species in the galaxy. You will probably die, but if you are careful and smart like before, there is a small chance that you will live." "What do I get if I win?" "Whatever you want. Plus your species will be invited to the galactic council." "Roger that." The final round was long and unimaginably violent. The marine did his best to stay out of the way, letting the others tire themselves out killing each-other. All the while he studied their moves. When it was finally down to the predictable fusion-powered Spithai, and nearly invincible Raxaxis, and the totally unexpected human, the marine had formulated a plan. He was completely out of ammunition, but he still had one grenade. He waited until the Spithai charged it's super-heated plasma canon arm, ran up behind it and shoved his knife as deep as it would go into the Spithai's back, close to its power core. He twisted the blade as it began to melt away in the heat of the Spithai's core. Just as the nanites in its blood began to seal the breach, he shoved in his last grenade, burning his hand to a crisp. He then picked up the Spithai and raised it above his head with all his strength. The huge form of Raxaxis loomed over them and prepared to swallow them both. As the gaping maw came hurtling down, he shoved the Spithai into it and ducked down. The jaws clamped shut, severing both of his arms and scraping off most of his face and scalp, but he forced himself to roll between the creature's legs and away from it's head. The titanium hide of Raxaxis was enough to contain the explosion, but it's softer insides were not. Raxaxis the Eternal fell, a burned-out husk. It would recover later, but the human had won. He would later be given new and better arms, as well as a new, completely customizable face. He would go on to become ambassador of the human race, and was integral in the assassination of the Great Mind.	“Welcome to the 137,326,714th intergalactic species showdown!”, the X’O’Blob 9k Fusion Mind transmitted over the hyperspace waves, “The one and only place where entertainment meets ultimate carnage!” Simmons put a hand to his head, willing the ungodly roar of words to leave his mind. Sighing in relief as the disembodied voice fell silent, he was unprepared for the images that assaulted his mind next. Simmons reeled to his knees as creature after creature, each more horrific than the last, paraded through his mind while the booming voice that his ears could not hear announced the home-world and several lethal features of each. Simmons strained to get purchase on the bolder he was all but straddling in his unsteadiness. “And now to announce the underdog species!”, the voice silently thundered, “Back by popular demand, the only species to break the record for quickest elimination a dozen times in a row, the curiously hair-less ape from its home-world of Earth: Homo-Sapiens-Sapiens!” “Sarge!”, Simmons finally managed to croak. Not receiving an immediate reply, he continued holding his head, which felt in danger of splitting in half at any second. “As our loyal viewers no doubt remember, their last knockout was particularly embarrassing. I’ve since learned the implements that their representative ineffectually brandished against the 30-toed Giant Sky-Cat of Porgal-3 were in-fact called 'knitting needles' and are used to remedy the Sapiens’ startling bald bodies. Well, hopefully this time they'll try to do more than simply stay warm!” The voice paused as if waiting for applause to die down. Simmons still struggled to stand as, in addition to the voice, there was now a disorienting view of himself tottering back and forth in his own mind. “As some of our more astute viewers have surely noticed, there are actually more than one Sapiens down there. Viewer Mglwnafh from sector Phnglui expended his Power Play Token to slightly buff the underdog species. Too bad it ended up being used on the Sapiens; better luck next time! AND NOW, LET THE CARNAGE BEGIN!” As the voice faded and Simmons’ vision cleared, a hand thrust into his field of view. “On your feet, son!”, Sarge barked. Smiling broadly, he was flanked by Garcia and Boothe, “That chopper we were in is on the other side of this hill. Let’s get loaded up and greet our new acquaintances!” Simmons smiled back as he took Sarge’s hand. Looks like it would be just another day in the Corps. &#x200B; \[First time posting a story, please be gentle\] Edit: Formatting
[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen.	In a flash all the contestants were ready. 34 creatures from 34 different planets around the galaxy, all known for their exceptional violence, ruthlessness, and physical prowess... All except one. Every cycle, the Great One chooses the same 34 species, and every cycle another one of the pathetic humans are torn to shreds, melted into a puddle, or driven mad by the mere sight of the competition. Two appendages for manipulation, two for movement, at least half or sometimes even a third as many as most of the participants. Yet time and time again, the Great One throws them into the pit. Most of us think it's a joke, a test, a low bar, an example of the minimum requirement to even be considered for the Games. But SOME of us know better. From eons of watching these games, I've seen these humans change, just slightly. Gone is the thick brow and body hair, replaced with simple textiles. Plant-Fiber tools slowly replaced with stone, then basic metals. Last Cycle, we even had one with what seemed to be a primitive combat suit, clad in strong alloy, and wielding a weapon it very much knew how to use. This was no match for the other contestants, of course, but some of the craftier ones among us started to recognize the pattern... This was the year we really doubled down. If a fully clad soldier had been the last human, then surely this one would be formidable. Which is why my soul sank when I saw what I'd bet my fortune on. The armor was all but entirely missing. A simple helmet and chest plating? A weapon without a single slicing edge in sight? Not even a point, just a hollow metal tube... The alarm sounded, the cages fell, and I had all but given up. Right at the start, the Quadruple Pincered Cephalopod of Talkon-5 slithered its way towards this pathetic excuse of a creature, sure to be bisected before I could even blink... That's when the first series of small explosions rang out across the arena... And the Cephalopod was reduced to what the humans would call "Chunky Salsa". I don't think anyone expected a projectile weapon, especially not one powered by handheld explosive force. What kind of idiot race would make weapons that explode that close them? Though to its credit, we've never had a faster winner in the games.	The Grand Tournament was a tradition dating back a thousand years. The people of the Sr'atlain Cooperative deserved a little break every now and then. The blood sport of Tournament time was accompanied by feasting, by marriages, and by traditional Divorce duels. The lesser beings of the galaxy that survived would get a new life as treasured exhibits with the nobility. No hugh man had ever lasted past the first 2 rounds. The scaroid was favored this year, their impressive natural arm blades making up for the lesser exoskeletal mass that the Kar Itii females sported. The arena was prepared and the gates opened. From 12 corners of the arena beings walked, skittered, crawled, or undulated cautiously out. They had had the situation explained in their native tongues and their natural aggressiveness played out in their reactions. In all but one corner the aliens squared off, two or three at a time. There was a jangling sound from the human pen. The crowd grew quiet. They knew that hugh mans didn't jingle. A hulking four armed monster approached and let out it's undulating cry challenging the hugh man to come out. A grunt in the pen was accompained by a steel headed spear that impaled the thing. Behind it at a jog came the hugh man. Wearing a long shirt made of interlocked metal rings and a helmet with a strip over his nose the hugh man hefted an axe and let out a cry. The others in the arena heard him, and what he said was this: "Ó Óðinn! Þú hefur gefið mér tilgang hér í Ragnarok! Leyfðu mér að vera þinn hrafn!" And then the blood began to stain the floor again.
[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen.	Millions of sentient species and billions of inhabited worlds made for a startling array of natural killers. It also made for an even wider range of amusing, but useless fodder. Creatures like the organic-mechanical Spithai, with their internal fusion generators, and naturally-grown plasma throwers; or the Eternal Raxaxis, hide like titanium, fast healing, sole member of his race, and winner of the Intergalactic Battle Royale over 426 times: these would be the fights to watch. Others, such as the gelatinous Bolgan, whose guts poured out at the slightest prick, or the greasy meat-sacks called humans, who usually just squealed, maybe threw a rock, would be the bloody clown-show before the main event. Humans had almost no fans. Occasionally a young grizling might like the way they look and choose to root for them, perhaps some rebellious adolescent, looking for a way to stand out. One such adolescent was Pergi. Oh, she didn't color her tendrils in odd ways, wear piercings in her glabulai, or turn her loopeck inside out. She just saw things differently. Perhaps it was her innate intelligence - far exceeding her parents' rating of 89.9 brain spasms per second. Or it could have been her kind and loving hearts. Creatures like the Spithai were made for battle, she thought. They probably liked being chosen. It was a cruelty to kidnap all these softer beings and force them to fight and die. The screams of the humans always seemed to affect her most, as being especially pitiful. But Pergi didn't just sit in the almost empty human section and root for a hopeless species. She decided to look into the history of human subjects. The first couple, about 150,000 standard cycles ago, managed to put up a bit of a fight, but still lost to more advanced, or naturally deadly species. It was then deemed that the specimens had been too small. Only larger, more fully mature specimens had been chosen - generally about 60-70 cycles old, and between 300 and 400 galactic pounds. These fared even worse. The 600 pound human was the most pathetic of all. It couldn't even roll out of it's cage. A gravity projector had to be used to lift it to it's very messy end against a slow-moving Cloom worm. Pergi looked at scans of the muscle structure, large brain, and forward-facing eyes of the humans. It occurred to her that the specimens chosen for sheer size and chronological age might not be the best that this species had to offer. What if the younger and trimmer ones were actually the more formidable humans? What if they didn't just get more deadly with age like most species, but sort of faded away? What if all that extra glutinous mass was not a defense mechanism, but a sign of an unhealthy human? She applied to the Great Mind and asked to change the parameters for selection of this year's human. The Great Mind responded: "Why not? They can't get any worse." Thus it was that Pergi sat in the nearly empty human section, alone but for an infant and a male who had been drunk when choosing fan sections. She watched the human stall with a tiny grain of hope amidst a massive dose of fatalism. Finally it appeared in a flash of light. This human was dressed in some kind of thick armored clothing. It wore a helmet, and had many pouches and pockets all over it's cumbersome-looking clothing. Some kind of mechanical weapon, black and deadly-looking, was being pointed in every direction as the human tried to figure out where it was. Then the translated voice of the Great Mind spoke to it and explained it's circumstances. Instead of losing it's mind like the last human in it's place, this one merely took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Well, fuck me." It said. "You will now be given a moment to be encouraged by your fans." said the Great Mind. "Hoo-ra." Said the human. "Huuuuuumannn!", said the infant. "At least kill something!" said the miserable male. "Are you a warrior?" asked Pergi. "1st marines. Second division." "What? "Yes. I fight in wars. I am a warrior." Pergi was exited. "I knew it! I knew they had it wrong!" She looked at the human's primary weapon. "Is that a projectile launcher with non-renewable ammunition?" The marine thought for a moment. "Yes. You got anything better for me? Phaser gun maybe?" "Each species fights only with what the have on them upon arrival. I can't give you another weapon, but I can tell you to conserve your ammunition. This round of combat is mainly for species with little or no defensive capabilities." The marine nodded. "Thanks." Just then the buzzer went off and the cage was opened. The marine was pushed out by a force-field. A few steps into the arena they faced the first of their opponents. It looked like a slowly rolling ball of jelly with one tentacle sticking out. The marine drew his combat knife, swiftly walked up, and slashed off it's tentacle, before opening it's gelatinous body and spilling it's guts. The next was a slug the size of a large dog. It spat some sort of goo, but the marine blinded it by emptying the contents of a salt packet in it's eyes, and stabbed it 34 times to finish the poor creature. This progressed into the first round of the true Battle Royale. The marine hung back and defended one corner of the arena while hundreds of other creatures killed each-other in a multitude of ways. He was forced to empty the first clip of his side-arm, but otherwise took Pergi's advice and conserved ammunition. By this time some of the fans of the failed species had come over to join the human section. They began to cheer the marine more and more loudly with each kill. As he finally beat an armored Tantilor to death with the severed horn of a Grak Lion, humanity's new fanbase was prepared too love the bipedal primitives from Earth for centuries to come. There was a break, while the victor of the first Battle was given an injection of restorative chemicals. Pergi spoke to the human once more. "You were amazing!" "Thanks to your advice. Got any tips for the next round?" Pergi thought about it while other fans cheered on their new hero. "This is the round with all the most deadly species in the galaxy. You will probably die, but if you are careful and smart like before, there is a small chance that you will live." "What do I get if I win?" "Whatever you want. Plus your species will be invited to the galactic council." "Roger that." The final round was long and unimaginably violent. The marine did his best to stay out of the way, letting the others tire themselves out killing each-other. All the while he studied their moves. When it was finally down to the predictable fusion-powered Spithai, and nearly invincible Raxaxis, and the totally unexpected human, the marine had formulated a plan. He was completely out of ammunition, but he still had one grenade. He waited until the Spithai charged it's super-heated plasma canon arm, ran up behind it and shoved his knife as deep as it would go into the Spithai's back, close to its power core. He twisted the blade as it began to melt away in the heat of the Spithai's core. Just as the nanites in its blood began to seal the breach, he shoved in his last grenade, burning his hand to a crisp. He then picked up the Spithai and raised it above his head with all his strength. The huge form of Raxaxis loomed over them and prepared to swallow them both. As the gaping maw came hurtling down, he shoved the Spithai into it and ducked down. The jaws clamped shut, severing both of his arms and scraping off most of his face and scalp, but he forced himself to roll between the creature's legs and away from it's head. The titanium hide of Raxaxis was enough to contain the explosion, but it's softer insides were not. Raxaxis the Eternal fell, a burned-out husk. It would recover later, but the human had won. He would later be given new and better arms, as well as a new, completely customizable face. He would go on to become ambassador of the human race, and was integral in the assassination of the Great Mind.	The Grand Tournament was a tradition dating back a thousand years. The people of the Sr'atlain Cooperative deserved a little break every now and then. The blood sport of Tournament time was accompanied by feasting, by marriages, and by traditional Divorce duels. The lesser beings of the galaxy that survived would get a new life as treasured exhibits with the nobility. No hugh man had ever lasted past the first 2 rounds. The scaroid was favored this year, their impressive natural arm blades making up for the lesser exoskeletal mass that the Kar Itii females sported. The arena was prepared and the gates opened. From 12 corners of the arena beings walked, skittered, crawled, or undulated cautiously out. They had had the situation explained in their native tongues and their natural aggressiveness played out in their reactions. In all but one corner the aliens squared off, two or three at a time. There was a jangling sound from the human pen. The crowd grew quiet. They knew that hugh mans didn't jingle. A hulking four armed monster approached and let out it's undulating cry challenging the hugh man to come out. A grunt in the pen was accompained by a steel headed spear that impaled the thing. Behind it at a jog came the hugh man. Wearing a long shirt made of interlocked metal rings and a helmet with a strip over his nose the hugh man hefted an axe and let out a cry. The others in the arena heard him, and what he said was this: "Ó Óðinn! Þú hefur gefið mér tilgang hér í Ragnarok! Leyfðu mér að vera þinn hrafn!" And then the blood began to stain the floor again.
[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen.	Cracked spear shaft slowly brought to a defensive point. A shaky bloodied hand holds the spear forward, left eye no longer rests in the orbital socket of the hairless ape. How the hell did such a turn of events take place. A human. A stinking, wretched, fucking human. Year after year my bets were made good. Of course there was always a loss here and there but...where was the sport in constantly winning. There was always the reputable species brought in. Reliant. steady. And above all else.... profitable. All of it brought down by one fucking human. Every year they come in. Most of the time crying, shitting and pissing themselves. Pathetic. Barely able to stand on their legs as the more primal and apex races tear them to pieces. Don’t get me wrong, They are fun to watch. They break and rip apart in spectacular ways. And each year it’s always a little variety, a different color, maybe a female one to spice it up. Screaming and babbling a different primitive language each time they enter the arena. Pathetic. Weak. Stinking. Of course this is the year the weak fucking pieces of meat bring an ounce of iron. they’ve now embarrassed me. Just as I’ve become a lord among the elites, A owner and commander of my very own system. To do with as I please. Canters scaly hand brings the chalice to his lower mandible. The oily burning liquid slides down his bony trachea. It’s a long sip from the cup. Too long. The other elites notice. It’s a drink of frustration. He drops the chalice with a hard clang on the table in front of him. And releases a deep, loud and obnoxious sigh. Much to the surprise of the other elites, Canter rises out of his seat and screeches loud enough for the remaining species in the arena to hear... SLAUGHTER THAT PIECE OF STINKING MEAT AND FUCKING GET ON WITH IT NOW!!!!! Horthar is not supposed to be here. He’s heard that quite frequently in his life. Said often by his own father. But it was said with endearment. Horthar was curious, it could’ve been a war council in the great hall with the other chiefs of the sister villages, he was a boy that would sit and listen to the plans of men. His father would always catch him hiding in the shadows. Hiding......listening.....learning. He never knew how his father did it. No one else could ever catch him, but his father always did. He’d wait till the council would leave and he’d walk over to Horthar as a young boy and grab him by the shoulders with a heavy set of hands. Horthar always winced that his father would chastise him ....but he never did. He’d simply grab him by the chin and raise his eyes to meet his own gaze and would say it...... “you are not supposed to be here” But he was. He was learning. Listening. Watching. Becoming and hoping to be half the leader his father was. And his father saw it. And he loved him for it. That was a long time ago. Now he stands alone. Bleeding. Half blind. Struggling to keep himself standing. The last hour of his life had been the most afraid he’d ever been. He didn’t know how he’d survived as long as he had. The monstrosities he’d slain DIDNT know that though. Fear was last thing they thought Horthar was as he hacked, beat, clubbed, stabbed, bit, and gored very single one of them. Every one that came for him. Fell. Not without a few pieces of Horthar of course...Three fingers, many layers of skin, most of the clothes from his back. One eye. A gaping hole in his side. Yet he stood. But so did the other. It was tall, muscular. Orange. Skin so taught across the bulging muscles that you could see the hidden bladed tentacles that slithered underneath. Waiting to whip out from the hidden pockets of flesh to tear pieces away from Horthar. It’s eyes....many eyes, were red with rage. It’s flexing, sucking, razored edged mouth dripping steaming drool onto the arena floor. It was angry. It was hungry. And Horthar was all that was left. He takes a deep breath and stares at the muscular orange monstrosity in front of him.... he’s not supposed to be here. He should be guiding his sons of his favorite hunting trail. Telling them stories, teaching them, watching them learn and become better hunters. Better leaders than Horthar himself. But the hunting always felt secondary. He simply just enjoyed the time with his sons. He took pride in their curious nature. When his youngest son hesitated the first time He drew his bow to kill a buck...he didn’t get angry. In fact. His heart swelled. He knew that his son understood the value of a life. To take it away is a action you can’t take back. It becomes a responsibility. He laid his hand on his sons shoulder as he walked with him to slain buck. Telling him that he was proud of him, that he understood why he hesitated. That it made him proud he did. But now he could never hesitate again. Now his son understood. To take life is not a gift. It’s a terrible action you can’t take back. But in a world of things wanting to kill you, and the people you love, you must kill. He wished he was walking back into his village, his home. He missed the smell of his home. The sounds, the warmth. The way there was a small draft near the left corner of the den, because a storm the harvest before had blown through and cracked the foundation. But he didn’t fix it. He liked the cold air that flowed throughout their home. He missed his wife. He wished she was taking his bearded face into her hands and laying a kiss on his cheek like she had a thousand times before. He wished he could hear her voice. The way she sang to the boys. The way she said his name deep in the night as they loved one another. Would she be safe without him there? Would the boys be ready enough to protect their home?Would the village be ready for invaders, or a great plague, would the fish be plenty from the boats, would the harvest be bountiful, would there be enough for the village, would eve- He clears his mind. The village. His wife. His sons. They would be okay. He grips the spear shaft tighter into his hands. The village would be okay. He had lead them through many hardships. Of many degrees. He had taught them well, he had lead them. He watched them grow. The village would survive, not because of horthar, but because of its people. He brings the point of the spear into his single left field view. He aims it at the beast before him. He hears a voice from the crowd. They had been silent this entire time. The voice is loud, and irritated, it’s foreign, unlike anything he had ever heard. It was angry.... desperate. And it wasn’t aimed at him, no.....it was directed at the other creature. It didn’t matter. There was a long silent pause. The voice from the crowd had done something unnatural for such a event it seemed...the silence was now one of confusion, and anxiety. Horthar raised the spear above his head. He answered the aliens desperate scream. He answered it with a roar of his own. A war cry. He was now running. Horthar’s wife would be okay. She was stronger than even horthar himself. Kind. Patient. Fierce. She would be there, she would always be a voice of reason, and a voice of leadership if needed. He would always love her, and she would always love him. Horthar is charging the beast. His war cry overpowering the beasts own roar. The beast is now charging toward horthar. Horthars sons would be strong. They would be great men, great leaders....and hopefully....the Gods willing....even better fathers. They would lead his village, they would lead them to new places, to see new things. To help the people learn, and listen, and become a better people outside of what they’ve known. His sons would teach their own sons the things he taught them. Just like his father had taught him, and his father before him. He was proud of his sons, and he knew they would be okay. Horthar lunges toward the beast, screaming, spear pointed forward as the beat leaps at him, claws outstretched, mouth gaping and roaring, razor tippled tentacles lashing out. Horthar closes his eyes. Horthar wasn’t supposed to be there. But that didn’t matter. He was. And that was enough. Thank you for reading. I really kinda just typed as I thought. Really just threw up all of the words. But I enjoyed this. I hope you do as well. I’m not sure if you’ll take anything from it, I don’t even know if I meant for you too. But hey, all is love and war in sci fi. Enjoy you beautiful bastards, if you don’t enjoy it, you’re just a bastard. Kidding. Kinda.	The Grand Tournament was a tradition dating back a thousand years. The people of the Sr'atlain Cooperative deserved a little break every now and then. The blood sport of Tournament time was accompanied by feasting, by marriages, and by traditional Divorce duels. The lesser beings of the galaxy that survived would get a new life as treasured exhibits with the nobility. No hugh man had ever lasted past the first 2 rounds. The scaroid was favored this year, their impressive natural arm blades making up for the lesser exoskeletal mass that the Kar Itii females sported. The arena was prepared and the gates opened. From 12 corners of the arena beings walked, skittered, crawled, or undulated cautiously out. They had had the situation explained in their native tongues and their natural aggressiveness played out in their reactions. In all but one corner the aliens squared off, two or three at a time. There was a jangling sound from the human pen. The crowd grew quiet. They knew that hugh mans didn't jingle. A hulking four armed monster approached and let out it's undulating cry challenging the hugh man to come out. A grunt in the pen was accompained by a steel headed spear that impaled the thing. Behind it at a jog came the hugh man. Wearing a long shirt made of interlocked metal rings and a helmet with a strip over his nose the hugh man hefted an axe and let out a cry. The others in the arena heard him, and what he said was this: "Ó Óðinn! Þú hefur gefið mér tilgang hér í Ragnarok! Leyfðu mér að vera þinn hrafn!" And then the blood began to stain the floor again.
[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen.	In a flash all the contestants were ready. 34 creatures from 34 different planets around the galaxy, all known for their exceptional violence, ruthlessness, and physical prowess... All except one. Every cycle, the Great One chooses the same 34 species, and every cycle another one of the pathetic humans are torn to shreds, melted into a puddle, or driven mad by the mere sight of the competition. Two appendages for manipulation, two for movement, at least half or sometimes even a third as many as most of the participants. Yet time and time again, the Great One throws them into the pit. Most of us think it's a joke, a test, a low bar, an example of the minimum requirement to even be considered for the Games. But SOME of us know better. From eons of watching these games, I've seen these humans change, just slightly. Gone is the thick brow and body hair, replaced with simple textiles. Plant-Fiber tools slowly replaced with stone, then basic metals. Last Cycle, we even had one with what seemed to be a primitive combat suit, clad in strong alloy, and wielding a weapon it very much knew how to use. This was no match for the other contestants, of course, but some of the craftier ones among us started to recognize the pattern... This was the year we really doubled down. If a fully clad soldier had been the last human, then surely this one would be formidable. Which is why my soul sank when I saw what I'd bet my fortune on. The armor was all but entirely missing. A simple helmet and chest plating? A weapon without a single slicing edge in sight? Not even a point, just a hollow metal tube... The alarm sounded, the cages fell, and I had all but given up. Right at the start, the Quadruple Pincered Cephalopod of Talkon-5 slithered its way towards this pathetic excuse of a creature, sure to be bisected before I could even blink... That's when the first series of small explosions rang out across the arena... And the Cephalopod was reduced to what the humans would call "Chunky Salsa". I don't think anyone expected a projectile weapon, especially not one powered by handheld explosive force. What kind of idiot race would make weapons that explode that close them? Though to its credit, we've never had a faster winner in the games.	I receive the confirmation that we got all the 150 species and we transfer them to the planet Terranavi. I’m the chief engineer of this planet and we needed such a planet to host this sort of event. We collect different species from different planets and putting them on a piece of rock that only habitable for some of them is not the way. We can change the weather patterns and we can control the oxygen and nitrogen levels along with other elements on the air to create a competitive fighting arena. Although, there are things that we can not control and some of the creatures react oddly to the environment and if they are not lucky enough to survive the conditions of this gorgeous planet and then they are not worthy of giving attention and they are usually a handful. This time we have 136 survivors out of 150. The last time we start the battle with only 120 and the rest of them died quickly to Juronna which is one of the dangerous species in this galaxy. If you are lucky enough to see and hear Juronna you might be able to live longer than five seconds. It can manipulate the shape of its own body and move faster than any creature and every time we have a live Juronna on this event the winner usually the same. The system display first-round results, 58 Survivors - 1 minute and 30 seconds to the big bang. The big bang is inspired by human terminology. In fact, we have one human down there fighting for its life. I check the terminal and look at the scoreboard. 1. Human 17 Kills 2. Juronna 16 Kills 3. Erinos 9 Kills. The human is actually going head to head with Juronna. This one is going to be spicy. --------------------------------- -Thank you for reading the story-
[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen.	Humans. Most of them are frail and are usually first blood. They cower in fear as the Prowlers and Gignids rip them apart. Some are different, some can put up a fight if they happen to have weapons on them, but none have been crowned champion yet. "This year should be exciting, we might not even get a human from earth." said one of the Argker in the crowd. "Oh right, their planet got completely overrun, didn't it? I dont even think there are any left. We should be getting a real beast today!" said his friend, sitting next to him and munching on the intergalactic equivalent of a hotdog. Though back in the control room, confusion arose. "Its been pacing around its cell for a few hours now. According to its DNA its clearly human, but theres something else we can't quite make out." Inside the cell a tall, brawny figure in green armor stood and inspected the walls of the room. He could break out with ease if it wanted to, but something was not right. He felt like he would encounter something huge soon, something with huge guts if he just stayed in the cell for now. "No matter, if its just a human we will likely see the usual disappointment and first blood as all other seasons. Now, its time. Order the announcements and open the gates." The gates open, the fighters are pushed out of their cells and the killing begins. The human slowly steps out, double barrel shotgun in hand. The Argker aliens made their biggest and last mistake bringing him here. As the human sees all the demon-like creatures enter the arena, only one thought crosses his mind.. # "RIP AND TEAR!"	I receive the confirmation that we got all the 150 species and we transfer them to the planet Terranavi. I’m the chief engineer of this planet and we needed such a planet to host this sort of event. We collect different species from different planets and putting them on a piece of rock that only habitable for some of them is not the way. We can change the weather patterns and we can control the oxygen and nitrogen levels along with other elements on the air to create a competitive fighting arena. Although, there are things that we can not control and some of the creatures react oddly to the environment and if they are not lucky enough to survive the conditions of this gorgeous planet and then they are not worthy of giving attention and they are usually a handful. This time we have 136 survivors out of 150. The last time we start the battle with only 120 and the rest of them died quickly to Juronna which is one of the dangerous species in this galaxy. If you are lucky enough to see and hear Juronna you might be able to live longer than five seconds. It can manipulate the shape of its own body and move faster than any creature and every time we have a live Juronna on this event the winner usually the same. The system display first-round results, 58 Survivors - 1 minute and 30 seconds to the big bang. The big bang is inspired by human terminology. In fact, we have one human down there fighting for its life. I check the terminal and look at the scoreboard. 1. Human 17 Kills 2. Juronna 16 Kills 3. Erinos 9 Kills. The human is actually going head to head with Juronna. This one is going to be spicy. --------------------------------- -Thank you for reading the story-
[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen.	"Checking in now in the livestock quandrant-" "Blarb, we can't call it-" "-the 'less developed' quadrant." Blarb waved a dismissive tentacle at Rankle and continued. "These participants are those that haven't mastered spaceflight or any reasonable level of technology, but still qualify for Contest based on their intelligence potential. They even have to be teleported here! They wouldn't be able to find this space station without someone bringing them along! What do you think our chances of having a grand champion from the less developed quadrant, Rank?" "Obviously, the odds are slim, Blarb. Last year's Contest was actually prolonged by weeks because the less developed contestants actually got along pretty well and didn't kill each other enough to reach the threshold to open their gates to the main arena." "That was a nightmare. I'm glad they've tweaked the rules this year, setting a three day time limit on that zone. Luckily, those contestants are generally biological in nature, so an extermination event will leave the zone clean and ready for next year." A high pitched screetch emitted from the grey cloud betweent the two commentators. Blarb and Rankle looked at each other, the cloud, then simultaneously returned to their microphones, pretending to have understood the higher being. "A notable participant is the human!" Blarb continued, forcing as much enthusiasm and interest into his voice as he could. "For the last 12 hours, it looks like she's been building a shelter! And it's made of biomass!" Rankle chuckled along to Blarb's tone. "Look at this summary, Rank. Humans are known for manipulating physical objects by applying force through other physical objects. This particular human was selected as a treat this year - records indicate that she is from a continent surrounded by oceans that have trapped some of the deadliest creatures of that planet there. Apart from growing up in such a hostile environment, she opted to train for even more combat with one of her planet's military factions! It is a little disappointing that she seems to be behaving a lot like last year's human.." "Oh yes! The tooth one!" Rankle had been genuinely curious about the class of humans called dentists. "I really thought he would use his teeth powers to rise to at least the top of the quadrant, but instead he ran and hid the whole time. We didn't even see any of the fear inducing antics they are known for on Earth!" Another trill from the vortex between them. Maybe it was hungry? Blarb returned to inspecting the human on the screen. "It looks like she's finished building the shelter, though from this angle it just looks like a giant pile of tree material with no discernable structure. Oh! And now she's going to try and provide some warmth for herself. When humans stay below a certain temperature, they stop functioning permanently, so we're probably going to see a bit of this in future." Blarb and Rankle leaned down to their screens, pushing their microphones away for a moment. "Is she self-terminating?" "Maybe she wanted to light one side of the shelter and the oxygen is higher than-" "Then why isn't she inside? When did she make a blanket?" "Is she feeding MORE oxygen into a combustion...?" The two straightened up and regained their composure. Rankle took the lead while Blarb watched the screens in silence. "Viewers of the contest, there's some interesting activity in the less developed quadrant that you all might want to witness. The human - yes, the human - has just initiated a combustion reaction at the edge of zone. Note that this is one of the highest oxygen zones in the Contest, and she is now hiding under a woven textile referred to in most cultures as a blanket. We don't know if this is an elaborate protest or simple self termination, but this is... this is going to devastate the quadrant." Blarb and Rankle watched in mute appreciation of the destruction ripping through the zone. A fire tore through the zone, spreading almost as fast as it would in a space station corridor, fed continually as the Contest's systems tried to bring the oxygen level up to baseline. There had been many acts of savagery in the history of the Contest, but these were generally in smaller one on one fights and the occasional two on ones when a hasty alliance was formed. This was unprecidented. Blarb was certain that in a few minutes, the livestock quadrant would be the first gate to open into the wider Contest, if there was anything left alive in there to release.	I receive the confirmation that we got all the 150 species and we transfer them to the planet Terranavi. I’m the chief engineer of this planet and we needed such a planet to host this sort of event. We collect different species from different planets and putting them on a piece of rock that only habitable for some of them is not the way. We can change the weather patterns and we can control the oxygen and nitrogen levels along with other elements on the air to create a competitive fighting arena. Although, there are things that we can not control and some of the creatures react oddly to the environment and if they are not lucky enough to survive the conditions of this gorgeous planet and then they are not worthy of giving attention and they are usually a handful. This time we have 136 survivors out of 150. The last time we start the battle with only 120 and the rest of them died quickly to Juronna which is one of the dangerous species in this galaxy. If you are lucky enough to see and hear Juronna you might be able to live longer than five seconds. It can manipulate the shape of its own body and move faster than any creature and every time we have a live Juronna on this event the winner usually the same. The system display first-round results, 58 Survivors - 1 minute and 30 seconds to the big bang. The big bang is inspired by human terminology. In fact, we have one human down there fighting for its life. I check the terminal and look at the scoreboard. 1. Human 17 Kills 2. Juronna 16 Kills 3. Erinos 9 Kills. The human is actually going head to head with Juronna. This one is going to be spicy. --------------------------------- -Thank you for reading the story-
[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen.	Millions of sentient species and billions of inhabited worlds made for a startling array of natural killers. It also made for an even wider range of amusing, but useless fodder. Creatures like the organic-mechanical Spithai, with their internal fusion generators, and naturally-grown plasma throwers; or the Eternal Raxaxis, hide like titanium, fast healing, sole member of his race, and winner of the Intergalactic Battle Royale over 426 times: these would be the fights to watch. Others, such as the gelatinous Bolgan, whose guts poured out at the slightest prick, or the greasy meat-sacks called humans, who usually just squealed, maybe threw a rock, would be the bloody clown-show before the main event. Humans had almost no fans. Occasionally a young grizling might like the way they look and choose to root for them, perhaps some rebellious adolescent, looking for a way to stand out. One such adolescent was Pergi. Oh, she didn't color her tendrils in odd ways, wear piercings in her glabulai, or turn her loopeck inside out. She just saw things differently. Perhaps it was her innate intelligence - far exceeding her parents' rating of 89.9 brain spasms per second. Or it could have been her kind and loving hearts. Creatures like the Spithai were made for battle, she thought. They probably liked being chosen. It was a cruelty to kidnap all these softer beings and force them to fight and die. The screams of the humans always seemed to affect her most, as being especially pitiful. But Pergi didn't just sit in the almost empty human section and root for a hopeless species. She decided to look into the history of human subjects. The first couple, about 150,000 standard cycles ago, managed to put up a bit of a fight, but still lost to more advanced, or naturally deadly species. It was then deemed that the specimens had been too small. Only larger, more fully mature specimens had been chosen - generally about 60-70 cycles old, and between 300 and 400 galactic pounds. These fared even worse. The 600 pound human was the most pathetic of all. It couldn't even roll out of it's cage. A gravity projector had to be used to lift it to it's very messy end against a slow-moving Cloom worm. Pergi looked at scans of the muscle structure, large brain, and forward-facing eyes of the humans. It occurred to her that the specimens chosen for sheer size and chronological age might not be the best that this species had to offer. What if the younger and trimmer ones were actually the more formidable humans? What if they didn't just get more deadly with age like most species, but sort of faded away? What if all that extra glutinous mass was not a defense mechanism, but a sign of an unhealthy human? She applied to the Great Mind and asked to change the parameters for selection of this year's human. The Great Mind responded: "Why not? They can't get any worse." Thus it was that Pergi sat in the nearly empty human section, alone but for an infant and a male who had been drunk when choosing fan sections. She watched the human stall with a tiny grain of hope amidst a massive dose of fatalism. Finally it appeared in a flash of light. This human was dressed in some kind of thick armored clothing. It wore a helmet, and had many pouches and pockets all over it's cumbersome-looking clothing. Some kind of mechanical weapon, black and deadly-looking, was being pointed in every direction as the human tried to figure out where it was. Then the translated voice of the Great Mind spoke to it and explained it's circumstances. Instead of losing it's mind like the last human in it's place, this one merely took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Well, fuck me." It said. "You will now be given a moment to be encouraged by your fans." said the Great Mind. "Hoo-ra." Said the human. "Huuuuuumannn!", said the infant. "At least kill something!" said the miserable male. "Are you a warrior?" asked Pergi. "1st marines. Second division." "What? "Yes. I fight in wars. I am a warrior." Pergi was exited. "I knew it! I knew they had it wrong!" She looked at the human's primary weapon. "Is that a projectile launcher with non-renewable ammunition?" The marine thought for a moment. "Yes. You got anything better for me? Phaser gun maybe?" "Each species fights only with what the have on them upon arrival. I can't give you another weapon, but I can tell you to conserve your ammunition. This round of combat is mainly for species with little or no defensive capabilities." The marine nodded. "Thanks." Just then the buzzer went off and the cage was opened. The marine was pushed out by a force-field. A few steps into the arena they faced the first of their opponents. It looked like a slowly rolling ball of jelly with one tentacle sticking out. The marine drew his combat knife, swiftly walked up, and slashed off it's tentacle, before opening it's gelatinous body and spilling it's guts. The next was a slug the size of a large dog. It spat some sort of goo, but the marine blinded it by emptying the contents of a salt packet in it's eyes, and stabbed it 34 times to finish the poor creature. This progressed into the first round of the true Battle Royale. The marine hung back and defended one corner of the arena while hundreds of other creatures killed each-other in a multitude of ways. He was forced to empty the first clip of his side-arm, but otherwise took Pergi's advice and conserved ammunition. By this time some of the fans of the failed species had come over to join the human section. They began to cheer the marine more and more loudly with each kill. As he finally beat an armored Tantilor to death with the severed horn of a Grak Lion, humanity's new fanbase was prepared too love the bipedal primitives from Earth for centuries to come. There was a break, while the victor of the first Battle was given an injection of restorative chemicals. Pergi spoke to the human once more. "You were amazing!" "Thanks to your advice. Got any tips for the next round?" Pergi thought about it while other fans cheered on their new hero. "This is the round with all the most deadly species in the galaxy. You will probably die, but if you are careful and smart like before, there is a small chance that you will live." "What do I get if I win?" "Whatever you want. Plus your species will be invited to the galactic council." "Roger that." The final round was long and unimaginably violent. The marine did his best to stay out of the way, letting the others tire themselves out killing each-other. All the while he studied their moves. When it was finally down to the predictable fusion-powered Spithai, and nearly invincible Raxaxis, and the totally unexpected human, the marine had formulated a plan. He was completely out of ammunition, but he still had one grenade. He waited until the Spithai charged it's super-heated plasma canon arm, ran up behind it and shoved his knife as deep as it would go into the Spithai's back, close to its power core. He twisted the blade as it began to melt away in the heat of the Spithai's core. Just as the nanites in its blood began to seal the breach, he shoved in his last grenade, burning his hand to a crisp. He then picked up the Spithai and raised it above his head with all his strength. The huge form of Raxaxis loomed over them and prepared to swallow them both. As the gaping maw came hurtling down, he shoved the Spithai into it and ducked down. The jaws clamped shut, severing both of his arms and scraping off most of his face and scalp, but he forced himself to roll between the creature's legs and away from it's head. The titanium hide of Raxaxis was enough to contain the explosion, but it's softer insides were not. Raxaxis the Eternal fell, a burned-out husk. It would recover later, but the human had won. He would later be given new and better arms, as well as a new, completely customizable face. He would go on to become ambassador of the human race, and was integral in the assassination of the Great Mind.	I receive the confirmation that we got all the 150 species and we transfer them to the planet Terranavi. I’m the chief engineer of this planet and we needed such a planet to host this sort of event. We collect different species from different planets and putting them on a piece of rock that only habitable for some of them is not the way. We can change the weather patterns and we can control the oxygen and nitrogen levels along with other elements on the air to create a competitive fighting arena. Although, there are things that we can not control and some of the creatures react oddly to the environment and if they are not lucky enough to survive the conditions of this gorgeous planet and then they are not worthy of giving attention and they are usually a handful. This time we have 136 survivors out of 150. The last time we start the battle with only 120 and the rest of them died quickly to Juronna which is one of the dangerous species in this galaxy. If you are lucky enough to see and hear Juronna you might be able to live longer than five seconds. It can manipulate the shape of its own body and move faster than any creature and every time we have a live Juronna on this event the winner usually the same. The system display first-round results, 58 Survivors - 1 minute and 30 seconds to the big bang. The big bang is inspired by human terminology. In fact, we have one human down there fighting for its life. I check the terminal and look at the scoreboard. 1. Human 17 Kills 2. Juronna 16 Kills 3. Erinos 9 Kills. The human is actually going head to head with Juronna. This one is going to be spicy. --------------------------------- -Thank you for reading the story-
[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen.	Cracked spear shaft slowly brought to a defensive point. A shaky bloodied hand holds the spear forward, left eye no longer rests in the orbital socket of the hairless ape. How the hell did such a turn of events take place. A human. A stinking, wretched, fucking human. Year after year my bets were made good. Of course there was always a loss here and there but...where was the sport in constantly winning. There was always the reputable species brought in. Reliant. steady. And above all else.... profitable. All of it brought down by one fucking human. Every year they come in. Most of the time crying, shitting and pissing themselves. Pathetic. Barely able to stand on their legs as the more primal and apex races tear them to pieces. Don’t get me wrong, They are fun to watch. They break and rip apart in spectacular ways. And each year it’s always a little variety, a different color, maybe a female one to spice it up. Screaming and babbling a different primitive language each time they enter the arena. Pathetic. Weak. Stinking. Of course this is the year the weak fucking pieces of meat bring an ounce of iron. they’ve now embarrassed me. Just as I’ve become a lord among the elites, A owner and commander of my very own system. To do with as I please. Canters scaly hand brings the chalice to his lower mandible. The oily burning liquid slides down his bony trachea. It’s a long sip from the cup. Too long. The other elites notice. It’s a drink of frustration. He drops the chalice with a hard clang on the table in front of him. And releases a deep, loud and obnoxious sigh. Much to the surprise of the other elites, Canter rises out of his seat and screeches loud enough for the remaining species in the arena to hear... SLAUGHTER THAT PIECE OF STINKING MEAT AND FUCKING GET ON WITH IT NOW!!!!! Horthar is not supposed to be here. He’s heard that quite frequently in his life. Said often by his own father. But it was said with endearment. Horthar was curious, it could’ve been a war council in the great hall with the other chiefs of the sister villages, he was a boy that would sit and listen to the plans of men. His father would always catch him hiding in the shadows. Hiding......listening.....learning. He never knew how his father did it. No one else could ever catch him, but his father always did. He’d wait till the council would leave and he’d walk over to Horthar as a young boy and grab him by the shoulders with a heavy set of hands. Horthar always winced that his father would chastise him ....but he never did. He’d simply grab him by the chin and raise his eyes to meet his own gaze and would say it...... “you are not supposed to be here” But he was. He was learning. Listening. Watching. Becoming and hoping to be half the leader his father was. And his father saw it. And he loved him for it. That was a long time ago. Now he stands alone. Bleeding. Half blind. Struggling to keep himself standing. The last hour of his life had been the most afraid he’d ever been. He didn’t know how he’d survived as long as he had. The monstrosities he’d slain DIDNT know that though. Fear was last thing they thought Horthar was as he hacked, beat, clubbed, stabbed, bit, and gored very single one of them. Every one that came for him. Fell. Not without a few pieces of Horthar of course...Three fingers, many layers of skin, most of the clothes from his back. One eye. A gaping hole in his side. Yet he stood. But so did the other. It was tall, muscular. Orange. Skin so taught across the bulging muscles that you could see the hidden bladed tentacles that slithered underneath. Waiting to whip out from the hidden pockets of flesh to tear pieces away from Horthar. It’s eyes....many eyes, were red with rage. It’s flexing, sucking, razored edged mouth dripping steaming drool onto the arena floor. It was angry. It was hungry. And Horthar was all that was left. He takes a deep breath and stares at the muscular orange monstrosity in front of him.... he’s not supposed to be here. He should be guiding his sons of his favorite hunting trail. Telling them stories, teaching them, watching them learn and become better hunters. Better leaders than Horthar himself. But the hunting always felt secondary. He simply just enjoyed the time with his sons. He took pride in their curious nature. When his youngest son hesitated the first time He drew his bow to kill a buck...he didn’t get angry. In fact. His heart swelled. He knew that his son understood the value of a life. To take it away is a action you can’t take back. It becomes a responsibility. He laid his hand on his sons shoulder as he walked with him to slain buck. Telling him that he was proud of him, that he understood why he hesitated. That it made him proud he did. But now he could never hesitate again. Now his son understood. To take life is not a gift. It’s a terrible action you can’t take back. But in a world of things wanting to kill you, and the people you love, you must kill. He wished he was walking back into his village, his home. He missed the smell of his home. The sounds, the warmth. The way there was a small draft near the left corner of the den, because a storm the harvest before had blown through and cracked the foundation. But he didn’t fix it. He liked the cold air that flowed throughout their home. He missed his wife. He wished she was taking his bearded face into her hands and laying a kiss on his cheek like she had a thousand times before. He wished he could hear her voice. The way she sang to the boys. The way she said his name deep in the night as they loved one another. Would she be safe without him there? Would the boys be ready enough to protect their home?Would the village be ready for invaders, or a great plague, would the fish be plenty from the boats, would the harvest be bountiful, would there be enough for the village, would eve- He clears his mind. The village. His wife. His sons. They would be okay. He grips the spear shaft tighter into his hands. The village would be okay. He had lead them through many hardships. Of many degrees. He had taught them well, he had lead them. He watched them grow. The village would survive, not because of horthar, but because of its people. He brings the point of the spear into his single left field view. He aims it at the beast before him. He hears a voice from the crowd. They had been silent this entire time. The voice is loud, and irritated, it’s foreign, unlike anything he had ever heard. It was angry.... desperate. And it wasn’t aimed at him, no.....it was directed at the other creature. It didn’t matter. There was a long silent pause. The voice from the crowd had done something unnatural for such a event it seemed...the silence was now one of confusion, and anxiety. Horthar raised the spear above his head. He answered the aliens desperate scream. He answered it with a roar of his own. A war cry. He was now running. Horthar’s wife would be okay. She was stronger than even horthar himself. Kind. Patient. Fierce. She would be there, she would always be a voice of reason, and a voice of leadership if needed. He would always love her, and she would always love him. Horthar is charging the beast. His war cry overpowering the beasts own roar. The beast is now charging toward horthar. Horthars sons would be strong. They would be great men, great leaders....and hopefully....the Gods willing....even better fathers. They would lead his village, they would lead them to new places, to see new things. To help the people learn, and listen, and become a better people outside of what they’ve known. His sons would teach their own sons the things he taught them. Just like his father had taught him, and his father before him. He was proud of his sons, and he knew they would be okay. Horthar lunges toward the beast, screaming, spear pointed forward as the beat leaps at him, claws outstretched, mouth gaping and roaring, razor tippled tentacles lashing out. Horthar closes his eyes. Horthar wasn’t supposed to be there. But that didn’t matter. He was. And that was enough. Thank you for reading. I really kinda just typed as I thought. Really just threw up all of the words. But I enjoyed this. I hope you do as well. I’m not sure if you’ll take anything from it, I don’t even know if I meant for you too. But hey, all is love and war in sci fi. Enjoy you beautiful bastards, if you don’t enjoy it, you’re just a bastard. Kidding. Kinda.	I receive the confirmation that we got all the 150 species and we transfer them to the planet Terranavi. I’m the chief engineer of this planet and we needed such a planet to host this sort of event. We collect different species from different planets and putting them on a piece of rock that only habitable for some of them is not the way. We can change the weather patterns and we can control the oxygen and nitrogen levels along with other elements on the air to create a competitive fighting arena. Although, there are things that we can not control and some of the creatures react oddly to the environment and if they are not lucky enough to survive the conditions of this gorgeous planet and then they are not worthy of giving attention and they are usually a handful. This time we have 136 survivors out of 150. The last time we start the battle with only 120 and the rest of them died quickly to Juronna which is one of the dangerous species in this galaxy. If you are lucky enough to see and hear Juronna you might be able to live longer than five seconds. It can manipulate the shape of its own body and move faster than any creature and every time we have a live Juronna on this event the winner usually the same. The system display first-round results, 58 Survivors - 1 minute and 30 seconds to the big bang. The big bang is inspired by human terminology. In fact, we have one human down there fighting for its life. I check the terminal and look at the scoreboard. 1. Human 17 Kills 2. Juronna 16 Kills 3. Erinos 9 Kills. The human is actually going head to head with Juronna. This one is going to be spicy. --------------------------------- -Thank you for reading the story-
[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen.	"Sir... I think we've made a mistake" The alien overlord looked at his servant, he was trembling. "It is only a human, how can this be so frightening to you?" The overlord looked at the camera, the recording was showing the cells but... it was chaos down there. "I NEED TO KNOW WHAT IS GOING ON" The overlord screamed His servant looked at him as asking for mercy "I'm... sorry sir..." the servant said slowly and scared "We took... a human from mars and... hell was there..." "Hell?" the overlord was curious "How was hell there?" The door opened behind them, there it was, a human figure, with a green full body armor, holding the head of one of the overlord elite soldiers... "Rip... and... tear!" The human said before charging for them.	I receive the confirmation that we got all the 150 species and we transfer them to the planet Terranavi. I’m the chief engineer of this planet and we needed such a planet to host this sort of event. We collect different species from different planets and putting them on a piece of rock that only habitable for some of them is not the way. We can change the weather patterns and we can control the oxygen and nitrogen levels along with other elements on the air to create a competitive fighting arena. Although, there are things that we can not control and some of the creatures react oddly to the environment and if they are not lucky enough to survive the conditions of this gorgeous planet and then they are not worthy of giving attention and they are usually a handful. This time we have 136 survivors out of 150. The last time we start the battle with only 120 and the rest of them died quickly to Juronna which is one of the dangerous species in this galaxy. If you are lucky enough to see and hear Juronna you might be able to live longer than five seconds. It can manipulate the shape of its own body and move faster than any creature and every time we have a live Juronna on this event the winner usually the same. The system display first-round results, 58 Survivors - 1 minute and 30 seconds to the big bang. The big bang is inspired by human terminology. In fact, we have one human down there fighting for its life. I check the terminal and look at the scoreboard. 1. Human 17 Kills 2. Juronna 16 Kills 3. Erinos 9 Kills. The human is actually going head to head with Juronna. This one is going to be spicy. --------------------------------- -Thank you for reading the story-
[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen.	Humans were quite the anomaly within the galaxy - unsophisticated, lacking any sort of psychokinesis, magic, or other advanced mental abilities, they had resorted to using tools and each other as ways to progress. Early humans summoned would speak in guttural tones, carrying sharpened stone and being muscled enough to take out similarly primitive creatures, though the more advanced ones were able to burn or shatter the creatures with relative ease - unless the human got the jump on them. Soon, summoned humans became more and more advanced. Still lacking any type of mental ability, they overcame this by creating weapons that were able to launch smaller physical projectiles with violent force, a veritable long shot from casting an attack by reading a passage from a tome or thinking hard enough. Humans seemed to catch on as the years progressed, with some of the armour-plated ones now carrying golden faceplates that could, surprisingly, null mental attacks. Not everyone had them, and no human had claimed victory yet, but now a human from their calendar’s twenty-thirty-first year had arrived, and things were finally looking up for the gold-clad biped who always bet on this species. This human was a one Sergeant Kazakov, whom had been in the process of field-testing a new design for plate-carrier rigs. Finding himself within a glass cage, he realized that this was likely the ‘strange disappearances throughout history’ that the higher-ups didn’t want the populace to know about. Kazakov adjusted his full-face helmet, checking his night-vision goggles and thermal sights, before tightening to Kevlar plates strapped to his arms and legs, as well as the large three-piece armour plate that covered his torso, back, and lower areas. The sergeant didn’t know what to expect, but by god he would test this armour. The rules were laid out in his head by an unseen voice; be the last one alive and you return home with a prize. Kazakov pulled back the charging handle on his AN-94 pattern rifle, and did a couple of hops in his limited room to hype himself up. The forest he found himself in was unlike any he’d seen prior - black trees, blue grass, and the light of two moons hardly piercing the leaf canopy above. That’s what the night-vision was for, and he pulled the four-eyed goggles down over his ballistic faceplate. A thin veil of green light showed him all the things on the forest floor that would’ve tripped him had he not had the ability to see. This green light also showed Kazakov his first target - a four-legged creature that was mostly brain for a head (or so it appeared, at least) with a cloak covering most of it’s body. Kazakov aimed his rifle and tapped the trigger once, sending a burst of two rounds faster than the recoil could hit the armoured shoulder of Kazakov, and the shots hit the massive brain of his target. An ear-piercing scream filled the air that might’ve deafened the soldier had he not been wearing the issued earplugs that almost completely deafened him already. The creature fell to the ground, spurting a liquid that wasn’t quite blood, though it’s colour couldn’t be seen by the sergeant through the green. Once more the voice returned, ordering a ceasefire as somehow a curator of the event had been killed, and the murderer was to be tried before a court of law. The biped in golden armour smirked beneath his mask. Not even he had expected that a fellow human would see a curator using a digital-imaging sight. Things were getting interesting, finally.	I receive the confirmation that we got all the 150 species and we transfer them to the planet Terranavi. I’m the chief engineer of this planet and we needed such a planet to host this sort of event. We collect different species from different planets and putting them on a piece of rock that only habitable for some of them is not the way. We can change the weather patterns and we can control the oxygen and nitrogen levels along with other elements on the air to create a competitive fighting arena. Although, there are things that we can not control and some of the creatures react oddly to the environment and if they are not lucky enough to survive the conditions of this gorgeous planet and then they are not worthy of giving attention and they are usually a handful. This time we have 136 survivors out of 150. The last time we start the battle with only 120 and the rest of them died quickly to Juronna which is one of the dangerous species in this galaxy. If you are lucky enough to see and hear Juronna you might be able to live longer than five seconds. It can manipulate the shape of its own body and move faster than any creature and every time we have a live Juronna on this event the winner usually the same. The system display first-round results, 58 Survivors - 1 minute and 30 seconds to the big bang. The big bang is inspired by human terminology. In fact, we have one human down there fighting for its life. I check the terminal and look at the scoreboard. 1. Human 17 Kills 2. Juronna 16 Kills 3. Erinos 9 Kills. The human is actually going head to head with Juronna. This one is going to be spicy. --------------------------------- -Thank you for reading the story-
[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen.	"You bet on the human?" my friend asks. "Tool-reliant creatures never do well." "Just got to get one with the right tools," I say. "We use tools, don't we?" "It's not the same." "Sure it is. If you had a weapon, instead of food, even you'd do pretty well. Have you seen their planet's record?" It was not a good record. Their planet used to do rather well, but... "No, I stopped caring when they stopped sending lizards. Mega-fauna always wins." He's not completely wrong, either. Big animals are hard to kill, and their sheer mass is a weapon. Smaller creatures hunt in packs. Twelve times out of thirteen, the victory goes to a big, intelligent carnivore that hunts alone. Humans are none of those. Humans are small. They rely on teamwork. They rely on tools. Without tools, they're weak, even by their own planet's standards. But, the Judges don't care about that. They care about aptitude, and species that use tools have a very high aptitude. We fall quiet as the arena is revealed. The contestants appear, frozen in the same position they were summoned. They are made to understand. Kill or be killed. Survivors are rewarded with freedom and more. I have always loved the area. It is massive, and tailored to the species that would be fighting in it. Rivers, forests, grasslands, mountains, deserts and canyons. I do not remember how many times I have seen it. It is still awe-inspiring. But, I don't have time for that. The contestants are about to start moving. With a bit of help, I spot it. Usually, they drop humans at the border between the grasslands and the forest. This year was no exception. It is a male, but the tools and textiles look a bit different this year. The textiles are mottled to make a form of primitive "camouflage." I say, "and the tools look familiar." The human moves. *** "That wasn't fair," my friend complains. "I'd have had that on lock if not for that human." "I told you," I say. "They just need the right tools." The human in question did not win. But, it did survive long enough to cause quite a few upsets. One of them being the a certain someone's favorite. Perhaps, the next one will do better. Then again, perhaps not.	I receive the confirmation that we got all the 150 species and we transfer them to the planet Terranavi. I’m the chief engineer of this planet and we needed such a planet to host this sort of event. We collect different species from different planets and putting them on a piece of rock that only habitable for some of them is not the way. We can change the weather patterns and we can control the oxygen and nitrogen levels along with other elements on the air to create a competitive fighting arena. Although, there are things that we can not control and some of the creatures react oddly to the environment and if they are not lucky enough to survive the conditions of this gorgeous planet and then they are not worthy of giving attention and they are usually a handful. This time we have 136 survivors out of 150. The last time we start the battle with only 120 and the rest of them died quickly to Juronna which is one of the dangerous species in this galaxy. If you are lucky enough to see and hear Juronna you might be able to live longer than five seconds. It can manipulate the shape of its own body and move faster than any creature and every time we have a live Juronna on this event the winner usually the same. The system display first-round results, 58 Survivors - 1 minute and 30 seconds to the big bang. The big bang is inspired by human terminology. In fact, we have one human down there fighting for its life. I check the terminal and look at the scoreboard. 1. Human 17 Kills 2. Juronna 16 Kills 3. Erinos 9 Kills. The human is actually going head to head with Juronna. This one is going to be spicy. --------------------------------- -Thank you for reading the story-
[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen.	One moment I was in the streets of Al-Fallujah, locked in a gunfight with Isis militants. The next, I was standing in some extraterrestrial super dome, shoulder to shoulder with an amalgam of terrifying creatures. At first, I think it a dream. But the metallic, scratched grip of my M4 responds all too familiarly, paried with my suspended dog tag, vibrating no longer from adrenaline, but fear. A feline creature with a wideset mouth, and reptilian features. A spider-like monstrosity with bioluminescent arms. A mammalian creature with praying mantis-like dagger appendages. More than two dozen creatures, all different sizes, all intimidating. 60 bullets. That's all my carbine has left. The buzzer sounds. The creatures, some being their nature, immediately attack each other. As otherworldly wails, shrieks, roars, clicks, electric explosions, and cacophonous sounds penetrate the air, I take the chance to drop to a darkly lit, blackly-growing vegetated cavern. It is here that I wait. In the relative safety of darkness. Sounds of dying creatures permeate the air. At first regular, the hours pass and the rhythm of dying animals lengthens. It is thus I sit in the darkness. "You are self-conscious, intelligent." The echoed voice rings in my head. A statement. An unspoken knowing. I rotate to the sound, M4 poised to release...A veinous, pulsing entity stands before me. More air than entity, the creature moves it arms. Its veinous strands detach and reattach quickly with each minute movement. It extends its arms, palms up, to me. "You and I will beat this," it says, before it takes me. Unwinding itself, it launches at me, wrapping around, avoiding the barrel of my gun. the creature nets itself onto me. It plunges its many nervous, spiked strands into my skin. Molding with me. The creature's veinous strands writhe into me, writhe into my gun, my grenades. Molding. "Interesting." I hear it. I hear us. We launch ourselves to the upper shelf, the battleground. A raptor-like creature with insect wings eyes us. As it begins a hunter's prowl toward us, we unleash. What was my M4 has now become an organic attachment. Biological bullets are sent forth. They tear through the creature. Spindling into the flesh upon impact. When the creature falls, the bullets crawl out of the corpse, and back up our legs and into our weapon. In this manner, we fell every beast. And we turn our attention to the wall. Our cage. We spider our appendage into the barrier. With our workings, we can feel the barrier failing under our assault. Soon, the beings that brought this hell will be the prey of their own prize.	I receive the confirmation that we got all the 150 species and we transfer them to the planet Terranavi. I’m the chief engineer of this planet and we needed such a planet to host this sort of event. We collect different species from different planets and putting them on a piece of rock that only habitable for some of them is not the way. We can change the weather patterns and we can control the oxygen and nitrogen levels along with other elements on the air to create a competitive fighting arena. Although, there are things that we can not control and some of the creatures react oddly to the environment and if they are not lucky enough to survive the conditions of this gorgeous planet and then they are not worthy of giving attention and they are usually a handful. This time we have 136 survivors out of 150. The last time we start the battle with only 120 and the rest of them died quickly to Juronna which is one of the dangerous species in this galaxy. If you are lucky enough to see and hear Juronna you might be able to live longer than five seconds. It can manipulate the shape of its own body and move faster than any creature and every time we have a live Juronna on this event the winner usually the same. The system display first-round results, 58 Survivors - 1 minute and 30 seconds to the big bang. The big bang is inspired by human terminology. In fact, we have one human down there fighting for its life. I check the terminal and look at the scoreboard. 1. Human 17 Kills 2. Juronna 16 Kills 3. Erinos 9 Kills. The human is actually going head to head with Juronna. This one is going to be spicy. --------------------------------- -Thank you for reading the story-
[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen.	The human soldier had been fighting without rest for three days. The enemies attacks had claimed the use of his right arm and maimed half his body, but still he fought on. As he closed his eyes during an all too frequent lull in the fighting and prayed death didn’t claim him, what was probably the last thing he could have expected to happen.... happened. He found himself in an arena, surrounded by cheering crowds and strange horrors the likes of which even his darkest nightmares could not have dreamed up, as a voice in his head bellowed, to the great pleasure of the crowd, that the “Great Battle Royale” was about to begin. Meanwhile above him, the organisers of the fight noticed something was off, the human was already injured, grevioiesly so, and covered in both his own and other humans blood, a handicap like this would break the spirit of the tournament so they started to make moves to send him back to Earth before the superior species of the Galaxy got to him. Right before they could however, it was their turn to face the unexpected, dropping to one knee the human braced his primitive, crude, but brutal rifle on his maimed arm and fired a single shot at the nearest foe, a Dog Warriors of Zargon Prime, one of the favourites for the tournament, and to their shock the large, heavy and archaic bullet from his gun passed without trouble through the Warriors shields and shattered the ceramic face plate, both of which were designed to provide maximum survivability against plasma weaponry, killing it instantly. He then did this nine more times, cycling the bolt with one hand while maintaining his aim and focus, wiping out most of his rivals in a hail of precision rifle fire, until all that were left was he and the Multi Armed Horror of the Terror Vortex, a creature rebound for its agility and fierce intelligence. In response, the human threw a rock, a strange metal rock the Horror caught with frightening ease, bribing close to its face to examine as it laughed at the pitiful attack, not noticing that the human has already dived for cover right before the grenade exploded, turning it from biology into physics. This primitive, crippled human defeating the greatest killers in the galaxy angered the organisers, so they sent their trump card against him, the previous champion, a being of pure combat and the upmost honour, a Royal Guard from the Vox Regime. But once again, things did not go their way, as the Guard entered the arena the human threw down his now empty rifle and drew an inward curving blade, pointing it at the new challenger before bellowing in what the local translation fields interpreted as “COME AND FIGHT A GURKAH!” at their champion who, to the organisers horror, obliged by stripping off his armour and abandoning all weapons save a single blade of his own, to make it a fair fight. He did not last 10 seconds in a fair fight, the human taking his head with shocking ease. Fearing what letting such a deadly fighting stick around would do, especially one from a species considered to barely be worth including due to their supposed weakness, the organisers hurriedly teleported him back to his trench on Earth, just in time for Lachhiman Gurung to see British reinforcements approaching to drive off the last Japanese attack.... Putting his experiences in the alien arena down to an injury and fatigued induced fever dream, the one armed Gurkha would never know he saved many other humans the horror of being abducted to be slaughtered for sport...	I receive the confirmation that we got all the 150 species and we transfer them to the planet Terranavi. I’m the chief engineer of this planet and we needed such a planet to host this sort of event. We collect different species from different planets and putting them on a piece of rock that only habitable for some of them is not the way. We can change the weather patterns and we can control the oxygen and nitrogen levels along with other elements on the air to create a competitive fighting arena. Although, there are things that we can not control and some of the creatures react oddly to the environment and if they are not lucky enough to survive the conditions of this gorgeous planet and then they are not worthy of giving attention and they are usually a handful. This time we have 136 survivors out of 150. The last time we start the battle with only 120 and the rest of them died quickly to Juronna which is one of the dangerous species in this galaxy. If you are lucky enough to see and hear Juronna you might be able to live longer than five seconds. It can manipulate the shape of its own body and move faster than any creature and every time we have a live Juronna on this event the winner usually the same. The system display first-round results, 58 Survivors - 1 minute and 30 seconds to the big bang. The big bang is inspired by human terminology. In fact, we have one human down there fighting for its life. I check the terminal and look at the scoreboard. 1. Human 17 Kills 2. Juronna 16 Kills 3. Erinos 9 Kills. The human is actually going head to head with Juronna. This one is going to be spicy. --------------------------------- -Thank you for reading the story-
[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen.	“We have an anomaly sir in the harvest for the battle royals.” “What is it Kleitus? Have you bought an amusing play thing for me today?” Kleitus shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. “Well we captured a human as per usual but this one is different.” The merciless overlord raised an eyebrow his finger hovering over the controls in his chairs arm. A press of a button would vaporise this servant as it had many before should he dissapoint. “The system says he’s technically a human but he’s clearly heavily modified, almost grotesque. Upon arrival he took stock of his surroundings, shouted “for the emporer” and promptly slaughter every other species in the holding area with a giant eagle shaped mace.” The overlord’s interest was peaked. He pressed a few buttons and brought up an image of the cell. There standing like a colossus clad in viscera stained armour decorated with wax seals and some sort of scripture was the human. His skull like helmet crackled with some sort of energy field built into a halo of Iron it’s dark eyes seemed to stare right through the camera into the overlords soul. For the first time in a millennia he felt a thrill of fear. “This thing is clearly too dangerous to be allowed to compete. We should recruit it instead Kleitus.” Kleitus shifted again warily eyeing the control pad. “We tried that sir, I sent in a dozen of your elite guard and a diplomat. The human simply said “suffer not the alien or the mutant to live” and smote the diplomat so hard with that mace one of the guard was blinded by bits of his skull. He dispatched the guards too.” “Well vent the atmosphere into space then man, have you no initiative.” “We did sir the armour he wears is apparently proof against the vacuum of space.” With a snarl of frustration the overlord slammed his fist on the keyboard and winced at the shriek of pain as Kleitus was incinerated. He hadn’t meant to do that. He called up the image of the cell once more to look upon this human specimen and puzzle what to do with them, instead he was horrified to see the room empty the steel door torn from its hinges. He pressed a button he never thought to use, his chair sank into the floor and started down the secret passage to his rocket ship. In the distance he heard the screaming start.	I receive the confirmation that we got all the 150 species and we transfer them to the planet Terranavi. I’m the chief engineer of this planet and we needed such a planet to host this sort of event. We collect different species from different planets and putting them on a piece of rock that only habitable for some of them is not the way. We can change the weather patterns and we can control the oxygen and nitrogen levels along with other elements on the air to create a competitive fighting arena. Although, there are things that we can not control and some of the creatures react oddly to the environment and if they are not lucky enough to survive the conditions of this gorgeous planet and then they are not worthy of giving attention and they are usually a handful. This time we have 136 survivors out of 150. The last time we start the battle with only 120 and the rest of them died quickly to Juronna which is one of the dangerous species in this galaxy. If you are lucky enough to see and hear Juronna you might be able to live longer than five seconds. It can manipulate the shape of its own body and move faster than any creature and every time we have a live Juronna on this event the winner usually the same. The system display first-round results, 58 Survivors - 1 minute and 30 seconds to the big bang. The big bang is inspired by human terminology. In fact, we have one human down there fighting for its life. I check the terminal and look at the scoreboard. 1. Human 17 Kills 2. Juronna 16 Kills 3. Erinos 9 Kills. The human is actually going head to head with Juronna. This one is going to be spicy. --------------------------------- -Thank you for reading the story-
[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen.	Khaleri'huik knows very well when a bet will prove profitable. It's always been a talent of his, the reason he thrived upon entering the underworld. Usually, his job involves illegal fight rings, males and females starved and pitted against each other, fighting veak and pincer to come out on top. To come out alive. In all his years as a professional, Khal has never been wrong in predicting who would win those fights. But now comes the hightlight of his year. The annual intergalactic battle royale, where unsuspecting species are plucked from their planets and duel in pairs until the best species prevails. It's a difficult competition for a coveted reward: the Wise One will favour the winner's planet until the next competition. Khal descends a flight of stairs to the cells of the competitors. His contacts grant him access each year, so he may gauge the odds. Most species are cowering in their cells. These are the ones who will be picked off first, Khal knows. The weak links, the ones who will be judged unfit and will not survive the arena. Some others are sitting, patiently awaiting the battle. Most of these are just plain brave, which is noble but doesn't constitute a winner. A couple others, namely the Gurgan and the Fritel, are species resistant to the mind wipe. That is, they come from civilisations who have known about ths competition from the very start and have prepared each generation since to win. To wipe the floor with the rest of the galaxy and win the Wise One's favour. It's always one of these two species who wins, their advantage unbeatable by their dumbfounded opponents. Khal always bets on one of them. This year, he decides against the Gurgan. There is scarring on its hide which speaks to greater debilitating injuries - Khal shudders to even think of something terrible enough to pierce a Gurgan hide. Nevertheless, their kind relies on their outer armour to protect the fragile guts. If the hide is pierced, those guts will be permanently damaged and give the victim much grief, provided the Gurgan survives. So, the Fritel it is this year. Khal turns to leave. He has seen enough. The guard's voice stops him. 'Don't you wanna take a look at the human, too? We got a real mean one this year'. Intrigued, Khal turns around. Humans are known to be the biggest weaklings in the Milky Way. They've always been the species that scares the most easily, water flowing on their faces as soon as they see half a pincer. 'Take me there,' he requests. The guard leads him down a corridor and to the left, to solitary. 'Right in here, Big K. We had to separate it because it was trying to whip the weak ones into a resistance. Plus, it was making a huge ruckus all the time and getting on our nerves'. Khal doesn't speak. Rather, he peers into the cube of one-way mirrors. The human is tall, bulky, and dressed in black. It carries a polished black tube and... is that a machete? It's banging the huge knife into the walls, shouting something. The soundproof cell contains it. Humans have been, historically, one of the worst bets in the competition. They were an easy way to lose a lot of money. However, Khal's intuition never steers him wrong, and there's something about this human. Something that simply screams 'winner'. Khal thanks the guard and leaves. The next day he places his bet. He doesn't bet on the Fritel. -- By the time the day of the competition arrives, Khal is stressed. He has staked a lot on his intuition by now, and there are people who will have his beak if he's wrong. The first few rounds are weak species, probably killing each other by accident. The human is one of the last ones to be let into the arena. It duels some of the previous winners and prevails. Then, the Gurgan is unleashed unto it. The human takes stock of the enormous Gurgan as it attacks. A sideways step and a clever stab of the machete right through the soft scar tissue, and the round is over. It's not long before the human and the Fritel are facing off as finalists. The human looks its opponent head-to-claw and, with its voice picked up and translated and amplified by a hundrend devices around the arena, asks: 'Do I really have to kill Mufasa? Again?'. The audience stays still. No one understands the meaning of the question. It would have gone unanswered anyway. The Fritel growls, and charges. The fight is longer by far than the one with the Gurgan, and more brutal. Khal has already started mourning his beautiful beak when the human, pinned underneath the Fritel and with no hope of survival, suddenly unleashes fire upon the species. The Fritel howls and falls backward, revealing to the audience a belly full of holes leaking purple blood. It thrashes a few times and stills. The human stands, wiping its grotesque crimson blood from its face. It turns to the main box where the Wise One watches and bellows, 'You happy, you ugly motherfucker? Can I leave now?' Khal listens absently to the Wise One grant her favout to Earth, commend the human and order for him to be mind-wiped and sent back. He doesn't really care. He only cares that he's much, much richer than he was five minutes ago and that his beak will remain attached to the rest of him for the foreseeable future. Ah, yes. Khaleri'huik does indeed know when a bet will prove profitable.	I receive the confirmation that we got all the 150 species and we transfer them to the planet Terranavi. I’m the chief engineer of this planet and we needed such a planet to host this sort of event. We collect different species from different planets and putting them on a piece of rock that only habitable for some of them is not the way. We can change the weather patterns and we can control the oxygen and nitrogen levels along with other elements on the air to create a competitive fighting arena. Although, there are things that we can not control and some of the creatures react oddly to the environment and if they are not lucky enough to survive the conditions of this gorgeous planet and then they are not worthy of giving attention and they are usually a handful. This time we have 136 survivors out of 150. The last time we start the battle with only 120 and the rest of them died quickly to Juronna which is one of the dangerous species in this galaxy. If you are lucky enough to see and hear Juronna you might be able to live longer than five seconds. It can manipulate the shape of its own body and move faster than any creature and every time we have a live Juronna on this event the winner usually the same. The system display first-round results, 58 Survivors - 1 minute and 30 seconds to the big bang. The big bang is inspired by human terminology. In fact, we have one human down there fighting for its life. I check the terminal and look at the scoreboard. 1. Human 17 Kills 2. Juronna 16 Kills 3. Erinos 9 Kills. The human is actually going head to head with Juronna. This one is going to be spicy. --------------------------------- -Thank you for reading the story-
[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen.	Millions of sentient species and billions of inhabited worlds made for a startling array of natural killers. It also made for an even wider range of amusing, but useless fodder. Creatures like the organic-mechanical Spithai, with their internal fusion generators, and naturally-grown plasma throwers; or the Eternal Raxaxis, hide like titanium, fast healing, sole member of his race, and winner of the Intergalactic Battle Royale over 426 times: these would be the fights to watch. Others, such as the gelatinous Bolgan, whose guts poured out at the slightest prick, or the greasy meat-sacks called humans, who usually just squealed, maybe threw a rock, would be the bloody clown-show before the main event. Humans had almost no fans. Occasionally a young grizling might like the way they look and choose to root for them, perhaps some rebellious adolescent, looking for a way to stand out. One such adolescent was Pergi. Oh, she didn't color her tendrils in odd ways, wear piercings in her glabulai, or turn her loopeck inside out. She just saw things differently. Perhaps it was her innate intelligence - far exceeding her parents' rating of 89.9 brain spasms per second. Or it could have been her kind and loving hearts. Creatures like the Spithai were made for battle, she thought. They probably liked being chosen. It was a cruelty to kidnap all these softer beings and force them to fight and die. The screams of the humans always seemed to affect her most, as being especially pitiful. But Pergi didn't just sit in the almost empty human section and root for a hopeless species. She decided to look into the history of human subjects. The first couple, about 150,000 standard cycles ago, managed to put up a bit of a fight, but still lost to more advanced, or naturally deadly species. It was then deemed that the specimens had been too small. Only larger, more fully mature specimens had been chosen - generally about 60-70 cycles old, and between 300 and 400 galactic pounds. These fared even worse. The 600 pound human was the most pathetic of all. It couldn't even roll out of it's cage. A gravity projector had to be used to lift it to it's very messy end against a slow-moving Cloom worm. Pergi looked at scans of the muscle structure, large brain, and forward-facing eyes of the humans. It occurred to her that the specimens chosen for sheer size and chronological age might not be the best that this species had to offer. What if the younger and trimmer ones were actually the more formidable humans? What if they didn't just get more deadly with age like most species, but sort of faded away? What if all that extra glutinous mass was not a defense mechanism, but a sign of an unhealthy human? She applied to the Great Mind and asked to change the parameters for selection of this year's human. The Great Mind responded: "Why not? They can't get any worse." Thus it was that Pergi sat in the nearly empty human section, alone but for an infant and a male who had been drunk when choosing fan sections. She watched the human stall with a tiny grain of hope amidst a massive dose of fatalism. Finally it appeared in a flash of light. This human was dressed in some kind of thick armored clothing. It wore a helmet, and had many pouches and pockets all over it's cumbersome-looking clothing. Some kind of mechanical weapon, black and deadly-looking, was being pointed in every direction as the human tried to figure out where it was. Then the translated voice of the Great Mind spoke to it and explained it's circumstances. Instead of losing it's mind like the last human in it's place, this one merely took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Well, fuck me." It said. "You will now be given a moment to be encouraged by your fans." said the Great Mind. "Hoo-ra." Said the human. "Huuuuuumannn!", said the infant. "At least kill something!" said the miserable male. "Are you a warrior?" asked Pergi. "1st marines. Second division." "What? "Yes. I fight in wars. I am a warrior." Pergi was exited. "I knew it! I knew they had it wrong!" She looked at the human's primary weapon. "Is that a projectile launcher with non-renewable ammunition?" The marine thought for a moment. "Yes. You got anything better for me? Phaser gun maybe?" "Each species fights only with what the have on them upon arrival. I can't give you another weapon, but I can tell you to conserve your ammunition. This round of combat is mainly for species with little or no defensive capabilities." The marine nodded. "Thanks." Just then the buzzer went off and the cage was opened. The marine was pushed out by a force-field. A few steps into the arena they faced the first of their opponents. It looked like a slowly rolling ball of jelly with one tentacle sticking out. The marine drew his combat knife, swiftly walked up, and slashed off it's tentacle, before opening it's gelatinous body and spilling it's guts. The next was a slug the size of a large dog. It spat some sort of goo, but the marine blinded it by emptying the contents of a salt packet in it's eyes, and stabbed it 34 times to finish the poor creature. This progressed into the first round of the true Battle Royale. The marine hung back and defended one corner of the arena while hundreds of other creatures killed each-other in a multitude of ways. He was forced to empty the first clip of his side-arm, but otherwise took Pergi's advice and conserved ammunition. By this time some of the fans of the failed species had come over to join the human section. They began to cheer the marine more and more loudly with each kill. As he finally beat an armored Tantilor to death with the severed horn of a Grak Lion, humanity's new fanbase was prepared too love the bipedal primitives from Earth for centuries to come. There was a break, while the victor of the first Battle was given an injection of restorative chemicals. Pergi spoke to the human once more. "You were amazing!" "Thanks to your advice. Got any tips for the next round?" Pergi thought about it while other fans cheered on their new hero. "This is the round with all the most deadly species in the galaxy. You will probably die, but if you are careful and smart like before, there is a small chance that you will live." "What do I get if I win?" "Whatever you want. Plus your species will be invited to the galactic council." "Roger that." The final round was long and unimaginably violent. The marine did his best to stay out of the way, letting the others tire themselves out killing each-other. All the while he studied their moves. When it was finally down to the predictable fusion-powered Spithai, and nearly invincible Raxaxis, and the totally unexpected human, the marine had formulated a plan. He was completely out of ammunition, but he still had one grenade. He waited until the Spithai charged it's super-heated plasma canon arm, ran up behind it and shoved his knife as deep as it would go into the Spithai's back, close to its power core. He twisted the blade as it began to melt away in the heat of the Spithai's core. Just as the nanites in its blood began to seal the breach, he shoved in his last grenade, burning his hand to a crisp. He then picked up the Spithai and raised it above his head with all his strength. The huge form of Raxaxis loomed over them and prepared to swallow them both. As the gaping maw came hurtling down, he shoved the Spithai into it and ducked down. The jaws clamped shut, severing both of his arms and scraping off most of his face and scalp, but he forced himself to roll between the creature's legs and away from it's head. The titanium hide of Raxaxis was enough to contain the explosion, but it's softer insides were not. Raxaxis the Eternal fell, a burned-out husk. It would recover later, but the human had won. He would later be given new and better arms, as well as a new, completely customizable face. He would go on to become ambassador of the human race, and was integral in the assassination of the Great Mind.	In a flash all the contestants were ready. 34 creatures from 34 different planets around the galaxy, all known for their exceptional violence, ruthlessness, and physical prowess... All except one. Every cycle, the Great One chooses the same 34 species, and every cycle another one of the pathetic humans are torn to shreds, melted into a puddle, or driven mad by the mere sight of the competition. Two appendages for manipulation, two for movement, at least half or sometimes even a third as many as most of the participants. Yet time and time again, the Great One throws them into the pit. Most of us think it's a joke, a test, a low bar, an example of the minimum requirement to even be considered for the Games. But SOME of us know better. From eons of watching these games, I've seen these humans change, just slightly. Gone is the thick brow and body hair, replaced with simple textiles. Plant-Fiber tools slowly replaced with stone, then basic metals. Last Cycle, we even had one with what seemed to be a primitive combat suit, clad in strong alloy, and wielding a weapon it very much knew how to use. This was no match for the other contestants, of course, but some of the craftier ones among us started to recognize the pattern... This was the year we really doubled down. If a fully clad soldier had been the last human, then surely this one would be formidable. Which is why my soul sank when I saw what I'd bet my fortune on. The armor was all but entirely missing. A simple helmet and chest plating? A weapon without a single slicing edge in sight? Not even a point, just a hollow metal tube... The alarm sounded, the cages fell, and I had all but given up. Right at the start, the Quadruple Pincered Cephalopod of Talkon-5 slithered its way towards this pathetic excuse of a creature, sure to be bisected before I could even blink... That's when the first series of small explosions rang out across the arena... And the Cephalopod was reduced to what the humans would call "Chunky Salsa". I don't think anyone expected a projectile weapon, especially not one powered by handheld explosive force. What kind of idiot race would make weapons that explode that close them? Though to its credit, we've never had a faster winner in the games.
[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen.	Cracked spear shaft slowly brought to a defensive point. A shaky bloodied hand holds the spear forward, left eye no longer rests in the orbital socket of the hairless ape. How the hell did such a turn of events take place. A human. A stinking, wretched, fucking human. Year after year my bets were made good. Of course there was always a loss here and there but...where was the sport in constantly winning. There was always the reputable species brought in. Reliant. steady. And above all else.... profitable. All of it brought down by one fucking human. Every year they come in. Most of the time crying, shitting and pissing themselves. Pathetic. Barely able to stand on their legs as the more primal and apex races tear them to pieces. Don’t get me wrong, They are fun to watch. They break and rip apart in spectacular ways. And each year it’s always a little variety, a different color, maybe a female one to spice it up. Screaming and babbling a different primitive language each time they enter the arena. Pathetic. Weak. Stinking. Of course this is the year the weak fucking pieces of meat bring an ounce of iron. they’ve now embarrassed me. Just as I’ve become a lord among the elites, A owner and commander of my very own system. To do with as I please. Canters scaly hand brings the chalice to his lower mandible. The oily burning liquid slides down his bony trachea. It’s a long sip from the cup. Too long. The other elites notice. It’s a drink of frustration. He drops the chalice with a hard clang on the table in front of him. And releases a deep, loud and obnoxious sigh. Much to the surprise of the other elites, Canter rises out of his seat and screeches loud enough for the remaining species in the arena to hear... SLAUGHTER THAT PIECE OF STINKING MEAT AND FUCKING GET ON WITH IT NOW!!!!! Horthar is not supposed to be here. He’s heard that quite frequently in his life. Said often by his own father. But it was said with endearment. Horthar was curious, it could’ve been a war council in the great hall with the other chiefs of the sister villages, he was a boy that would sit and listen to the plans of men. His father would always catch him hiding in the shadows. Hiding......listening.....learning. He never knew how his father did it. No one else could ever catch him, but his father always did. He’d wait till the council would leave and he’d walk over to Horthar as a young boy and grab him by the shoulders with a heavy set of hands. Horthar always winced that his father would chastise him ....but he never did. He’d simply grab him by the chin and raise his eyes to meet his own gaze and would say it...... “you are not supposed to be here” But he was. He was learning. Listening. Watching. Becoming and hoping to be half the leader his father was. And his father saw it. And he loved him for it. That was a long time ago. Now he stands alone. Bleeding. Half blind. Struggling to keep himself standing. The last hour of his life had been the most afraid he’d ever been. He didn’t know how he’d survived as long as he had. The monstrosities he’d slain DIDNT know that though. Fear was last thing they thought Horthar was as he hacked, beat, clubbed, stabbed, bit, and gored very single one of them. Every one that came for him. Fell. Not without a few pieces of Horthar of course...Three fingers, many layers of skin, most of the clothes from his back. One eye. A gaping hole in his side. Yet he stood. But so did the other. It was tall, muscular. Orange. Skin so taught across the bulging muscles that you could see the hidden bladed tentacles that slithered underneath. Waiting to whip out from the hidden pockets of flesh to tear pieces away from Horthar. It’s eyes....many eyes, were red with rage. It’s flexing, sucking, razored edged mouth dripping steaming drool onto the arena floor. It was angry. It was hungry. And Horthar was all that was left. He takes a deep breath and stares at the muscular orange monstrosity in front of him.... he’s not supposed to be here. He should be guiding his sons of his favorite hunting trail. Telling them stories, teaching them, watching them learn and become better hunters. Better leaders than Horthar himself. But the hunting always felt secondary. He simply just enjoyed the time with his sons. He took pride in their curious nature. When his youngest son hesitated the first time He drew his bow to kill a buck...he didn’t get angry. In fact. His heart swelled. He knew that his son understood the value of a life. To take it away is a action you can’t take back. It becomes a responsibility. He laid his hand on his sons shoulder as he walked with him to slain buck. Telling him that he was proud of him, that he understood why he hesitated. That it made him proud he did. But now he could never hesitate again. Now his son understood. To take life is not a gift. It’s a terrible action you can’t take back. But in a world of things wanting to kill you, and the people you love, you must kill. He wished he was walking back into his village, his home. He missed the smell of his home. The sounds, the warmth. The way there was a small draft near the left corner of the den, because a storm the harvest before had blown through and cracked the foundation. But he didn’t fix it. He liked the cold air that flowed throughout their home. He missed his wife. He wished she was taking his bearded face into her hands and laying a kiss on his cheek like she had a thousand times before. He wished he could hear her voice. The way she sang to the boys. The way she said his name deep in the night as they loved one another. Would she be safe without him there? Would the boys be ready enough to protect their home?Would the village be ready for invaders, or a great plague, would the fish be plenty from the boats, would the harvest be bountiful, would there be enough for the village, would eve- He clears his mind. The village. His wife. His sons. They would be okay. He grips the spear shaft tighter into his hands. The village would be okay. He had lead them through many hardships. Of many degrees. He had taught them well, he had lead them. He watched them grow. The village would survive, not because of horthar, but because of its people. He brings the point of the spear into his single left field view. He aims it at the beast before him. He hears a voice from the crowd. They had been silent this entire time. The voice is loud, and irritated, it’s foreign, unlike anything he had ever heard. It was angry.... desperate. And it wasn’t aimed at him, no.....it was directed at the other creature. It didn’t matter. There was a long silent pause. The voice from the crowd had done something unnatural for such a event it seemed...the silence was now one of confusion, and anxiety. Horthar raised the spear above his head. He answered the aliens desperate scream. He answered it with a roar of his own. A war cry. He was now running. Horthar’s wife would be okay. She was stronger than even horthar himself. Kind. Patient. Fierce. She would be there, she would always be a voice of reason, and a voice of leadership if needed. He would always love her, and she would always love him. Horthar is charging the beast. His war cry overpowering the beasts own roar. The beast is now charging toward horthar. Horthars sons would be strong. They would be great men, great leaders....and hopefully....the Gods willing....even better fathers. They would lead his village, they would lead them to new places, to see new things. To help the people learn, and listen, and become a better people outside of what they’ve known. His sons would teach their own sons the things he taught them. Just like his father had taught him, and his father before him. He was proud of his sons, and he knew they would be okay. Horthar lunges toward the beast, screaming, spear pointed forward as the beat leaps at him, claws outstretched, mouth gaping and roaring, razor tippled tentacles lashing out. Horthar closes his eyes. Horthar wasn’t supposed to be there. But that didn’t matter. He was. And that was enough. Thank you for reading. I really kinda just typed as I thought. Really just threw up all of the words. But I enjoyed this. I hope you do as well. I’m not sure if you’ll take anything from it, I don’t even know if I meant for you too. But hey, all is love and war in sci fi. Enjoy you beautiful bastards, if you don’t enjoy it, you’re just a bastard. Kidding. Kinda.	In a flash all the contestants were ready. 34 creatures from 34 different planets around the galaxy, all known for their exceptional violence, ruthlessness, and physical prowess... All except one. Every cycle, the Great One chooses the same 34 species, and every cycle another one of the pathetic humans are torn to shreds, melted into a puddle, or driven mad by the mere sight of the competition. Two appendages for manipulation, two for movement, at least half or sometimes even a third as many as most of the participants. Yet time and time again, the Great One throws them into the pit. Most of us think it's a joke, a test, a low bar, an example of the minimum requirement to even be considered for the Games. But SOME of us know better. From eons of watching these games, I've seen these humans change, just slightly. Gone is the thick brow and body hair, replaced with simple textiles. Plant-Fiber tools slowly replaced with stone, then basic metals. Last Cycle, we even had one with what seemed to be a primitive combat suit, clad in strong alloy, and wielding a weapon it very much knew how to use. This was no match for the other contestants, of course, but some of the craftier ones among us started to recognize the pattern... This was the year we really doubled down. If a fully clad soldier had been the last human, then surely this one would be formidable. Which is why my soul sank when I saw what I'd bet my fortune on. The armor was all but entirely missing. A simple helmet and chest plating? A weapon without a single slicing edge in sight? Not even a point, just a hollow metal tube... The alarm sounded, the cages fell, and I had all but given up. Right at the start, the Quadruple Pincered Cephalopod of Talkon-5 slithered its way towards this pathetic excuse of a creature, sure to be bisected before I could even blink... That's when the first series of small explosions rang out across the arena... And the Cephalopod was reduced to what the humans would call "Chunky Salsa". I don't think anyone expected a projectile weapon, especially not one powered by handheld explosive force. What kind of idiot race would make weapons that explode that close them? Though to its credit, we've never had a faster winner in the games.
[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen.	"Checking in now in the livestock quandrant-" "Blarb, we can't call it-" "-the 'less developed' quadrant." Blarb waved a dismissive tentacle at Rankle and continued. "These participants are those that haven't mastered spaceflight or any reasonable level of technology, but still qualify for Contest based on their intelligence potential. They even have to be teleported here! They wouldn't be able to find this space station without someone bringing them along! What do you think our chances of having a grand champion from the less developed quadrant, Rank?" "Obviously, the odds are slim, Blarb. Last year's Contest was actually prolonged by weeks because the less developed contestants actually got along pretty well and didn't kill each other enough to reach the threshold to open their gates to the main arena." "That was a nightmare. I'm glad they've tweaked the rules this year, setting a three day time limit on that zone. Luckily, those contestants are generally biological in nature, so an extermination event will leave the zone clean and ready for next year." A high pitched screetch emitted from the grey cloud betweent the two commentators. Blarb and Rankle looked at each other, the cloud, then simultaneously returned to their microphones, pretending to have understood the higher being. "A notable participant is the human!" Blarb continued, forcing as much enthusiasm and interest into his voice as he could. "For the last 12 hours, it looks like she's been building a shelter! And it's made of biomass!" Rankle chuckled along to Blarb's tone. "Look at this summary, Rank. Humans are known for manipulating physical objects by applying force through other physical objects. This particular human was selected as a treat this year - records indicate that she is from a continent surrounded by oceans that have trapped some of the deadliest creatures of that planet there. Apart from growing up in such a hostile environment, she opted to train for even more combat with one of her planet's military factions! It is a little disappointing that she seems to be behaving a lot like last year's human.." "Oh yes! The tooth one!" Rankle had been genuinely curious about the class of humans called dentists. "I really thought he would use his teeth powers to rise to at least the top of the quadrant, but instead he ran and hid the whole time. We didn't even see any of the fear inducing antics they are known for on Earth!" Another trill from the vortex between them. Maybe it was hungry? Blarb returned to inspecting the human on the screen. "It looks like she's finished building the shelter, though from this angle it just looks like a giant pile of tree material with no discernable structure. Oh! And now she's going to try and provide some warmth for herself. When humans stay below a certain temperature, they stop functioning permanently, so we're probably going to see a bit of this in future." Blarb and Rankle leaned down to their screens, pushing their microphones away for a moment. "Is she self-terminating?" "Maybe she wanted to light one side of the shelter and the oxygen is higher than-" "Then why isn't she inside? When did she make a blanket?" "Is she feeding MORE oxygen into a combustion...?" The two straightened up and regained their composure. Rankle took the lead while Blarb watched the screens in silence. "Viewers of the contest, there's some interesting activity in the less developed quadrant that you all might want to witness. The human - yes, the human - has just initiated a combustion reaction at the edge of zone. Note that this is one of the highest oxygen zones in the Contest, and she is now hiding under a woven textile referred to in most cultures as a blanket. We don't know if this is an elaborate protest or simple self termination, but this is... this is going to devastate the quadrant." Blarb and Rankle watched in mute appreciation of the destruction ripping through the zone. A fire tore through the zone, spreading almost as fast as it would in a space station corridor, fed continually as the Contest's systems tried to bring the oxygen level up to baseline. There had been many acts of savagery in the history of the Contest, but these were generally in smaller one on one fights and the occasional two on ones when a hasty alliance was formed. This was unprecidented. Blarb was certain that in a few minutes, the livestock quadrant would be the first gate to open into the wider Contest, if there was anything left alive in there to release.	Humans. Most of them are frail and are usually first blood. They cower in fear as the Prowlers and Gignids rip them apart. Some are different, some can put up a fight if they happen to have weapons on them, but none have been crowned champion yet. "This year should be exciting, we might not even get a human from earth." said one of the Argker in the crowd. "Oh right, their planet got completely overrun, didn't it? I dont even think there are any left. We should be getting a real beast today!" said his friend, sitting next to him and munching on the intergalactic equivalent of a hotdog. Though back in the control room, confusion arose. "Its been pacing around its cell for a few hours now. According to its DNA its clearly human, but theres something else we can't quite make out." Inside the cell a tall, brawny figure in green armor stood and inspected the walls of the room. He could break out with ease if it wanted to, but something was not right. He felt like he would encounter something huge soon, something with huge guts if he just stayed in the cell for now. "No matter, if its just a human we will likely see the usual disappointment and first blood as all other seasons. Now, its time. Order the announcements and open the gates." The gates open, the fighters are pushed out of their cells and the killing begins. The human slowly steps out, double barrel shotgun in hand. The Argker aliens made their biggest and last mistake bringing him here. As the human sees all the demon-like creatures enter the arena, only one thought crosses his mind.. # "RIP AND TEAR!"
[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen.	Millions of sentient species and billions of inhabited worlds made for a startling array of natural killers. It also made for an even wider range of amusing, but useless fodder. Creatures like the organic-mechanical Spithai, with their internal fusion generators, and naturally-grown plasma throwers; or the Eternal Raxaxis, hide like titanium, fast healing, sole member of his race, and winner of the Intergalactic Battle Royale over 426 times: these would be the fights to watch. Others, such as the gelatinous Bolgan, whose guts poured out at the slightest prick, or the greasy meat-sacks called humans, who usually just squealed, maybe threw a rock, would be the bloody clown-show before the main event. Humans had almost no fans. Occasionally a young grizling might like the way they look and choose to root for them, perhaps some rebellious adolescent, looking for a way to stand out. One such adolescent was Pergi. Oh, she didn't color her tendrils in odd ways, wear piercings in her glabulai, or turn her loopeck inside out. She just saw things differently. Perhaps it was her innate intelligence - far exceeding her parents' rating of 89.9 brain spasms per second. Or it could have been her kind and loving hearts. Creatures like the Spithai were made for battle, she thought. They probably liked being chosen. It was a cruelty to kidnap all these softer beings and force them to fight and die. The screams of the humans always seemed to affect her most, as being especially pitiful. But Pergi didn't just sit in the almost empty human section and root for a hopeless species. She decided to look into the history of human subjects. The first couple, about 150,000 standard cycles ago, managed to put up a bit of a fight, but still lost to more advanced, or naturally deadly species. It was then deemed that the specimens had been too small. Only larger, more fully mature specimens had been chosen - generally about 60-70 cycles old, and between 300 and 400 galactic pounds. These fared even worse. The 600 pound human was the most pathetic of all. It couldn't even roll out of it's cage. A gravity projector had to be used to lift it to it's very messy end against a slow-moving Cloom worm. Pergi looked at scans of the muscle structure, large brain, and forward-facing eyes of the humans. It occurred to her that the specimens chosen for sheer size and chronological age might not be the best that this species had to offer. What if the younger and trimmer ones were actually the more formidable humans? What if they didn't just get more deadly with age like most species, but sort of faded away? What if all that extra glutinous mass was not a defense mechanism, but a sign of an unhealthy human? She applied to the Great Mind and asked to change the parameters for selection of this year's human. The Great Mind responded: "Why not? They can't get any worse." Thus it was that Pergi sat in the nearly empty human section, alone but for an infant and a male who had been drunk when choosing fan sections. She watched the human stall with a tiny grain of hope amidst a massive dose of fatalism. Finally it appeared in a flash of light. This human was dressed in some kind of thick armored clothing. It wore a helmet, and had many pouches and pockets all over it's cumbersome-looking clothing. Some kind of mechanical weapon, black and deadly-looking, was being pointed in every direction as the human tried to figure out where it was. Then the translated voice of the Great Mind spoke to it and explained it's circumstances. Instead of losing it's mind like the last human in it's place, this one merely took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Well, fuck me." It said. "You will now be given a moment to be encouraged by your fans." said the Great Mind. "Hoo-ra." Said the human. "Huuuuuumannn!", said the infant. "At least kill something!" said the miserable male. "Are you a warrior?" asked Pergi. "1st marines. Second division." "What? "Yes. I fight in wars. I am a warrior." Pergi was exited. "I knew it! I knew they had it wrong!" She looked at the human's primary weapon. "Is that a projectile launcher with non-renewable ammunition?" The marine thought for a moment. "Yes. You got anything better for me? Phaser gun maybe?" "Each species fights only with what the have on them upon arrival. I can't give you another weapon, but I can tell you to conserve your ammunition. This round of combat is mainly for species with little or no defensive capabilities." The marine nodded. "Thanks." Just then the buzzer went off and the cage was opened. The marine was pushed out by a force-field. A few steps into the arena they faced the first of their opponents. It looked like a slowly rolling ball of jelly with one tentacle sticking out. The marine drew his combat knife, swiftly walked up, and slashed off it's tentacle, before opening it's gelatinous body and spilling it's guts. The next was a slug the size of a large dog. It spat some sort of goo, but the marine blinded it by emptying the contents of a salt packet in it's eyes, and stabbed it 34 times to finish the poor creature. This progressed into the first round of the true Battle Royale. The marine hung back and defended one corner of the arena while hundreds of other creatures killed each-other in a multitude of ways. He was forced to empty the first clip of his side-arm, but otherwise took Pergi's advice and conserved ammunition. By this time some of the fans of the failed species had come over to join the human section. They began to cheer the marine more and more loudly with each kill. As he finally beat an armored Tantilor to death with the severed horn of a Grak Lion, humanity's new fanbase was prepared too love the bipedal primitives from Earth for centuries to come. There was a break, while the victor of the first Battle was given an injection of restorative chemicals. Pergi spoke to the human once more. "You were amazing!" "Thanks to your advice. Got any tips for the next round?" Pergi thought about it while other fans cheered on their new hero. "This is the round with all the most deadly species in the galaxy. You will probably die, but if you are careful and smart like before, there is a small chance that you will live." "What do I get if I win?" "Whatever you want. Plus your species will be invited to the galactic council." "Roger that." The final round was long and unimaginably violent. The marine did his best to stay out of the way, letting the others tire themselves out killing each-other. All the while he studied their moves. When it was finally down to the predictable fusion-powered Spithai, and nearly invincible Raxaxis, and the totally unexpected human, the marine had formulated a plan. He was completely out of ammunition, but he still had one grenade. He waited until the Spithai charged it's super-heated plasma canon arm, ran up behind it and shoved his knife as deep as it would go into the Spithai's back, close to its power core. He twisted the blade as it began to melt away in the heat of the Spithai's core. Just as the nanites in its blood began to seal the breach, he shoved in his last grenade, burning his hand to a crisp. He then picked up the Spithai and raised it above his head with all his strength. The huge form of Raxaxis loomed over them and prepared to swallow them both. As the gaping maw came hurtling down, he shoved the Spithai into it and ducked down. The jaws clamped shut, severing both of his arms and scraping off most of his face and scalp, but he forced himself to roll between the creature's legs and away from it's head. The titanium hide of Raxaxis was enough to contain the explosion, but it's softer insides were not. Raxaxis the Eternal fell, a burned-out husk. It would recover later, but the human had won. He would later be given new and better arms, as well as a new, completely customizable face. He would go on to become ambassador of the human race, and was integral in the assassination of the Great Mind.	Humans. Most of them are frail and are usually first blood. They cower in fear as the Prowlers and Gignids rip them apart. Some are different, some can put up a fight if they happen to have weapons on them, but none have been crowned champion yet. "This year should be exciting, we might not even get a human from earth." said one of the Argker in the crowd. "Oh right, their planet got completely overrun, didn't it? I dont even think there are any left. We should be getting a real beast today!" said his friend, sitting next to him and munching on the intergalactic equivalent of a hotdog. Though back in the control room, confusion arose. "Its been pacing around its cell for a few hours now. According to its DNA its clearly human, but theres something else we can't quite make out." Inside the cell a tall, brawny figure in green armor stood and inspected the walls of the room. He could break out with ease if it wanted to, but something was not right. He felt like he would encounter something huge soon, something with huge guts if he just stayed in the cell for now. "No matter, if its just a human we will likely see the usual disappointment and first blood as all other seasons. Now, its time. Order the announcements and open the gates." The gates open, the fighters are pushed out of their cells and the killing begins. The human slowly steps out, double barrel shotgun in hand. The Argker aliens made their biggest and last mistake bringing him here. As the human sees all the demon-like creatures enter the arena, only one thought crosses his mind.. # "RIP AND TEAR!"
[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen.	Cracked spear shaft slowly brought to a defensive point. A shaky bloodied hand holds the spear forward, left eye no longer rests in the orbital socket of the hairless ape. How the hell did such a turn of events take place. A human. A stinking, wretched, fucking human. Year after year my bets were made good. Of course there was always a loss here and there but...where was the sport in constantly winning. There was always the reputable species brought in. Reliant. steady. And above all else.... profitable. All of it brought down by one fucking human. Every year they come in. Most of the time crying, shitting and pissing themselves. Pathetic. Barely able to stand on their legs as the more primal and apex races tear them to pieces. Don’t get me wrong, They are fun to watch. They break and rip apart in spectacular ways. And each year it’s always a little variety, a different color, maybe a female one to spice it up. Screaming and babbling a different primitive language each time they enter the arena. Pathetic. Weak. Stinking. Of course this is the year the weak fucking pieces of meat bring an ounce of iron. they’ve now embarrassed me. Just as I’ve become a lord among the elites, A owner and commander of my very own system. To do with as I please. Canters scaly hand brings the chalice to his lower mandible. The oily burning liquid slides down his bony trachea. It’s a long sip from the cup. Too long. The other elites notice. It’s a drink of frustration. He drops the chalice with a hard clang on the table in front of him. And releases a deep, loud and obnoxious sigh. Much to the surprise of the other elites, Canter rises out of his seat and screeches loud enough for the remaining species in the arena to hear... SLAUGHTER THAT PIECE OF STINKING MEAT AND FUCKING GET ON WITH IT NOW!!!!! Horthar is not supposed to be here. He’s heard that quite frequently in his life. Said often by his own father. But it was said with endearment. Horthar was curious, it could’ve been a war council in the great hall with the other chiefs of the sister villages, he was a boy that would sit and listen to the plans of men. His father would always catch him hiding in the shadows. Hiding......listening.....learning. He never knew how his father did it. No one else could ever catch him, but his father always did. He’d wait till the council would leave and he’d walk over to Horthar as a young boy and grab him by the shoulders with a heavy set of hands. Horthar always winced that his father would chastise him ....but he never did. He’d simply grab him by the chin and raise his eyes to meet his own gaze and would say it...... “you are not supposed to be here” But he was. He was learning. Listening. Watching. Becoming and hoping to be half the leader his father was. And his father saw it. And he loved him for it. That was a long time ago. Now he stands alone. Bleeding. Half blind. Struggling to keep himself standing. The last hour of his life had been the most afraid he’d ever been. He didn’t know how he’d survived as long as he had. The monstrosities he’d slain DIDNT know that though. Fear was last thing they thought Horthar was as he hacked, beat, clubbed, stabbed, bit, and gored very single one of them. Every one that came for him. Fell. Not without a few pieces of Horthar of course...Three fingers, many layers of skin, most of the clothes from his back. One eye. A gaping hole in his side. Yet he stood. But so did the other. It was tall, muscular. Orange. Skin so taught across the bulging muscles that you could see the hidden bladed tentacles that slithered underneath. Waiting to whip out from the hidden pockets of flesh to tear pieces away from Horthar. It’s eyes....many eyes, were red with rage. It’s flexing, sucking, razored edged mouth dripping steaming drool onto the arena floor. It was angry. It was hungry. And Horthar was all that was left. He takes a deep breath and stares at the muscular orange monstrosity in front of him.... he’s not supposed to be here. He should be guiding his sons of his favorite hunting trail. Telling them stories, teaching them, watching them learn and become better hunters. Better leaders than Horthar himself. But the hunting always felt secondary. He simply just enjoyed the time with his sons. He took pride in their curious nature. When his youngest son hesitated the first time He drew his bow to kill a buck...he didn’t get angry. In fact. His heart swelled. He knew that his son understood the value of a life. To take it away is a action you can’t take back. It becomes a responsibility. He laid his hand on his sons shoulder as he walked with him to slain buck. Telling him that he was proud of him, that he understood why he hesitated. That it made him proud he did. But now he could never hesitate again. Now his son understood. To take life is not a gift. It’s a terrible action you can’t take back. But in a world of things wanting to kill you, and the people you love, you must kill. He wished he was walking back into his village, his home. He missed the smell of his home. The sounds, the warmth. The way there was a small draft near the left corner of the den, because a storm the harvest before had blown through and cracked the foundation. But he didn’t fix it. He liked the cold air that flowed throughout their home. He missed his wife. He wished she was taking his bearded face into her hands and laying a kiss on his cheek like she had a thousand times before. He wished he could hear her voice. The way she sang to the boys. The way she said his name deep in the night as they loved one another. Would she be safe without him there? Would the boys be ready enough to protect their home?Would the village be ready for invaders, or a great plague, would the fish be plenty from the boats, would the harvest be bountiful, would there be enough for the village, would eve- He clears his mind. The village. His wife. His sons. They would be okay. He grips the spear shaft tighter into his hands. The village would be okay. He had lead them through many hardships. Of many degrees. He had taught them well, he had lead them. He watched them grow. The village would survive, not because of horthar, but because of its people. He brings the point of the spear into his single left field view. He aims it at the beast before him. He hears a voice from the crowd. They had been silent this entire time. The voice is loud, and irritated, it’s foreign, unlike anything he had ever heard. It was angry.... desperate. And it wasn’t aimed at him, no.....it was directed at the other creature. It didn’t matter. There was a long silent pause. The voice from the crowd had done something unnatural for such a event it seemed...the silence was now one of confusion, and anxiety. Horthar raised the spear above his head. He answered the aliens desperate scream. He answered it with a roar of his own. A war cry. He was now running. Horthar’s wife would be okay. She was stronger than even horthar himself. Kind. Patient. Fierce. She would be there, she would always be a voice of reason, and a voice of leadership if needed. He would always love her, and she would always love him. Horthar is charging the beast. His war cry overpowering the beasts own roar. The beast is now charging toward horthar. Horthars sons would be strong. They would be great men, great leaders....and hopefully....the Gods willing....even better fathers. They would lead his village, they would lead them to new places, to see new things. To help the people learn, and listen, and become a better people outside of what they’ve known. His sons would teach their own sons the things he taught them. Just like his father had taught him, and his father before him. He was proud of his sons, and he knew they would be okay. Horthar lunges toward the beast, screaming, spear pointed forward as the beat leaps at him, claws outstretched, mouth gaping and roaring, razor tippled tentacles lashing out. Horthar closes his eyes. Horthar wasn’t supposed to be there. But that didn’t matter. He was. And that was enough. Thank you for reading. I really kinda just typed as I thought. Really just threw up all of the words. But I enjoyed this. I hope you do as well. I’m not sure if you’ll take anything from it, I don’t even know if I meant for you too. But hey, all is love and war in sci fi. Enjoy you beautiful bastards, if you don’t enjoy it, you’re just a bastard. Kidding. Kinda.	Humans. Most of them are frail and are usually first blood. They cower in fear as the Prowlers and Gignids rip them apart. Some are different, some can put up a fight if they happen to have weapons on them, but none have been crowned champion yet. "This year should be exciting, we might not even get a human from earth." said one of the Argker in the crowd. "Oh right, their planet got completely overrun, didn't it? I dont even think there are any left. We should be getting a real beast today!" said his friend, sitting next to him and munching on the intergalactic equivalent of a hotdog. Though back in the control room, confusion arose. "Its been pacing around its cell for a few hours now. According to its DNA its clearly human, but theres something else we can't quite make out." Inside the cell a tall, brawny figure in green armor stood and inspected the walls of the room. He could break out with ease if it wanted to, but something was not right. He felt like he would encounter something huge soon, something with huge guts if he just stayed in the cell for now. "No matter, if its just a human we will likely see the usual disappointment and first blood as all other seasons. Now, its time. Order the announcements and open the gates." The gates open, the fighters are pushed out of their cells and the killing begins. The human slowly steps out, double barrel shotgun in hand. The Argker aliens made their biggest and last mistake bringing him here. As the human sees all the demon-like creatures enter the arena, only one thought crosses his mind.. # "RIP AND TEAR!"
[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen.	Millions of sentient species and billions of inhabited worlds made for a startling array of natural killers. It also made for an even wider range of amusing, but useless fodder. Creatures like the organic-mechanical Spithai, with their internal fusion generators, and naturally-grown plasma throwers; or the Eternal Raxaxis, hide like titanium, fast healing, sole member of his race, and winner of the Intergalactic Battle Royale over 426 times: these would be the fights to watch. Others, such as the gelatinous Bolgan, whose guts poured out at the slightest prick, or the greasy meat-sacks called humans, who usually just squealed, maybe threw a rock, would be the bloody clown-show before the main event. Humans had almost no fans. Occasionally a young grizling might like the way they look and choose to root for them, perhaps some rebellious adolescent, looking for a way to stand out. One such adolescent was Pergi. Oh, she didn't color her tendrils in odd ways, wear piercings in her glabulai, or turn her loopeck inside out. She just saw things differently. Perhaps it was her innate intelligence - far exceeding her parents' rating of 89.9 brain spasms per second. Or it could have been her kind and loving hearts. Creatures like the Spithai were made for battle, she thought. They probably liked being chosen. It was a cruelty to kidnap all these softer beings and force them to fight and die. The screams of the humans always seemed to affect her most, as being especially pitiful. But Pergi didn't just sit in the almost empty human section and root for a hopeless species. She decided to look into the history of human subjects. The first couple, about 150,000 standard cycles ago, managed to put up a bit of a fight, but still lost to more advanced, or naturally deadly species. It was then deemed that the specimens had been too small. Only larger, more fully mature specimens had been chosen - generally about 60-70 cycles old, and between 300 and 400 galactic pounds. These fared even worse. The 600 pound human was the most pathetic of all. It couldn't even roll out of it's cage. A gravity projector had to be used to lift it to it's very messy end against a slow-moving Cloom worm. Pergi looked at scans of the muscle structure, large brain, and forward-facing eyes of the humans. It occurred to her that the specimens chosen for sheer size and chronological age might not be the best that this species had to offer. What if the younger and trimmer ones were actually the more formidable humans? What if they didn't just get more deadly with age like most species, but sort of faded away? What if all that extra glutinous mass was not a defense mechanism, but a sign of an unhealthy human? She applied to the Great Mind and asked to change the parameters for selection of this year's human. The Great Mind responded: "Why not? They can't get any worse." Thus it was that Pergi sat in the nearly empty human section, alone but for an infant and a male who had been drunk when choosing fan sections. She watched the human stall with a tiny grain of hope amidst a massive dose of fatalism. Finally it appeared in a flash of light. This human was dressed in some kind of thick armored clothing. It wore a helmet, and had many pouches and pockets all over it's cumbersome-looking clothing. Some kind of mechanical weapon, black and deadly-looking, was being pointed in every direction as the human tried to figure out where it was. Then the translated voice of the Great Mind spoke to it and explained it's circumstances. Instead of losing it's mind like the last human in it's place, this one merely took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Well, fuck me." It said. "You will now be given a moment to be encouraged by your fans." said the Great Mind. "Hoo-ra." Said the human. "Huuuuuumannn!", said the infant. "At least kill something!" said the miserable male. "Are you a warrior?" asked Pergi. "1st marines. Second division." "What? "Yes. I fight in wars. I am a warrior." Pergi was exited. "I knew it! I knew they had it wrong!" She looked at the human's primary weapon. "Is that a projectile launcher with non-renewable ammunition?" The marine thought for a moment. "Yes. You got anything better for me? Phaser gun maybe?" "Each species fights only with what the have on them upon arrival. I can't give you another weapon, but I can tell you to conserve your ammunition. This round of combat is mainly for species with little or no defensive capabilities." The marine nodded. "Thanks." Just then the buzzer went off and the cage was opened. The marine was pushed out by a force-field. A few steps into the arena they faced the first of their opponents. It looked like a slowly rolling ball of jelly with one tentacle sticking out. The marine drew his combat knife, swiftly walked up, and slashed off it's tentacle, before opening it's gelatinous body and spilling it's guts. The next was a slug the size of a large dog. It spat some sort of goo, but the marine blinded it by emptying the contents of a salt packet in it's eyes, and stabbed it 34 times to finish the poor creature. This progressed into the first round of the true Battle Royale. The marine hung back and defended one corner of the arena while hundreds of other creatures killed each-other in a multitude of ways. He was forced to empty the first clip of his side-arm, but otherwise took Pergi's advice and conserved ammunition. By this time some of the fans of the failed species had come over to join the human section. They began to cheer the marine more and more loudly with each kill. As he finally beat an armored Tantilor to death with the severed horn of a Grak Lion, humanity's new fanbase was prepared too love the bipedal primitives from Earth for centuries to come. There was a break, while the victor of the first Battle was given an injection of restorative chemicals. Pergi spoke to the human once more. "You were amazing!" "Thanks to your advice. Got any tips for the next round?" Pergi thought about it while other fans cheered on their new hero. "This is the round with all the most deadly species in the galaxy. You will probably die, but if you are careful and smart like before, there is a small chance that you will live." "What do I get if I win?" "Whatever you want. Plus your species will be invited to the galactic council." "Roger that." The final round was long and unimaginably violent. The marine did his best to stay out of the way, letting the others tire themselves out killing each-other. All the while he studied their moves. When it was finally down to the predictable fusion-powered Spithai, and nearly invincible Raxaxis, and the totally unexpected human, the marine had formulated a plan. He was completely out of ammunition, but he still had one grenade. He waited until the Spithai charged it's super-heated plasma canon arm, ran up behind it and shoved his knife as deep as it would go into the Spithai's back, close to its power core. He twisted the blade as it began to melt away in the heat of the Spithai's core. Just as the nanites in its blood began to seal the breach, he shoved in his last grenade, burning his hand to a crisp. He then picked up the Spithai and raised it above his head with all his strength. The huge form of Raxaxis loomed over them and prepared to swallow them both. As the gaping maw came hurtling down, he shoved the Spithai into it and ducked down. The jaws clamped shut, severing both of his arms and scraping off most of his face and scalp, but he forced himself to roll between the creature's legs and away from it's head. The titanium hide of Raxaxis was enough to contain the explosion, but it's softer insides were not. Raxaxis the Eternal fell, a burned-out husk. It would recover later, but the human had won. He would later be given new and better arms, as well as a new, completely customizable face. He would go on to become ambassador of the human race, and was integral in the assassination of the Great Mind.	"Checking in now in the livestock quandrant-" "Blarb, we can't call it-" "-the 'less developed' quadrant." Blarb waved a dismissive tentacle at Rankle and continued. "These participants are those that haven't mastered spaceflight or any reasonable level of technology, but still qualify for Contest based on their intelligence potential. They even have to be teleported here! They wouldn't be able to find this space station without someone bringing them along! What do you think our chances of having a grand champion from the less developed quadrant, Rank?" "Obviously, the odds are slim, Blarb. Last year's Contest was actually prolonged by weeks because the less developed contestants actually got along pretty well and didn't kill each other enough to reach the threshold to open their gates to the main arena." "That was a nightmare. I'm glad they've tweaked the rules this year, setting a three day time limit on that zone. Luckily, those contestants are generally biological in nature, so an extermination event will leave the zone clean and ready for next year." A high pitched screetch emitted from the grey cloud betweent the two commentators. Blarb and Rankle looked at each other, the cloud, then simultaneously returned to their microphones, pretending to have understood the higher being. "A notable participant is the human!" Blarb continued, forcing as much enthusiasm and interest into his voice as he could. "For the last 12 hours, it looks like she's been building a shelter! And it's made of biomass!" Rankle chuckled along to Blarb's tone. "Look at this summary, Rank. Humans are known for manipulating physical objects by applying force through other physical objects. This particular human was selected as a treat this year - records indicate that she is from a continent surrounded by oceans that have trapped some of the deadliest creatures of that planet there. Apart from growing up in such a hostile environment, she opted to train for even more combat with one of her planet's military factions! It is a little disappointing that she seems to be behaving a lot like last year's human.." "Oh yes! The tooth one!" Rankle had been genuinely curious about the class of humans called dentists. "I really thought he would use his teeth powers to rise to at least the top of the quadrant, but instead he ran and hid the whole time. We didn't even see any of the fear inducing antics they are known for on Earth!" Another trill from the vortex between them. Maybe it was hungry? Blarb returned to inspecting the human on the screen. "It looks like she's finished building the shelter, though from this angle it just looks like a giant pile of tree material with no discernable structure. Oh! And now she's going to try and provide some warmth for herself. When humans stay below a certain temperature, they stop functioning permanently, so we're probably going to see a bit of this in future." Blarb and Rankle leaned down to their screens, pushing their microphones away for a moment. "Is she self-terminating?" "Maybe she wanted to light one side of the shelter and the oxygen is higher than-" "Then why isn't she inside? When did she make a blanket?" "Is she feeding MORE oxygen into a combustion...?" The two straightened up and regained their composure. Rankle took the lead while Blarb watched the screens in silence. "Viewers of the contest, there's some interesting activity in the less developed quadrant that you all might want to witness. The human - yes, the human - has just initiated a combustion reaction at the edge of zone. Note that this is one of the highest oxygen zones in the Contest, and she is now hiding under a woven textile referred to in most cultures as a blanket. We don't know if this is an elaborate protest or simple self termination, but this is... this is going to devastate the quadrant." Blarb and Rankle watched in mute appreciation of the destruction ripping through the zone. A fire tore through the zone, spreading almost as fast as it would in a space station corridor, fed continually as the Contest's systems tried to bring the oxygen level up to baseline. There had been many acts of savagery in the history of the Contest, but these were generally in smaller one on one fights and the occasional two on ones when a hasty alliance was formed. This was unprecidented. Blarb was certain that in a few minutes, the livestock quadrant would be the first gate to open into the wider Contest, if there was anything left alive in there to release.
[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen.	Cracked spear shaft slowly brought to a defensive point. A shaky bloodied hand holds the spear forward, left eye no longer rests in the orbital socket of the hairless ape. How the hell did such a turn of events take place. A human. A stinking, wretched, fucking human. Year after year my bets were made good. Of course there was always a loss here and there but...where was the sport in constantly winning. There was always the reputable species brought in. Reliant. steady. And above all else.... profitable. All of it brought down by one fucking human. Every year they come in. Most of the time crying, shitting and pissing themselves. Pathetic. Barely able to stand on their legs as the more primal and apex races tear them to pieces. Don’t get me wrong, They are fun to watch. They break and rip apart in spectacular ways. And each year it’s always a little variety, a different color, maybe a female one to spice it up. Screaming and babbling a different primitive language each time they enter the arena. Pathetic. Weak. Stinking. Of course this is the year the weak fucking pieces of meat bring an ounce of iron. they’ve now embarrassed me. Just as I’ve become a lord among the elites, A owner and commander of my very own system. To do with as I please. Canters scaly hand brings the chalice to his lower mandible. The oily burning liquid slides down his bony trachea. It’s a long sip from the cup. Too long. The other elites notice. It’s a drink of frustration. He drops the chalice with a hard clang on the table in front of him. And releases a deep, loud and obnoxious sigh. Much to the surprise of the other elites, Canter rises out of his seat and screeches loud enough for the remaining species in the arena to hear... SLAUGHTER THAT PIECE OF STINKING MEAT AND FUCKING GET ON WITH IT NOW!!!!! Horthar is not supposed to be here. He’s heard that quite frequently in his life. Said often by his own father. But it was said with endearment. Horthar was curious, it could’ve been a war council in the great hall with the other chiefs of the sister villages, he was a boy that would sit and listen to the plans of men. His father would always catch him hiding in the shadows. Hiding......listening.....learning. He never knew how his father did it. No one else could ever catch him, but his father always did. He’d wait till the council would leave and he’d walk over to Horthar as a young boy and grab him by the shoulders with a heavy set of hands. Horthar always winced that his father would chastise him ....but he never did. He’d simply grab him by the chin and raise his eyes to meet his own gaze and would say it...... “you are not supposed to be here” But he was. He was learning. Listening. Watching. Becoming and hoping to be half the leader his father was. And his father saw it. And he loved him for it. That was a long time ago. Now he stands alone. Bleeding. Half blind. Struggling to keep himself standing. The last hour of his life had been the most afraid he’d ever been. He didn’t know how he’d survived as long as he had. The monstrosities he’d slain DIDNT know that though. Fear was last thing they thought Horthar was as he hacked, beat, clubbed, stabbed, bit, and gored very single one of them. Every one that came for him. Fell. Not without a few pieces of Horthar of course...Three fingers, many layers of skin, most of the clothes from his back. One eye. A gaping hole in his side. Yet he stood. But so did the other. It was tall, muscular. Orange. Skin so taught across the bulging muscles that you could see the hidden bladed tentacles that slithered underneath. Waiting to whip out from the hidden pockets of flesh to tear pieces away from Horthar. It’s eyes....many eyes, were red with rage. It’s flexing, sucking, razored edged mouth dripping steaming drool onto the arena floor. It was angry. It was hungry. And Horthar was all that was left. He takes a deep breath and stares at the muscular orange monstrosity in front of him.... he’s not supposed to be here. He should be guiding his sons of his favorite hunting trail. Telling them stories, teaching them, watching them learn and become better hunters. Better leaders than Horthar himself. But the hunting always felt secondary. He simply just enjoyed the time with his sons. He took pride in their curious nature. When his youngest son hesitated the first time He drew his bow to kill a buck...he didn’t get angry. In fact. His heart swelled. He knew that his son understood the value of a life. To take it away is a action you can’t take back. It becomes a responsibility. He laid his hand on his sons shoulder as he walked with him to slain buck. Telling him that he was proud of him, that he understood why he hesitated. That it made him proud he did. But now he could never hesitate again. Now his son understood. To take life is not a gift. It’s a terrible action you can’t take back. But in a world of things wanting to kill you, and the people you love, you must kill. He wished he was walking back into his village, his home. He missed the smell of his home. The sounds, the warmth. The way there was a small draft near the left corner of the den, because a storm the harvest before had blown through and cracked the foundation. But he didn’t fix it. He liked the cold air that flowed throughout their home. He missed his wife. He wished she was taking his bearded face into her hands and laying a kiss on his cheek like she had a thousand times before. He wished he could hear her voice. The way she sang to the boys. The way she said his name deep in the night as they loved one another. Would she be safe without him there? Would the boys be ready enough to protect their home?Would the village be ready for invaders, or a great plague, would the fish be plenty from the boats, would the harvest be bountiful, would there be enough for the village, would eve- He clears his mind. The village. His wife. His sons. They would be okay. He grips the spear shaft tighter into his hands. The village would be okay. He had lead them through many hardships. Of many degrees. He had taught them well, he had lead them. He watched them grow. The village would survive, not because of horthar, but because of its people. He brings the point of the spear into his single left field view. He aims it at the beast before him. He hears a voice from the crowd. They had been silent this entire time. The voice is loud, and irritated, it’s foreign, unlike anything he had ever heard. It was angry.... desperate. And it wasn’t aimed at him, no.....it was directed at the other creature. It didn’t matter. There was a long silent pause. The voice from the crowd had done something unnatural for such a event it seemed...the silence was now one of confusion, and anxiety. Horthar raised the spear above his head. He answered the aliens desperate scream. He answered it with a roar of his own. A war cry. He was now running. Horthar’s wife would be okay. She was stronger than even horthar himself. Kind. Patient. Fierce. She would be there, she would always be a voice of reason, and a voice of leadership if needed. He would always love her, and she would always love him. Horthar is charging the beast. His war cry overpowering the beasts own roar. The beast is now charging toward horthar. Horthars sons would be strong. They would be great men, great leaders....and hopefully....the Gods willing....even better fathers. They would lead his village, they would lead them to new places, to see new things. To help the people learn, and listen, and become a better people outside of what they’ve known. His sons would teach their own sons the things he taught them. Just like his father had taught him, and his father before him. He was proud of his sons, and he knew they would be okay. Horthar lunges toward the beast, screaming, spear pointed forward as the beat leaps at him, claws outstretched, mouth gaping and roaring, razor tippled tentacles lashing out. Horthar closes his eyes. Horthar wasn’t supposed to be there. But that didn’t matter. He was. And that was enough. Thank you for reading. I really kinda just typed as I thought. Really just threw up all of the words. But I enjoyed this. I hope you do as well. I’m not sure if you’ll take anything from it, I don’t even know if I meant for you too. But hey, all is love and war in sci fi. Enjoy you beautiful bastards, if you don’t enjoy it, you’re just a bastard. Kidding. Kinda.	"Checking in now in the livestock quandrant-" "Blarb, we can't call it-" "-the 'less developed' quadrant." Blarb waved a dismissive tentacle at Rankle and continued. "These participants are those that haven't mastered spaceflight or any reasonable level of technology, but still qualify for Contest based on their intelligence potential. They even have to be teleported here! They wouldn't be able to find this space station without someone bringing them along! What do you think our chances of having a grand champion from the less developed quadrant, Rank?" "Obviously, the odds are slim, Blarb. Last year's Contest was actually prolonged by weeks because the less developed contestants actually got along pretty well and didn't kill each other enough to reach the threshold to open their gates to the main arena." "That was a nightmare. I'm glad they've tweaked the rules this year, setting a three day time limit on that zone. Luckily, those contestants are generally biological in nature, so an extermination event will leave the zone clean and ready for next year." A high pitched screetch emitted from the grey cloud betweent the two commentators. Blarb and Rankle looked at each other, the cloud, then simultaneously returned to their microphones, pretending to have understood the higher being. "A notable participant is the human!" Blarb continued, forcing as much enthusiasm and interest into his voice as he could. "For the last 12 hours, it looks like she's been building a shelter! And it's made of biomass!" Rankle chuckled along to Blarb's tone. "Look at this summary, Rank. Humans are known for manipulating physical objects by applying force through other physical objects. This particular human was selected as a treat this year - records indicate that she is from a continent surrounded by oceans that have trapped some of the deadliest creatures of that planet there. Apart from growing up in such a hostile environment, she opted to train for even more combat with one of her planet's military factions! It is a little disappointing that she seems to be behaving a lot like last year's human.." "Oh yes! The tooth one!" Rankle had been genuinely curious about the class of humans called dentists. "I really thought he would use his teeth powers to rise to at least the top of the quadrant, but instead he ran and hid the whole time. We didn't even see any of the fear inducing antics they are known for on Earth!" Another trill from the vortex between them. Maybe it was hungry? Blarb returned to inspecting the human on the screen. "It looks like she's finished building the shelter, though from this angle it just looks like a giant pile of tree material with no discernable structure. Oh! And now she's going to try and provide some warmth for herself. When humans stay below a certain temperature, they stop functioning permanently, so we're probably going to see a bit of this in future." Blarb and Rankle leaned down to their screens, pushing their microphones away for a moment. "Is she self-terminating?" "Maybe she wanted to light one side of the shelter and the oxygen is higher than-" "Then why isn't she inside? When did she make a blanket?" "Is she feeding MORE oxygen into a combustion...?" The two straightened up and regained their composure. Rankle took the lead while Blarb watched the screens in silence. "Viewers of the contest, there's some interesting activity in the less developed quadrant that you all might want to witness. The human - yes, the human - has just initiated a combustion reaction at the edge of zone. Note that this is one of the highest oxygen zones in the Contest, and she is now hiding under a woven textile referred to in most cultures as a blanket. We don't know if this is an elaborate protest or simple self termination, but this is... this is going to devastate the quadrant." Blarb and Rankle watched in mute appreciation of the destruction ripping through the zone. A fire tore through the zone, spreading almost as fast as it would in a space station corridor, fed continually as the Contest's systems tried to bring the oxygen level up to baseline. There had been many acts of savagery in the history of the Contest, but these were generally in smaller one on one fights and the occasional two on ones when a hasty alliance was formed. This was unprecidented. Blarb was certain that in a few minutes, the livestock quadrant would be the first gate to open into the wider Contest, if there was anything left alive in there to release.
[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen.	Millions of sentient species and billions of inhabited worlds made for a startling array of natural killers. It also made for an even wider range of amusing, but useless fodder. Creatures like the organic-mechanical Spithai, with their internal fusion generators, and naturally-grown plasma throwers; or the Eternal Raxaxis, hide like titanium, fast healing, sole member of his race, and winner of the Intergalactic Battle Royale over 426 times: these would be the fights to watch. Others, such as the gelatinous Bolgan, whose guts poured out at the slightest prick, or the greasy meat-sacks called humans, who usually just squealed, maybe threw a rock, would be the bloody clown-show before the main event. Humans had almost no fans. Occasionally a young grizling might like the way they look and choose to root for them, perhaps some rebellious adolescent, looking for a way to stand out. One such adolescent was Pergi. Oh, she didn't color her tendrils in odd ways, wear piercings in her glabulai, or turn her loopeck inside out. She just saw things differently. Perhaps it was her innate intelligence - far exceeding her parents' rating of 89.9 brain spasms per second. Or it could have been her kind and loving hearts. Creatures like the Spithai were made for battle, she thought. They probably liked being chosen. It was a cruelty to kidnap all these softer beings and force them to fight and die. The screams of the humans always seemed to affect her most, as being especially pitiful. But Pergi didn't just sit in the almost empty human section and root for a hopeless species. She decided to look into the history of human subjects. The first couple, about 150,000 standard cycles ago, managed to put up a bit of a fight, but still lost to more advanced, or naturally deadly species. It was then deemed that the specimens had been too small. Only larger, more fully mature specimens had been chosen - generally about 60-70 cycles old, and between 300 and 400 galactic pounds. These fared even worse. The 600 pound human was the most pathetic of all. It couldn't even roll out of it's cage. A gravity projector had to be used to lift it to it's very messy end against a slow-moving Cloom worm. Pergi looked at scans of the muscle structure, large brain, and forward-facing eyes of the humans. It occurred to her that the specimens chosen for sheer size and chronological age might not be the best that this species had to offer. What if the younger and trimmer ones were actually the more formidable humans? What if they didn't just get more deadly with age like most species, but sort of faded away? What if all that extra glutinous mass was not a defense mechanism, but a sign of an unhealthy human? She applied to the Great Mind and asked to change the parameters for selection of this year's human. The Great Mind responded: "Why not? They can't get any worse." Thus it was that Pergi sat in the nearly empty human section, alone but for an infant and a male who had been drunk when choosing fan sections. She watched the human stall with a tiny grain of hope amidst a massive dose of fatalism. Finally it appeared in a flash of light. This human was dressed in some kind of thick armored clothing. It wore a helmet, and had many pouches and pockets all over it's cumbersome-looking clothing. Some kind of mechanical weapon, black and deadly-looking, was being pointed in every direction as the human tried to figure out where it was. Then the translated voice of the Great Mind spoke to it and explained it's circumstances. Instead of losing it's mind like the last human in it's place, this one merely took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Well, fuck me." It said. "You will now be given a moment to be encouraged by your fans." said the Great Mind. "Hoo-ra." Said the human. "Huuuuuumannn!", said the infant. "At least kill something!" said the miserable male. "Are you a warrior?" asked Pergi. "1st marines. Second division." "What? "Yes. I fight in wars. I am a warrior." Pergi was exited. "I knew it! I knew they had it wrong!" She looked at the human's primary weapon. "Is that a projectile launcher with non-renewable ammunition?" The marine thought for a moment. "Yes. You got anything better for me? Phaser gun maybe?" "Each species fights only with what the have on them upon arrival. I can't give you another weapon, but I can tell you to conserve your ammunition. This round of combat is mainly for species with little or no defensive capabilities." The marine nodded. "Thanks." Just then the buzzer went off and the cage was opened. The marine was pushed out by a force-field. A few steps into the arena they faced the first of their opponents. It looked like a slowly rolling ball of jelly with one tentacle sticking out. The marine drew his combat knife, swiftly walked up, and slashed off it's tentacle, before opening it's gelatinous body and spilling it's guts. The next was a slug the size of a large dog. It spat some sort of goo, but the marine blinded it by emptying the contents of a salt packet in it's eyes, and stabbed it 34 times to finish the poor creature. This progressed into the first round of the true Battle Royale. The marine hung back and defended one corner of the arena while hundreds of other creatures killed each-other in a multitude of ways. He was forced to empty the first clip of his side-arm, but otherwise took Pergi's advice and conserved ammunition. By this time some of the fans of the failed species had come over to join the human section. They began to cheer the marine more and more loudly with each kill. As he finally beat an armored Tantilor to death with the severed horn of a Grak Lion, humanity's new fanbase was prepared too love the bipedal primitives from Earth for centuries to come. There was a break, while the victor of the first Battle was given an injection of restorative chemicals. Pergi spoke to the human once more. "You were amazing!" "Thanks to your advice. Got any tips for the next round?" Pergi thought about it while other fans cheered on their new hero. "This is the round with all the most deadly species in the galaxy. You will probably die, but if you are careful and smart like before, there is a small chance that you will live." "What do I get if I win?" "Whatever you want. Plus your species will be invited to the galactic council." "Roger that." The final round was long and unimaginably violent. The marine did his best to stay out of the way, letting the others tire themselves out killing each-other. All the while he studied their moves. When it was finally down to the predictable fusion-powered Spithai, and nearly invincible Raxaxis, and the totally unexpected human, the marine had formulated a plan. He was completely out of ammunition, but he still had one grenade. He waited until the Spithai charged it's super-heated plasma canon arm, ran up behind it and shoved his knife as deep as it would go into the Spithai's back, close to its power core. He twisted the blade as it began to melt away in the heat of the Spithai's core. Just as the nanites in its blood began to seal the breach, he shoved in his last grenade, burning his hand to a crisp. He then picked up the Spithai and raised it above his head with all his strength. The huge form of Raxaxis loomed over them and prepared to swallow them both. As the gaping maw came hurtling down, he shoved the Spithai into it and ducked down. The jaws clamped shut, severing both of his arms and scraping off most of his face and scalp, but he forced himself to roll between the creature's legs and away from it's head. The titanium hide of Raxaxis was enough to contain the explosion, but it's softer insides were not. Raxaxis the Eternal fell, a burned-out husk. It would recover later, but the human had won. He would later be given new and better arms, as well as a new, completely customizable face. He would go on to become ambassador of the human race, and was integral in the assassination of the Great Mind.	I saw a flash of light, and an instant, my whole squad was gone.. I left iraq behind, for somewhere... Artificial... My environment has the look of a high resolution fortnite level.. it was definitely artificial. , Built with care. Bladed weapons were hovering above ground. Slowly rotating, ammo , med kits. Every thing I was used to. Moments before I was about to go on 6 minute mission . I had an assault pack,. An m249 machine gun and a few thousand rounds of ammo.. I touched the disposable rocket launcher on my back. It gave me comfort. I did a quick mental inventory of my supplies 1. Tactical tomahawk on the chest 2. 9 he fragmentation grenades 3. 1. saw 249 with 3000 rounds.. 4. 1 911 pistol with two extra clips. 5.1.tube launched wore guided anti tank missile. 5. A boot knife k bar 6. Bullet proof vest with side protectors 7 1 standard issue helmet 8. Small med kit with a few tubes of super glue 8. No water, no rations . As the light faded my.eyes readjusted , I saw strange creatures in the distance. Tiny red cross hairs framed thier bodies.. one began to run towards me with a battle axe in hand. He must have been 7 feet tall a giant orcish looking creature. At 150 yards away , I took the time to aim. A single shot and his exploded in a pink mist. I saw more players, and I dropped then one by one.. I seemed to be the only person here with a fire arm...12 down...how many to go... THwACk! I was l knocked down. A javalin lay at my feet. It came out of nowhere, I glad I brought the rifle plate today. I need to make it to high ground. There is a cottage a few hundred yards away. I ran for it. The players jeep on coming. I struggle to conserve my ammo, resist the urge to open up.. fight way to the roof of the cottage. The floating numbers above my head procliam 31 kills. There is a silence on the battlefield, and I hear a load war cry. Dozens of voices. They are rushing up all sides. I let my saw do what it's made to do... I spin around in circles firing at the hoarde attacking from every direction .. the numbers above my head climb higher and higher. The last one falls and they stop at 98 One more...then I see him. He is the size of a semi trucks, barellimg towards me on with his knuckles on the ground running like a gorilla. Huge , yet almost see through, some sort of cloaking mechanism. I use my rocket launcher and hit hom square in the face with a missle. The blood splatter hit me from. 50 yards away, and my counter changes as his body falls over, shaking the earth as it does so. Suddenly the light come on...a voice from. The heavens coming out of nowhere, yet also everywhere. Congratulations on passing stage 1 the arena and the interview process at dundee mifflin. Dwight schrute, please report to the parking lot promptly at 9 am for stage 2. "The office I am more than a little confused. I take off my now useless saw. Pick up a couple of cans of beets from the cottage kitchen. I walk down the hill and find a red firebird with the keys in it. As I sit down a piece of paper materlizes out of thin air. It reads. This is dwight from the future, beware of Jim
[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen.	Cracked spear shaft slowly brought to a defensive point. A shaky bloodied hand holds the spear forward, left eye no longer rests in the orbital socket of the hairless ape. How the hell did such a turn of events take place. A human. A stinking, wretched, fucking human. Year after year my bets were made good. Of course there was always a loss here and there but...where was the sport in constantly winning. There was always the reputable species brought in. Reliant. steady. And above all else.... profitable. All of it brought down by one fucking human. Every year they come in. Most of the time crying, shitting and pissing themselves. Pathetic. Barely able to stand on their legs as the more primal and apex races tear them to pieces. Don’t get me wrong, They are fun to watch. They break and rip apart in spectacular ways. And each year it’s always a little variety, a different color, maybe a female one to spice it up. Screaming and babbling a different primitive language each time they enter the arena. Pathetic. Weak. Stinking. Of course this is the year the weak fucking pieces of meat bring an ounce of iron. they’ve now embarrassed me. Just as I’ve become a lord among the elites, A owner and commander of my very own system. To do with as I please. Canters scaly hand brings the chalice to his lower mandible. The oily burning liquid slides down his bony trachea. It’s a long sip from the cup. Too long. The other elites notice. It’s a drink of frustration. He drops the chalice with a hard clang on the table in front of him. And releases a deep, loud and obnoxious sigh. Much to the surprise of the other elites, Canter rises out of his seat and screeches loud enough for the remaining species in the arena to hear... SLAUGHTER THAT PIECE OF STINKING MEAT AND FUCKING GET ON WITH IT NOW!!!!! Horthar is not supposed to be here. He’s heard that quite frequently in his life. Said often by his own father. But it was said with endearment. Horthar was curious, it could’ve been a war council in the great hall with the other chiefs of the sister villages, he was a boy that would sit and listen to the plans of men. His father would always catch him hiding in the shadows. Hiding......listening.....learning. He never knew how his father did it. No one else could ever catch him, but his father always did. He’d wait till the council would leave and he’d walk over to Horthar as a young boy and grab him by the shoulders with a heavy set of hands. Horthar always winced that his father would chastise him ....but he never did. He’d simply grab him by the chin and raise his eyes to meet his own gaze and would say it...... “you are not supposed to be here” But he was. He was learning. Listening. Watching. Becoming and hoping to be half the leader his father was. And his father saw it. And he loved him for it. That was a long time ago. Now he stands alone. Bleeding. Half blind. Struggling to keep himself standing. The last hour of his life had been the most afraid he’d ever been. He didn’t know how he’d survived as long as he had. The monstrosities he’d slain DIDNT know that though. Fear was last thing they thought Horthar was as he hacked, beat, clubbed, stabbed, bit, and gored very single one of them. Every one that came for him. Fell. Not without a few pieces of Horthar of course...Three fingers, many layers of skin, most of the clothes from his back. One eye. A gaping hole in his side. Yet he stood. But so did the other. It was tall, muscular. Orange. Skin so taught across the bulging muscles that you could see the hidden bladed tentacles that slithered underneath. Waiting to whip out from the hidden pockets of flesh to tear pieces away from Horthar. It’s eyes....many eyes, were red with rage. It’s flexing, sucking, razored edged mouth dripping steaming drool onto the arena floor. It was angry. It was hungry. And Horthar was all that was left. He takes a deep breath and stares at the muscular orange monstrosity in front of him.... he’s not supposed to be here. He should be guiding his sons of his favorite hunting trail. Telling them stories, teaching them, watching them learn and become better hunters. Better leaders than Horthar himself. But the hunting always felt secondary. He simply just enjoyed the time with his sons. He took pride in their curious nature. When his youngest son hesitated the first time He drew his bow to kill a buck...he didn’t get angry. In fact. His heart swelled. He knew that his son understood the value of a life. To take it away is a action you can’t take back. It becomes a responsibility. He laid his hand on his sons shoulder as he walked with him to slain buck. Telling him that he was proud of him, that he understood why he hesitated. That it made him proud he did. But now he could never hesitate again. Now his son understood. To take life is not a gift. It’s a terrible action you can’t take back. But in a world of things wanting to kill you, and the people you love, you must kill. He wished he was walking back into his village, his home. He missed the smell of his home. The sounds, the warmth. The way there was a small draft near the left corner of the den, because a storm the harvest before had blown through and cracked the foundation. But he didn’t fix it. He liked the cold air that flowed throughout their home. He missed his wife. He wished she was taking his bearded face into her hands and laying a kiss on his cheek like she had a thousand times before. He wished he could hear her voice. The way she sang to the boys. The way she said his name deep in the night as they loved one another. Would she be safe without him there? Would the boys be ready enough to protect their home?Would the village be ready for invaders, or a great plague, would the fish be plenty from the boats, would the harvest be bountiful, would there be enough for the village, would eve- He clears his mind. The village. His wife. His sons. They would be okay. He grips the spear shaft tighter into his hands. The village would be okay. He had lead them through many hardships. Of many degrees. He had taught them well, he had lead them. He watched them grow. The village would survive, not because of horthar, but because of its people. He brings the point of the spear into his single left field view. He aims it at the beast before him. He hears a voice from the crowd. They had been silent this entire time. The voice is loud, and irritated, it’s foreign, unlike anything he had ever heard. It was angry.... desperate. And it wasn’t aimed at him, no.....it was directed at the other creature. It didn’t matter. There was a long silent pause. The voice from the crowd had done something unnatural for such a event it seemed...the silence was now one of confusion, and anxiety. Horthar raised the spear above his head. He answered the aliens desperate scream. He answered it with a roar of his own. A war cry. He was now running. Horthar’s wife would be okay. She was stronger than even horthar himself. Kind. Patient. Fierce. She would be there, she would always be a voice of reason, and a voice of leadership if needed. He would always love her, and she would always love him. Horthar is charging the beast. His war cry overpowering the beasts own roar. The beast is now charging toward horthar. Horthars sons would be strong. They would be great men, great leaders....and hopefully....the Gods willing....even better fathers. They would lead his village, they would lead them to new places, to see new things. To help the people learn, and listen, and become a better people outside of what they’ve known. His sons would teach their own sons the things he taught them. Just like his father had taught him, and his father before him. He was proud of his sons, and he knew they would be okay. Horthar lunges toward the beast, screaming, spear pointed forward as the beat leaps at him, claws outstretched, mouth gaping and roaring, razor tippled tentacles lashing out. Horthar closes his eyes. Horthar wasn’t supposed to be there. But that didn’t matter. He was. And that was enough. Thank you for reading. I really kinda just typed as I thought. Really just threw up all of the words. But I enjoyed this. I hope you do as well. I’m not sure if you’ll take anything from it, I don’t even know if I meant for you too. But hey, all is love and war in sci fi. Enjoy you beautiful bastards, if you don’t enjoy it, you’re just a bastard. Kidding. Kinda.	I saw a flash of light, and an instant, my whole squad was gone.. I left iraq behind, for somewhere... Artificial... My environment has the look of a high resolution fortnite level.. it was definitely artificial. , Built with care. Bladed weapons were hovering above ground. Slowly rotating, ammo , med kits. Every thing I was used to. Moments before I was about to go on 6 minute mission . I had an assault pack,. An m249 machine gun and a few thousand rounds of ammo.. I touched the disposable rocket launcher on my back. It gave me comfort. I did a quick mental inventory of my supplies 1. Tactical tomahawk on the chest 2. 9 he fragmentation grenades 3. 1. saw 249 with 3000 rounds.. 4. 1 911 pistol with two extra clips. 5.1.tube launched wore guided anti tank missile. 5. A boot knife k bar 6. Bullet proof vest with side protectors 7 1 standard issue helmet 8. Small med kit with a few tubes of super glue 8. No water, no rations . As the light faded my.eyes readjusted , I saw strange creatures in the distance. Tiny red cross hairs framed thier bodies.. one began to run towards me with a battle axe in hand. He must have been 7 feet tall a giant orcish looking creature. At 150 yards away , I took the time to aim. A single shot and his exploded in a pink mist. I saw more players, and I dropped then one by one.. I seemed to be the only person here with a fire arm...12 down...how many to go... THwACk! I was l knocked down. A javalin lay at my feet. It came out of nowhere, I glad I brought the rifle plate today. I need to make it to high ground. There is a cottage a few hundred yards away. I ran for it. The players jeep on coming. I struggle to conserve my ammo, resist the urge to open up.. fight way to the roof of the cottage. The floating numbers above my head procliam 31 kills. There is a silence on the battlefield, and I hear a load war cry. Dozens of voices. They are rushing up all sides. I let my saw do what it's made to do... I spin around in circles firing at the hoarde attacking from every direction .. the numbers above my head climb higher and higher. The last one falls and they stop at 98 One more...then I see him. He is the size of a semi trucks, barellimg towards me on with his knuckles on the ground running like a gorilla. Huge , yet almost see through, some sort of cloaking mechanism. I use my rocket launcher and hit hom square in the face with a missle. The blood splatter hit me from. 50 yards away, and my counter changes as his body falls over, shaking the earth as it does so. Suddenly the light come on...a voice from. The heavens coming out of nowhere, yet also everywhere. Congratulations on passing stage 1 the arena and the interview process at dundee mifflin. Dwight schrute, please report to the parking lot promptly at 9 am for stage 2. "The office I am more than a little confused. I take off my now useless saw. Pick up a couple of cans of beets from the cottage kitchen. I walk down the hill and find a red firebird with the keys in it. As I sit down a piece of paper materlizes out of thin air. It reads. This is dwight from the future, beware of Jim
[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen.	"Sir... I think we've made a mistake" The alien overlord looked at his servant, he was trembling. "It is only a human, how can this be so frightening to you?" The overlord looked at the camera, the recording was showing the cells but... it was chaos down there. "I NEED TO KNOW WHAT IS GOING ON" The overlord screamed His servant looked at him as asking for mercy "I'm... sorry sir..." the servant said slowly and scared "We took... a human from mars and... hell was there..." "Hell?" the overlord was curious "How was hell there?" The door opened behind them, there it was, a human figure, with a green full body armor, holding the head of one of the overlord elite soldiers... "Rip... and... tear!" The human said before charging for them.	I saw a flash of light, and an instant, my whole squad was gone.. I left iraq behind, for somewhere... Artificial... My environment has the look of a high resolution fortnite level.. it was definitely artificial. , Built with care. Bladed weapons were hovering above ground. Slowly rotating, ammo , med kits. Every thing I was used to. Moments before I was about to go on 6 minute mission . I had an assault pack,. An m249 machine gun and a few thousand rounds of ammo.. I touched the disposable rocket launcher on my back. It gave me comfort. I did a quick mental inventory of my supplies 1. Tactical tomahawk on the chest 2. 9 he fragmentation grenades 3. 1. saw 249 with 3000 rounds.. 4. 1 911 pistol with two extra clips. 5.1.tube launched wore guided anti tank missile. 5. A boot knife k bar 6. Bullet proof vest with side protectors 7 1 standard issue helmet 8. Small med kit with a few tubes of super glue 8. No water, no rations . As the light faded my.eyes readjusted , I saw strange creatures in the distance. Tiny red cross hairs framed thier bodies.. one began to run towards me with a battle axe in hand. He must have been 7 feet tall a giant orcish looking creature. At 150 yards away , I took the time to aim. A single shot and his exploded in a pink mist. I saw more players, and I dropped then one by one.. I seemed to be the only person here with a fire arm...12 down...how many to go... THwACk! I was l knocked down. A javalin lay at my feet. It came out of nowhere, I glad I brought the rifle plate today. I need to make it to high ground. There is a cottage a few hundred yards away. I ran for it. The players jeep on coming. I struggle to conserve my ammo, resist the urge to open up.. fight way to the roof of the cottage. The floating numbers above my head procliam 31 kills. There is a silence on the battlefield, and I hear a load war cry. Dozens of voices. They are rushing up all sides. I let my saw do what it's made to do... I spin around in circles firing at the hoarde attacking from every direction .. the numbers above my head climb higher and higher. The last one falls and they stop at 98 One more...then I see him. He is the size of a semi trucks, barellimg towards me on with his knuckles on the ground running like a gorilla. Huge , yet almost see through, some sort of cloaking mechanism. I use my rocket launcher and hit hom square in the face with a missle. The blood splatter hit me from. 50 yards away, and my counter changes as his body falls over, shaking the earth as it does so. Suddenly the light come on...a voice from. The heavens coming out of nowhere, yet also everywhere. Congratulations on passing stage 1 the arena and the interview process at dundee mifflin. Dwight schrute, please report to the parking lot promptly at 9 am for stage 2. "The office I am more than a little confused. I take off my now useless saw. Pick up a couple of cans of beets from the cottage kitchen. I walk down the hill and find a red firebird with the keys in it. As I sit down a piece of paper materlizes out of thin air. It reads. This is dwight from the future, beware of Jim
[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen.	Humans were quite the anomaly within the galaxy - unsophisticated, lacking any sort of psychokinesis, magic, or other advanced mental abilities, they had resorted to using tools and each other as ways to progress. Early humans summoned would speak in guttural tones, carrying sharpened stone and being muscled enough to take out similarly primitive creatures, though the more advanced ones were able to burn or shatter the creatures with relative ease - unless the human got the jump on them. Soon, summoned humans became more and more advanced. Still lacking any type of mental ability, they overcame this by creating weapons that were able to launch smaller physical projectiles with violent force, a veritable long shot from casting an attack by reading a passage from a tome or thinking hard enough. Humans seemed to catch on as the years progressed, with some of the armour-plated ones now carrying golden faceplates that could, surprisingly, null mental attacks. Not everyone had them, and no human had claimed victory yet, but now a human from their calendar’s twenty-thirty-first year had arrived, and things were finally looking up for the gold-clad biped who always bet on this species. This human was a one Sergeant Kazakov, whom had been in the process of field-testing a new design for plate-carrier rigs. Finding himself within a glass cage, he realized that this was likely the ‘strange disappearances throughout history’ that the higher-ups didn’t want the populace to know about. Kazakov adjusted his full-face helmet, checking his night-vision goggles and thermal sights, before tightening to Kevlar plates strapped to his arms and legs, as well as the large three-piece armour plate that covered his torso, back, and lower areas. The sergeant didn’t know what to expect, but by god he would test this armour. The rules were laid out in his head by an unseen voice; be the last one alive and you return home with a prize. Kazakov pulled back the charging handle on his AN-94 pattern rifle, and did a couple of hops in his limited room to hype himself up. The forest he found himself in was unlike any he’d seen prior - black trees, blue grass, and the light of two moons hardly piercing the leaf canopy above. That’s what the night-vision was for, and he pulled the four-eyed goggles down over his ballistic faceplate. A thin veil of green light showed him all the things on the forest floor that would’ve tripped him had he not had the ability to see. This green light also showed Kazakov his first target - a four-legged creature that was mostly brain for a head (or so it appeared, at least) with a cloak covering most of it’s body. Kazakov aimed his rifle and tapped the trigger once, sending a burst of two rounds faster than the recoil could hit the armoured shoulder of Kazakov, and the shots hit the massive brain of his target. An ear-piercing scream filled the air that might’ve deafened the soldier had he not been wearing the issued earplugs that almost completely deafened him already. The creature fell to the ground, spurting a liquid that wasn’t quite blood, though it’s colour couldn’t be seen by the sergeant through the green. Once more the voice returned, ordering a ceasefire as somehow a curator of the event had been killed, and the murderer was to be tried before a court of law. The biped in golden armour smirked beneath his mask. Not even he had expected that a fellow human would see a curator using a digital-imaging sight. Things were getting interesting, finally.	I saw a flash of light, and an instant, my whole squad was gone.. I left iraq behind, for somewhere... Artificial... My environment has the look of a high resolution fortnite level.. it was definitely artificial. , Built with care. Bladed weapons were hovering above ground. Slowly rotating, ammo , med kits. Every thing I was used to. Moments before I was about to go on 6 minute mission . I had an assault pack,. An m249 machine gun and a few thousand rounds of ammo.. I touched the disposable rocket launcher on my back. It gave me comfort. I did a quick mental inventory of my supplies 1. Tactical tomahawk on the chest 2. 9 he fragmentation grenades 3. 1. saw 249 with 3000 rounds.. 4. 1 911 pistol with two extra clips. 5.1.tube launched wore guided anti tank missile. 5. A boot knife k bar 6. Bullet proof vest with side protectors 7 1 standard issue helmet 8. Small med kit with a few tubes of super glue 8. No water, no rations . As the light faded my.eyes readjusted , I saw strange creatures in the distance. Tiny red cross hairs framed thier bodies.. one began to run towards me with a battle axe in hand. He must have been 7 feet tall a giant orcish looking creature. At 150 yards away , I took the time to aim. A single shot and his exploded in a pink mist. I saw more players, and I dropped then one by one.. I seemed to be the only person here with a fire arm...12 down...how many to go... THwACk! I was l knocked down. A javalin lay at my feet. It came out of nowhere, I glad I brought the rifle plate today. I need to make it to high ground. There is a cottage a few hundred yards away. I ran for it. The players jeep on coming. I struggle to conserve my ammo, resist the urge to open up.. fight way to the roof of the cottage. The floating numbers above my head procliam 31 kills. There is a silence on the battlefield, and I hear a load war cry. Dozens of voices. They are rushing up all sides. I let my saw do what it's made to do... I spin around in circles firing at the hoarde attacking from every direction .. the numbers above my head climb higher and higher. The last one falls and they stop at 98 One more...then I see him. He is the size of a semi trucks, barellimg towards me on with his knuckles on the ground running like a gorilla. Huge , yet almost see through, some sort of cloaking mechanism. I use my rocket launcher and hit hom square in the face with a missle. The blood splatter hit me from. 50 yards away, and my counter changes as his body falls over, shaking the earth as it does so. Suddenly the light come on...a voice from. The heavens coming out of nowhere, yet also everywhere. Congratulations on passing stage 1 the arena and the interview process at dundee mifflin. Dwight schrute, please report to the parking lot promptly at 9 am for stage 2. "The office I am more than a little confused. I take off my now useless saw. Pick up a couple of cans of beets from the cottage kitchen. I walk down the hill and find a red firebird with the keys in it. As I sit down a piece of paper materlizes out of thin air. It reads. This is dwight from the future, beware of Jim
[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen.	"You bet on the human?" my friend asks. "Tool-reliant creatures never do well." "Just got to get one with the right tools," I say. "We use tools, don't we?" "It's not the same." "Sure it is. If you had a weapon, instead of food, even you'd do pretty well. Have you seen their planet's record?" It was not a good record. Their planet used to do rather well, but... "No, I stopped caring when they stopped sending lizards. Mega-fauna always wins." He's not completely wrong, either. Big animals are hard to kill, and their sheer mass is a weapon. Smaller creatures hunt in packs. Twelve times out of thirteen, the victory goes to a big, intelligent carnivore that hunts alone. Humans are none of those. Humans are small. They rely on teamwork. They rely on tools. Without tools, they're weak, even by their own planet's standards. But, the Judges don't care about that. They care about aptitude, and species that use tools have a very high aptitude. We fall quiet as the arena is revealed. The contestants appear, frozen in the same position they were summoned. They are made to understand. Kill or be killed. Survivors are rewarded with freedom and more. I have always loved the area. It is massive, and tailored to the species that would be fighting in it. Rivers, forests, grasslands, mountains, deserts and canyons. I do not remember how many times I have seen it. It is still awe-inspiring. But, I don't have time for that. The contestants are about to start moving. With a bit of help, I spot it. Usually, they drop humans at the border between the grasslands and the forest. This year was no exception. It is a male, but the tools and textiles look a bit different this year. The textiles are mottled to make a form of primitive "camouflage." I say, "and the tools look familiar." The human moves. *** "That wasn't fair," my friend complains. "I'd have had that on lock if not for that human." "I told you," I say. "They just need the right tools." The human in question did not win. But, it did survive long enough to cause quite a few upsets. One of them being the a certain someone's favorite. Perhaps, the next one will do better. Then again, perhaps not.	I saw a flash of light, and an instant, my whole squad was gone.. I left iraq behind, for somewhere... Artificial... My environment has the look of a high resolution fortnite level.. it was definitely artificial. , Built with care. Bladed weapons were hovering above ground. Slowly rotating, ammo , med kits. Every thing I was used to. Moments before I was about to go on 6 minute mission . I had an assault pack,. An m249 machine gun and a few thousand rounds of ammo.. I touched the disposable rocket launcher on my back. It gave me comfort. I did a quick mental inventory of my supplies 1. Tactical tomahawk on the chest 2. 9 he fragmentation grenades 3. 1. saw 249 with 3000 rounds.. 4. 1 911 pistol with two extra clips. 5.1.tube launched wore guided anti tank missile. 5. A boot knife k bar 6. Bullet proof vest with side protectors 7 1 standard issue helmet 8. Small med kit with a few tubes of super glue 8. No water, no rations . As the light faded my.eyes readjusted , I saw strange creatures in the distance. Tiny red cross hairs framed thier bodies.. one began to run towards me with a battle axe in hand. He must have been 7 feet tall a giant orcish looking creature. At 150 yards away , I took the time to aim. A single shot and his exploded in a pink mist. I saw more players, and I dropped then one by one.. I seemed to be the only person here with a fire arm...12 down...how many to go... THwACk! I was l knocked down. A javalin lay at my feet. It came out of nowhere, I glad I brought the rifle plate today. I need to make it to high ground. There is a cottage a few hundred yards away. I ran for it. The players jeep on coming. I struggle to conserve my ammo, resist the urge to open up.. fight way to the roof of the cottage. The floating numbers above my head procliam 31 kills. There is a silence on the battlefield, and I hear a load war cry. Dozens of voices. They are rushing up all sides. I let my saw do what it's made to do... I spin around in circles firing at the hoarde attacking from every direction .. the numbers above my head climb higher and higher. The last one falls and they stop at 98 One more...then I see him. He is the size of a semi trucks, barellimg towards me on with his knuckles on the ground running like a gorilla. Huge , yet almost see through, some sort of cloaking mechanism. I use my rocket launcher and hit hom square in the face with a missle. The blood splatter hit me from. 50 yards away, and my counter changes as his body falls over, shaking the earth as it does so. Suddenly the light come on...a voice from. The heavens coming out of nowhere, yet also everywhere. Congratulations on passing stage 1 the arena and the interview process at dundee mifflin. Dwight schrute, please report to the parking lot promptly at 9 am for stage 2. "The office I am more than a little confused. I take off my now useless saw. Pick up a couple of cans of beets from the cottage kitchen. I walk down the hill and find a red firebird with the keys in it. As I sit down a piece of paper materlizes out of thin air. It reads. This is dwight from the future, beware of Jim
[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen.	One moment I was in the streets of Al-Fallujah, locked in a gunfight with Isis militants. The next, I was standing in some extraterrestrial super dome, shoulder to shoulder with an amalgam of terrifying creatures. At first, I think it a dream. But the metallic, scratched grip of my M4 responds all too familiarly, paried with my suspended dog tag, vibrating no longer from adrenaline, but fear. A feline creature with a wideset mouth, and reptilian features. A spider-like monstrosity with bioluminescent arms. A mammalian creature with praying mantis-like dagger appendages. More than two dozen creatures, all different sizes, all intimidating. 60 bullets. That's all my carbine has left. The buzzer sounds. The creatures, some being their nature, immediately attack each other. As otherworldly wails, shrieks, roars, clicks, electric explosions, and cacophonous sounds penetrate the air, I take the chance to drop to a darkly lit, blackly-growing vegetated cavern. It is here that I wait. In the relative safety of darkness. Sounds of dying creatures permeate the air. At first regular, the hours pass and the rhythm of dying animals lengthens. It is thus I sit in the darkness. "You are self-conscious, intelligent." The echoed voice rings in my head. A statement. An unspoken knowing. I rotate to the sound, M4 poised to release...A veinous, pulsing entity stands before me. More air than entity, the creature moves it arms. Its veinous strands detach and reattach quickly with each minute movement. It extends its arms, palms up, to me. "You and I will beat this," it says, before it takes me. Unwinding itself, it launches at me, wrapping around, avoiding the barrel of my gun. the creature nets itself onto me. It plunges its many nervous, spiked strands into my skin. Molding with me. The creature's veinous strands writhe into me, writhe into my gun, my grenades. Molding. "Interesting." I hear it. I hear us. We launch ourselves to the upper shelf, the battleground. A raptor-like creature with insect wings eyes us. As it begins a hunter's prowl toward us, we unleash. What was my M4 has now become an organic attachment. Biological bullets are sent forth. They tear through the creature. Spindling into the flesh upon impact. When the creature falls, the bullets crawl out of the corpse, and back up our legs and into our weapon. In this manner, we fell every beast. And we turn our attention to the wall. Our cage. We spider our appendage into the barrier. With our workings, we can feel the barrier failing under our assault. Soon, the beings that brought this hell will be the prey of their own prize.	I saw a flash of light, and an instant, my whole squad was gone.. I left iraq behind, for somewhere... Artificial... My environment has the look of a high resolution fortnite level.. it was definitely artificial. , Built with care. Bladed weapons were hovering above ground. Slowly rotating, ammo , med kits. Every thing I was used to. Moments before I was about to go on 6 minute mission . I had an assault pack,. An m249 machine gun and a few thousand rounds of ammo.. I touched the disposable rocket launcher on my back. It gave me comfort. I did a quick mental inventory of my supplies 1. Tactical tomahawk on the chest 2. 9 he fragmentation grenades 3. 1. saw 249 with 3000 rounds.. 4. 1 911 pistol with two extra clips. 5.1.tube launched wore guided anti tank missile. 5. A boot knife k bar 6. Bullet proof vest with side protectors 7 1 standard issue helmet 8. Small med kit with a few tubes of super glue 8. No water, no rations . As the light faded my.eyes readjusted , I saw strange creatures in the distance. Tiny red cross hairs framed thier bodies.. one began to run towards me with a battle axe in hand. He must have been 7 feet tall a giant orcish looking creature. At 150 yards away , I took the time to aim. A single shot and his exploded in a pink mist. I saw more players, and I dropped then one by one.. I seemed to be the only person here with a fire arm...12 down...how many to go... THwACk! I was l knocked down. A javalin lay at my feet. It came out of nowhere, I glad I brought the rifle plate today. I need to make it to high ground. There is a cottage a few hundred yards away. I ran for it. The players jeep on coming. I struggle to conserve my ammo, resist the urge to open up.. fight way to the roof of the cottage. The floating numbers above my head procliam 31 kills. There is a silence on the battlefield, and I hear a load war cry. Dozens of voices. They are rushing up all sides. I let my saw do what it's made to do... I spin around in circles firing at the hoarde attacking from every direction .. the numbers above my head climb higher and higher. The last one falls and they stop at 98 One more...then I see him. He is the size of a semi trucks, barellimg towards me on with his knuckles on the ground running like a gorilla. Huge , yet almost see through, some sort of cloaking mechanism. I use my rocket launcher and hit hom square in the face with a missle. The blood splatter hit me from. 50 yards away, and my counter changes as his body falls over, shaking the earth as it does so. Suddenly the light come on...a voice from. The heavens coming out of nowhere, yet also everywhere. Congratulations on passing stage 1 the arena and the interview process at dundee mifflin. Dwight schrute, please report to the parking lot promptly at 9 am for stage 2. "The office I am more than a little confused. I take off my now useless saw. Pick up a couple of cans of beets from the cottage kitchen. I walk down the hill and find a red firebird with the keys in it. As I sit down a piece of paper materlizes out of thin air. It reads. This is dwight from the future, beware of Jim
[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen.	The human soldier had been fighting without rest for three days. The enemies attacks had claimed the use of his right arm and maimed half his body, but still he fought on. As he closed his eyes during an all too frequent lull in the fighting and prayed death didn’t claim him, what was probably the last thing he could have expected to happen.... happened. He found himself in an arena, surrounded by cheering crowds and strange horrors the likes of which even his darkest nightmares could not have dreamed up, as a voice in his head bellowed, to the great pleasure of the crowd, that the “Great Battle Royale” was about to begin. Meanwhile above him, the organisers of the fight noticed something was off, the human was already injured, grevioiesly so, and covered in both his own and other humans blood, a handicap like this would break the spirit of the tournament so they started to make moves to send him back to Earth before the superior species of the Galaxy got to him. Right before they could however, it was their turn to face the unexpected, dropping to one knee the human braced his primitive, crude, but brutal rifle on his maimed arm and fired a single shot at the nearest foe, a Dog Warriors of Zargon Prime, one of the favourites for the tournament, and to their shock the large, heavy and archaic bullet from his gun passed without trouble through the Warriors shields and shattered the ceramic face plate, both of which were designed to provide maximum survivability against plasma weaponry, killing it instantly. He then did this nine more times, cycling the bolt with one hand while maintaining his aim and focus, wiping out most of his rivals in a hail of precision rifle fire, until all that were left was he and the Multi Armed Horror of the Terror Vortex, a creature rebound for its agility and fierce intelligence. In response, the human threw a rock, a strange metal rock the Horror caught with frightening ease, bribing close to its face to examine as it laughed at the pitiful attack, not noticing that the human has already dived for cover right before the grenade exploded, turning it from biology into physics. This primitive, crippled human defeating the greatest killers in the galaxy angered the organisers, so they sent their trump card against him, the previous champion, a being of pure combat and the upmost honour, a Royal Guard from the Vox Regime. But once again, things did not go their way, as the Guard entered the arena the human threw down his now empty rifle and drew an inward curving blade, pointing it at the new challenger before bellowing in what the local translation fields interpreted as “COME AND FIGHT A GURKAH!” at their champion who, to the organisers horror, obliged by stripping off his armour and abandoning all weapons save a single blade of his own, to make it a fair fight. He did not last 10 seconds in a fair fight, the human taking his head with shocking ease. Fearing what letting such a deadly fighting stick around would do, especially one from a species considered to barely be worth including due to their supposed weakness, the organisers hurriedly teleported him back to his trench on Earth, just in time for Lachhiman Gurung to see British reinforcements approaching to drive off the last Japanese attack.... Putting his experiences in the alien arena down to an injury and fatigued induced fever dream, the one armed Gurkha would never know he saved many other humans the horror of being abducted to be slaughtered for sport...	I saw a flash of light, and an instant, my whole squad was gone.. I left iraq behind, for somewhere... Artificial... My environment has the look of a high resolution fortnite level.. it was definitely artificial. , Built with care. Bladed weapons were hovering above ground. Slowly rotating, ammo , med kits. Every thing I was used to. Moments before I was about to go on 6 minute mission . I had an assault pack,. An m249 machine gun and a few thousand rounds of ammo.. I touched the disposable rocket launcher on my back. It gave me comfort. I did a quick mental inventory of my supplies 1. Tactical tomahawk on the chest 2. 9 he fragmentation grenades 3. 1. saw 249 with 3000 rounds.. 4. 1 911 pistol with two extra clips. 5.1.tube launched wore guided anti tank missile. 5. A boot knife k bar 6. Bullet proof vest with side protectors 7 1 standard issue helmet 8. Small med kit with a few tubes of super glue 8. No water, no rations . As the light faded my.eyes readjusted , I saw strange creatures in the distance. Tiny red cross hairs framed thier bodies.. one began to run towards me with a battle axe in hand. He must have been 7 feet tall a giant orcish looking creature. At 150 yards away , I took the time to aim. A single shot and his exploded in a pink mist. I saw more players, and I dropped then one by one.. I seemed to be the only person here with a fire arm...12 down...how many to go... THwACk! I was l knocked down. A javalin lay at my feet. It came out of nowhere, I glad I brought the rifle plate today. I need to make it to high ground. There is a cottage a few hundred yards away. I ran for it. The players jeep on coming. I struggle to conserve my ammo, resist the urge to open up.. fight way to the roof of the cottage. The floating numbers above my head procliam 31 kills. There is a silence on the battlefield, and I hear a load war cry. Dozens of voices. They are rushing up all sides. I let my saw do what it's made to do... I spin around in circles firing at the hoarde attacking from every direction .. the numbers above my head climb higher and higher. The last one falls and they stop at 98 One more...then I see him. He is the size of a semi trucks, barellimg towards me on with his knuckles on the ground running like a gorilla. Huge , yet almost see through, some sort of cloaking mechanism. I use my rocket launcher and hit hom square in the face with a missle. The blood splatter hit me from. 50 yards away, and my counter changes as his body falls over, shaking the earth as it does so. Suddenly the light come on...a voice from. The heavens coming out of nowhere, yet also everywhere. Congratulations on passing stage 1 the arena and the interview process at dundee mifflin. Dwight schrute, please report to the parking lot promptly at 9 am for stage 2. "The office I am more than a little confused. I take off my now useless saw. Pick up a couple of cans of beets from the cottage kitchen. I walk down the hill and find a red firebird with the keys in it. As I sit down a piece of paper materlizes out of thin air. It reads. This is dwight from the future, beware of Jim
[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen.	“We have an anomaly sir in the harvest for the battle royals.” “What is it Kleitus? Have you bought an amusing play thing for me today?” Kleitus shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. “Well we captured a human as per usual but this one is different.” The merciless overlord raised an eyebrow his finger hovering over the controls in his chairs arm. A press of a button would vaporise this servant as it had many before should he dissapoint. “The system says he’s technically a human but he’s clearly heavily modified, almost grotesque. Upon arrival he took stock of his surroundings, shouted “for the emporer” and promptly slaughter every other species in the holding area with a giant eagle shaped mace.” The overlord’s interest was peaked. He pressed a few buttons and brought up an image of the cell. There standing like a colossus clad in viscera stained armour decorated with wax seals and some sort of scripture was the human. His skull like helmet crackled with some sort of energy field built into a halo of Iron it’s dark eyes seemed to stare right through the camera into the overlords soul. For the first time in a millennia he felt a thrill of fear. “This thing is clearly too dangerous to be allowed to compete. We should recruit it instead Kleitus.” Kleitus shifted again warily eyeing the control pad. “We tried that sir, I sent in a dozen of your elite guard and a diplomat. The human simply said “suffer not the alien or the mutant to live” and smote the diplomat so hard with that mace one of the guard was blinded by bits of his skull. He dispatched the guards too.” “Well vent the atmosphere into space then man, have you no initiative.” “We did sir the armour he wears is apparently proof against the vacuum of space.” With a snarl of frustration the overlord slammed his fist on the keyboard and winced at the shriek of pain as Kleitus was incinerated. He hadn’t meant to do that. He called up the image of the cell once more to look upon this human specimen and puzzle what to do with them, instead he was horrified to see the room empty the steel door torn from its hinges. He pressed a button he never thought to use, his chair sank into the floor and started down the secret passage to his rocket ship. In the distance he heard the screaming start.	I saw a flash of light, and an instant, my whole squad was gone.. I left iraq behind, for somewhere... Artificial... My environment has the look of a high resolution fortnite level.. it was definitely artificial. , Built with care. Bladed weapons were hovering above ground. Slowly rotating, ammo , med kits. Every thing I was used to. Moments before I was about to go on 6 minute mission . I had an assault pack,. An m249 machine gun and a few thousand rounds of ammo.. I touched the disposable rocket launcher on my back. It gave me comfort. I did a quick mental inventory of my supplies 1. Tactical tomahawk on the chest 2. 9 he fragmentation grenades 3. 1. saw 249 with 3000 rounds.. 4. 1 911 pistol with two extra clips. 5.1.tube launched wore guided anti tank missile. 5. A boot knife k bar 6. Bullet proof vest with side protectors 7 1 standard issue helmet 8. Small med kit with a few tubes of super glue 8. No water, no rations . As the light faded my.eyes readjusted , I saw strange creatures in the distance. Tiny red cross hairs framed thier bodies.. one began to run towards me with a battle axe in hand. He must have been 7 feet tall a giant orcish looking creature. At 150 yards away , I took the time to aim. A single shot and his exploded in a pink mist. I saw more players, and I dropped then one by one.. I seemed to be the only person here with a fire arm...12 down...how many to go... THwACk! I was l knocked down. A javalin lay at my feet. It came out of nowhere, I glad I brought the rifle plate today. I need to make it to high ground. There is a cottage a few hundred yards away. I ran for it. The players jeep on coming. I struggle to conserve my ammo, resist the urge to open up.. fight way to the roof of the cottage. The floating numbers above my head procliam 31 kills. There is a silence on the battlefield, and I hear a load war cry. Dozens of voices. They are rushing up all sides. I let my saw do what it's made to do... I spin around in circles firing at the hoarde attacking from every direction .. the numbers above my head climb higher and higher. The last one falls and they stop at 98 One more...then I see him. He is the size of a semi trucks, barellimg towards me on with his knuckles on the ground running like a gorilla. Huge , yet almost see through, some sort of cloaking mechanism. I use my rocket launcher and hit hom square in the face with a missle. The blood splatter hit me from. 50 yards away, and my counter changes as his body falls over, shaking the earth as it does so. Suddenly the light come on...a voice from. The heavens coming out of nowhere, yet also everywhere. Congratulations on passing stage 1 the arena and the interview process at dundee mifflin. Dwight schrute, please report to the parking lot promptly at 9 am for stage 2. "The office I am more than a little confused. I take off my now useless saw. Pick up a couple of cans of beets from the cottage kitchen. I walk down the hill and find a red firebird with the keys in it. As I sit down a piece of paper materlizes out of thin air. It reads. This is dwight from the future, beware of Jim
[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen.	Khaleri'huik knows very well when a bet will prove profitable. It's always been a talent of his, the reason he thrived upon entering the underworld. Usually, his job involves illegal fight rings, males and females starved and pitted against each other, fighting veak and pincer to come out on top. To come out alive. In all his years as a professional, Khal has never been wrong in predicting who would win those fights. But now comes the hightlight of his year. The annual intergalactic battle royale, where unsuspecting species are plucked from their planets and duel in pairs until the best species prevails. It's a difficult competition for a coveted reward: the Wise One will favour the winner's planet until the next competition. Khal descends a flight of stairs to the cells of the competitors. His contacts grant him access each year, so he may gauge the odds. Most species are cowering in their cells. These are the ones who will be picked off first, Khal knows. The weak links, the ones who will be judged unfit and will not survive the arena. Some others are sitting, patiently awaiting the battle. Most of these are just plain brave, which is noble but doesn't constitute a winner. A couple others, namely the Gurgan and the Fritel, are species resistant to the mind wipe. That is, they come from civilisations who have known about ths competition from the very start and have prepared each generation since to win. To wipe the floor with the rest of the galaxy and win the Wise One's favour. It's always one of these two species who wins, their advantage unbeatable by their dumbfounded opponents. Khal always bets on one of them. This year, he decides against the Gurgan. There is scarring on its hide which speaks to greater debilitating injuries - Khal shudders to even think of something terrible enough to pierce a Gurgan hide. Nevertheless, their kind relies on their outer armour to protect the fragile guts. If the hide is pierced, those guts will be permanently damaged and give the victim much grief, provided the Gurgan survives. So, the Fritel it is this year. Khal turns to leave. He has seen enough. The guard's voice stops him. 'Don't you wanna take a look at the human, too? We got a real mean one this year'. Intrigued, Khal turns around. Humans are known to be the biggest weaklings in the Milky Way. They've always been the species that scares the most easily, water flowing on their faces as soon as they see half a pincer. 'Take me there,' he requests. The guard leads him down a corridor and to the left, to solitary. 'Right in here, Big K. We had to separate it because it was trying to whip the weak ones into a resistance. Plus, it was making a huge ruckus all the time and getting on our nerves'. Khal doesn't speak. Rather, he peers into the cube of one-way mirrors. The human is tall, bulky, and dressed in black. It carries a polished black tube and... is that a machete? It's banging the huge knife into the walls, shouting something. The soundproof cell contains it. Humans have been, historically, one of the worst bets in the competition. They were an easy way to lose a lot of money. However, Khal's intuition never steers him wrong, and there's something about this human. Something that simply screams 'winner'. Khal thanks the guard and leaves. The next day he places his bet. He doesn't bet on the Fritel. -- By the time the day of the competition arrives, Khal is stressed. He has staked a lot on his intuition by now, and there are people who will have his beak if he's wrong. The first few rounds are weak species, probably killing each other by accident. The human is one of the last ones to be let into the arena. It duels some of the previous winners and prevails. Then, the Gurgan is unleashed unto it. The human takes stock of the enormous Gurgan as it attacks. A sideways step and a clever stab of the machete right through the soft scar tissue, and the round is over. It's not long before the human and the Fritel are facing off as finalists. The human looks its opponent head-to-claw and, with its voice picked up and translated and amplified by a hundrend devices around the arena, asks: 'Do I really have to kill Mufasa? Again?'. The audience stays still. No one understands the meaning of the question. It would have gone unanswered anyway. The Fritel growls, and charges. The fight is longer by far than the one with the Gurgan, and more brutal. Khal has already started mourning his beautiful beak when the human, pinned underneath the Fritel and with no hope of survival, suddenly unleashes fire upon the species. The Fritel howls and falls backward, revealing to the audience a belly full of holes leaking purple blood. It thrashes a few times and stills. The human stands, wiping its grotesque crimson blood from its face. It turns to the main box where the Wise One watches and bellows, 'You happy, you ugly motherfucker? Can I leave now?' Khal listens absently to the Wise One grant her favout to Earth, commend the human and order for him to be mind-wiped and sent back. He doesn't really care. He only cares that he's much, much richer than he was five minutes ago and that his beak will remain attached to the rest of him for the foreseeable future. Ah, yes. Khaleri'huik does indeed know when a bet will prove profitable.	I saw a flash of light, and an instant, my whole squad was gone.. I left iraq behind, for somewhere... Artificial... My environment has the look of a high resolution fortnite level.. it was definitely artificial. , Built with care. Bladed weapons were hovering above ground. Slowly rotating, ammo , med kits. Every thing I was used to. Moments before I was about to go on 6 minute mission . I had an assault pack,. An m249 machine gun and a few thousand rounds of ammo.. I touched the disposable rocket launcher on my back. It gave me comfort. I did a quick mental inventory of my supplies 1. Tactical tomahawk on the chest 2. 9 he fragmentation grenades 3. 1. saw 249 with 3000 rounds.. 4. 1 911 pistol with two extra clips. 5.1.tube launched wore guided anti tank missile. 5. A boot knife k bar 6. Bullet proof vest with side protectors 7 1 standard issue helmet 8. Small med kit with a few tubes of super glue 8. No water, no rations . As the light faded my.eyes readjusted , I saw strange creatures in the distance. Tiny red cross hairs framed thier bodies.. one began to run towards me with a battle axe in hand. He must have been 7 feet tall a giant orcish looking creature. At 150 yards away , I took the time to aim. A single shot and his exploded in a pink mist. I saw more players, and I dropped then one by one.. I seemed to be the only person here with a fire arm...12 down...how many to go... THwACk! I was l knocked down. A javalin lay at my feet. It came out of nowhere, I glad I brought the rifle plate today. I need to make it to high ground. There is a cottage a few hundred yards away. I ran for it. The players jeep on coming. I struggle to conserve my ammo, resist the urge to open up.. fight way to the roof of the cottage. The floating numbers above my head procliam 31 kills. There is a silence on the battlefield, and I hear a load war cry. Dozens of voices. They are rushing up all sides. I let my saw do what it's made to do... I spin around in circles firing at the hoarde attacking from every direction .. the numbers above my head climb higher and higher. The last one falls and they stop at 98 One more...then I see him. He is the size of a semi trucks, barellimg towards me on with his knuckles on the ground running like a gorilla. Huge , yet almost see through, some sort of cloaking mechanism. I use my rocket launcher and hit hom square in the face with a missle. The blood splatter hit me from. 50 yards away, and my counter changes as his body falls over, shaking the earth as it does so. Suddenly the light come on...a voice from. The heavens coming out of nowhere, yet also everywhere. Congratulations on passing stage 1 the arena and the interview process at dundee mifflin. Dwight schrute, please report to the parking lot promptly at 9 am for stage 2. "The office I am more than a little confused. I take off my now useless saw. Pick up a couple of cans of beets from the cottage kitchen. I walk down the hill and find a red firebird with the keys in it. As I sit down a piece of paper materlizes out of thin air. It reads. This is dwight from the future, beware of Jim
[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen.	Humans. Normally a subject of derision, weak and infirm. But this thing was not really like those that had been taken before. Xallahieinxix looked at it in the cell it occupied ready for the Battle Royale. It was taller than previous specimens and bulkier, clad in some kind of advanced armour. A dozen small drones buzzed around him periodically and played small sensors over its surroundings. Worse, the weapon it carried was strange, long and hollow connected by a cable to its back. “I can see you you know?” The translation software revealed and Xalla startled, the cages mirror surface should have concealed him. Oh. The device on his eyes was also a sophisticated sensor. He hadn’t even thought to check for thermal detection as it wasn’t an ability that the species had shown before. But he had been taken, the rules were quite clear. The cage opened into the grand arena, and fields pushed the warrior out. Then the dying began in earnest the weak being weeded out... at first, Xalla noticed with a significant shock that the human was casually butchering anything that came close to it with a rapid fire mass driver, but curiously it was also firing to protect a young feline creature. The feline noticed and ran over on all fours bounding to... cower under the humans feet, the crowd went nuts. Soon enough it was just the human and the feline. ‘Only one may exit’ The voice boomed. “Fuck you.” The human began firing on the shield projectors that kept the participants in the arena. With a flash of light they were both teleported out in a rush decision they were both sent to the humans homeworld. Xalla checked his commlink as he received a message. ‘Xalla, no more humans.’	I saw a flash of light, and an instant, my whole squad was gone.. I left iraq behind, for somewhere... Artificial... My environment has the look of a high resolution fortnite level.. it was definitely artificial. , Built with care. Bladed weapons were hovering above ground. Slowly rotating, ammo , med kits. Every thing I was used to. Moments before I was about to go on 6 minute mission . I had an assault pack,. An m249 machine gun and a few thousand rounds of ammo.. I touched the disposable rocket launcher on my back. It gave me comfort. I did a quick mental inventory of my supplies 1. Tactical tomahawk on the chest 2. 9 he fragmentation grenades 3. 1. saw 249 with 3000 rounds.. 4. 1 911 pistol with two extra clips. 5.1.tube launched wore guided anti tank missile. 5. A boot knife k bar 6. Bullet proof vest with side protectors 7 1 standard issue helmet 8. Small med kit with a few tubes of super glue 8. No water, no rations . As the light faded my.eyes readjusted , I saw strange creatures in the distance. Tiny red cross hairs framed thier bodies.. one began to run towards me with a battle axe in hand. He must have been 7 feet tall a giant orcish looking creature. At 150 yards away , I took the time to aim. A single shot and his exploded in a pink mist. I saw more players, and I dropped then one by one.. I seemed to be the only person here with a fire arm...12 down...how many to go... THwACk! I was l knocked down. A javalin lay at my feet. It came out of nowhere, I glad I brought the rifle plate today. I need to make it to high ground. There is a cottage a few hundred yards away. I ran for it. The players jeep on coming. I struggle to conserve my ammo, resist the urge to open up.. fight way to the roof of the cottage. The floating numbers above my head procliam 31 kills. There is a silence on the battlefield, and I hear a load war cry. Dozens of voices. They are rushing up all sides. I let my saw do what it's made to do... I spin around in circles firing at the hoarde attacking from every direction .. the numbers above my head climb higher and higher. The last one falls and they stop at 98 One more...then I see him. He is the size of a semi trucks, barellimg towards me on with his knuckles on the ground running like a gorilla. Huge , yet almost see through, some sort of cloaking mechanism. I use my rocket launcher and hit hom square in the face with a missle. The blood splatter hit me from. 50 yards away, and my counter changes as his body falls over, shaking the earth as it does so. Suddenly the light come on...a voice from. The heavens coming out of nowhere, yet also everywhere. Congratulations on passing stage 1 the arena and the interview process at dundee mifflin. Dwight schrute, please report to the parking lot promptly at 9 am for stage 2. "The office I am more than a little confused. I take off my now useless saw. Pick up a couple of cans of beets from the cottage kitchen. I walk down the hill and find a red firebird with the keys in it. As I sit down a piece of paper materlizes out of thin air. It reads. This is dwight from the future, beware of Jim
[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen.	Humans were quite the anomaly within the galaxy - unsophisticated, lacking any sort of psychokinesis, magic, or other advanced mental abilities, they had resorted to using tools and each other as ways to progress. Early humans summoned would speak in guttural tones, carrying sharpened stone and being muscled enough to take out similarly primitive creatures, though the more advanced ones were able to burn or shatter the creatures with relative ease - unless the human got the jump on them. Soon, summoned humans became more and more advanced. Still lacking any type of mental ability, they overcame this by creating weapons that were able to launch smaller physical projectiles with violent force, a veritable long shot from casting an attack by reading a passage from a tome or thinking hard enough. Humans seemed to catch on as the years progressed, with some of the armour-plated ones now carrying golden faceplates that could, surprisingly, null mental attacks. Not everyone had them, and no human had claimed victory yet, but now a human from their calendar’s twenty-thirty-first year had arrived, and things were finally looking up for the gold-clad biped who always bet on this species. This human was a one Sergeant Kazakov, whom had been in the process of field-testing a new design for plate-carrier rigs. Finding himself within a glass cage, he realized that this was likely the ‘strange disappearances throughout history’ that the higher-ups didn’t want the populace to know about. Kazakov adjusted his full-face helmet, checking his night-vision goggles and thermal sights, before tightening to Kevlar plates strapped to his arms and legs, as well as the large three-piece armour plate that covered his torso, back, and lower areas. The sergeant didn’t know what to expect, but by god he would test this armour. The rules were laid out in his head by an unseen voice; be the last one alive and you return home with a prize. Kazakov pulled back the charging handle on his AN-94 pattern rifle, and did a couple of hops in his limited room to hype himself up. The forest he found himself in was unlike any he’d seen prior - black trees, blue grass, and the light of two moons hardly piercing the leaf canopy above. That’s what the night-vision was for, and he pulled the four-eyed goggles down over his ballistic faceplate. A thin veil of green light showed him all the things on the forest floor that would’ve tripped him had he not had the ability to see. This green light also showed Kazakov his first target - a four-legged creature that was mostly brain for a head (or so it appeared, at least) with a cloak covering most of it’s body. Kazakov aimed his rifle and tapped the trigger once, sending a burst of two rounds faster than the recoil could hit the armoured shoulder of Kazakov, and the shots hit the massive brain of his target. An ear-piercing scream filled the air that might’ve deafened the soldier had he not been wearing the issued earplugs that almost completely deafened him already. The creature fell to the ground, spurting a liquid that wasn’t quite blood, though it’s colour couldn’t be seen by the sergeant through the green. Once more the voice returned, ordering a ceasefire as somehow a curator of the event had been killed, and the murderer was to be tried before a court of law. The biped in golden armour smirked beneath his mask. Not even he had expected that a fellow human would see a curator using a digital-imaging sight. Things were getting interesting, finally.	"Sir... I think we've made a mistake" The alien overlord looked at his servant, he was trembling. "It is only a human, how can this be so frightening to you?" The overlord looked at the camera, the recording was showing the cells but... it was chaos down there. "I NEED TO KNOW WHAT IS GOING ON" The overlord screamed His servant looked at him as asking for mercy "I'm... sorry sir..." the servant said slowly and scared "We took... a human from mars and... hell was there..." "Hell?" the overlord was curious "How was hell there?" The door opened behind them, there it was, a human figure, with a green full body armor, holding the head of one of the overlord elite soldiers... "Rip... and... tear!" The human said before charging for them.
[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen.	One moment I was in the streets of Al-Fallujah, locked in a gunfight with Isis militants. The next, I was standing in some extraterrestrial super dome, shoulder to shoulder with an amalgam of terrifying creatures. At first, I think it a dream. But the metallic, scratched grip of my M4 responds all too familiarly, paried with my suspended dog tag, vibrating no longer from adrenaline, but fear. A feline creature with a wideset mouth, and reptilian features. A spider-like monstrosity with bioluminescent arms. A mammalian creature with praying mantis-like dagger appendages. More than two dozen creatures, all different sizes, all intimidating. 60 bullets. That's all my carbine has left. The buzzer sounds. The creatures, some being their nature, immediately attack each other. As otherworldly wails, shrieks, roars, clicks, electric explosions, and cacophonous sounds penetrate the air, I take the chance to drop to a darkly lit, blackly-growing vegetated cavern. It is here that I wait. In the relative safety of darkness. Sounds of dying creatures permeate the air. At first regular, the hours pass and the rhythm of dying animals lengthens. It is thus I sit in the darkness. "You are self-conscious, intelligent." The echoed voice rings in my head. A statement. An unspoken knowing. I rotate to the sound, M4 poised to release...A veinous, pulsing entity stands before me. More air than entity, the creature moves it arms. Its veinous strands detach and reattach quickly with each minute movement. It extends its arms, palms up, to me. "You and I will beat this," it says, before it takes me. Unwinding itself, it launches at me, wrapping around, avoiding the barrel of my gun. the creature nets itself onto me. It plunges its many nervous, spiked strands into my skin. Molding with me. The creature's veinous strands writhe into me, writhe into my gun, my grenades. Molding. "Interesting." I hear it. I hear us. We launch ourselves to the upper shelf, the battleground. A raptor-like creature with insect wings eyes us. As it begins a hunter's prowl toward us, we unleash. What was my M4 has now become an organic attachment. Biological bullets are sent forth. They tear through the creature. Spindling into the flesh upon impact. When the creature falls, the bullets crawl out of the corpse, and back up our legs and into our weapon. In this manner, we fell every beast. And we turn our attention to the wall. Our cage. We spider our appendage into the barrier. With our workings, we can feel the barrier failing under our assault. Soon, the beings that brought this hell will be the prey of their own prize.	"You bet on the human?" my friend asks. "Tool-reliant creatures never do well." "Just got to get one with the right tools," I say. "We use tools, don't we?" "It's not the same." "Sure it is. If you had a weapon, instead of food, even you'd do pretty well. Have you seen their planet's record?" It was not a good record. Their planet used to do rather well, but... "No, I stopped caring when they stopped sending lizards. Mega-fauna always wins." He's not completely wrong, either. Big animals are hard to kill, and their sheer mass is a weapon. Smaller creatures hunt in packs. Twelve times out of thirteen, the victory goes to a big, intelligent carnivore that hunts alone. Humans are none of those. Humans are small. They rely on teamwork. They rely on tools. Without tools, they're weak, even by their own planet's standards. But, the Judges don't care about that. They care about aptitude, and species that use tools have a very high aptitude. We fall quiet as the arena is revealed. The contestants appear, frozen in the same position they were summoned. They are made to understand. Kill or be killed. Survivors are rewarded with freedom and more. I have always loved the area. It is massive, and tailored to the species that would be fighting in it. Rivers, forests, grasslands, mountains, deserts and canyons. I do not remember how many times I have seen it. It is still awe-inspiring. But, I don't have time for that. The contestants are about to start moving. With a bit of help, I spot it. Usually, they drop humans at the border between the grasslands and the forest. This year was no exception. It is a male, but the tools and textiles look a bit different this year. The textiles are mottled to make a form of primitive "camouflage." I say, "and the tools look familiar." The human moves. *** "That wasn't fair," my friend complains. "I'd have had that on lock if not for that human." "I told you," I say. "They just need the right tools." The human in question did not win. But, it did survive long enough to cause quite a few upsets. One of them being the a certain someone's favorite. Perhaps, the next one will do better. Then again, perhaps not.
[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen.	The human soldier had been fighting without rest for three days. The enemies attacks had claimed the use of his right arm and maimed half his body, but still he fought on. As he closed his eyes during an all too frequent lull in the fighting and prayed death didn’t claim him, what was probably the last thing he could have expected to happen.... happened. He found himself in an arena, surrounded by cheering crowds and strange horrors the likes of which even his darkest nightmares could not have dreamed up, as a voice in his head bellowed, to the great pleasure of the crowd, that the “Great Battle Royale” was about to begin. Meanwhile above him, the organisers of the fight noticed something was off, the human was already injured, grevioiesly so, and covered in both his own and other humans blood, a handicap like this would break the spirit of the tournament so they started to make moves to send him back to Earth before the superior species of the Galaxy got to him. Right before they could however, it was their turn to face the unexpected, dropping to one knee the human braced his primitive, crude, but brutal rifle on his maimed arm and fired a single shot at the nearest foe, a Dog Warriors of Zargon Prime, one of the favourites for the tournament, and to their shock the large, heavy and archaic bullet from his gun passed without trouble through the Warriors shields and shattered the ceramic face plate, both of which were designed to provide maximum survivability against plasma weaponry, killing it instantly. He then did this nine more times, cycling the bolt with one hand while maintaining his aim and focus, wiping out most of his rivals in a hail of precision rifle fire, until all that were left was he and the Multi Armed Horror of the Terror Vortex, a creature rebound for its agility and fierce intelligence. In response, the human threw a rock, a strange metal rock the Horror caught with frightening ease, bribing close to its face to examine as it laughed at the pitiful attack, not noticing that the human has already dived for cover right before the grenade exploded, turning it from biology into physics. This primitive, crippled human defeating the greatest killers in the galaxy angered the organisers, so they sent their trump card against him, the previous champion, a being of pure combat and the upmost honour, a Royal Guard from the Vox Regime. But once again, things did not go their way, as the Guard entered the arena the human threw down his now empty rifle and drew an inward curving blade, pointing it at the new challenger before bellowing in what the local translation fields interpreted as “COME AND FIGHT A GURKAH!” at their champion who, to the organisers horror, obliged by stripping off his armour and abandoning all weapons save a single blade of his own, to make it a fair fight. He did not last 10 seconds in a fair fight, the human taking his head with shocking ease. Fearing what letting such a deadly fighting stick around would do, especially one from a species considered to barely be worth including due to their supposed weakness, the organisers hurriedly teleported him back to his trench on Earth, just in time for Lachhiman Gurung to see British reinforcements approaching to drive off the last Japanese attack.... Putting his experiences in the alien arena down to an injury and fatigued induced fever dream, the one armed Gurkha would never know he saved many other humans the horror of being abducted to be slaughtered for sport...	"You bet on the human?" my friend asks. "Tool-reliant creatures never do well." "Just got to get one with the right tools," I say. "We use tools, don't we?" "It's not the same." "Sure it is. If you had a weapon, instead of food, even you'd do pretty well. Have you seen their planet's record?" It was not a good record. Their planet used to do rather well, but... "No, I stopped caring when they stopped sending lizards. Mega-fauna always wins." He's not completely wrong, either. Big animals are hard to kill, and their sheer mass is a weapon. Smaller creatures hunt in packs. Twelve times out of thirteen, the victory goes to a big, intelligent carnivore that hunts alone. Humans are none of those. Humans are small. They rely on teamwork. They rely on tools. Without tools, they're weak, even by their own planet's standards. But, the Judges don't care about that. They care about aptitude, and species that use tools have a very high aptitude. We fall quiet as the arena is revealed. The contestants appear, frozen in the same position they were summoned. They are made to understand. Kill or be killed. Survivors are rewarded with freedom and more. I have always loved the area. It is massive, and tailored to the species that would be fighting in it. Rivers, forests, grasslands, mountains, deserts and canyons. I do not remember how many times I have seen it. It is still awe-inspiring. But, I don't have time for that. The contestants are about to start moving. With a bit of help, I spot it. Usually, they drop humans at the border between the grasslands and the forest. This year was no exception. It is a male, but the tools and textiles look a bit different this year. The textiles are mottled to make a form of primitive "camouflage." I say, "and the tools look familiar." The human moves. *** "That wasn't fair," my friend complains. "I'd have had that on lock if not for that human." "I told you," I say. "They just need the right tools." The human in question did not win. But, it did survive long enough to cause quite a few upsets. One of them being the a certain someone's favorite. Perhaps, the next one will do better. Then again, perhaps not.
[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen.	Khaleri'huik knows very well when a bet will prove profitable. It's always been a talent of his, the reason he thrived upon entering the underworld. Usually, his job involves illegal fight rings, males and females starved and pitted against each other, fighting veak and pincer to come out on top. To come out alive. In all his years as a professional, Khal has never been wrong in predicting who would win those fights. But now comes the hightlight of his year. The annual intergalactic battle royale, where unsuspecting species are plucked from their planets and duel in pairs until the best species prevails. It's a difficult competition for a coveted reward: the Wise One will favour the winner's planet until the next competition. Khal descends a flight of stairs to the cells of the competitors. His contacts grant him access each year, so he may gauge the odds. Most species are cowering in their cells. These are the ones who will be picked off first, Khal knows. The weak links, the ones who will be judged unfit and will not survive the arena. Some others are sitting, patiently awaiting the battle. Most of these are just plain brave, which is noble but doesn't constitute a winner. A couple others, namely the Gurgan and the Fritel, are species resistant to the mind wipe. That is, they come from civilisations who have known about ths competition from the very start and have prepared each generation since to win. To wipe the floor with the rest of the galaxy and win the Wise One's favour. It's always one of these two species who wins, their advantage unbeatable by their dumbfounded opponents. Khal always bets on one of them. This year, he decides against the Gurgan. There is scarring on its hide which speaks to greater debilitating injuries - Khal shudders to even think of something terrible enough to pierce a Gurgan hide. Nevertheless, their kind relies on their outer armour to protect the fragile guts. If the hide is pierced, those guts will be permanently damaged and give the victim much grief, provided the Gurgan survives. So, the Fritel it is this year. Khal turns to leave. He has seen enough. The guard's voice stops him. 'Don't you wanna take a look at the human, too? We got a real mean one this year'. Intrigued, Khal turns around. Humans are known to be the biggest weaklings in the Milky Way. They've always been the species that scares the most easily, water flowing on their faces as soon as they see half a pincer. 'Take me there,' he requests. The guard leads him down a corridor and to the left, to solitary. 'Right in here, Big K. We had to separate it because it was trying to whip the weak ones into a resistance. Plus, it was making a huge ruckus all the time and getting on our nerves'. Khal doesn't speak. Rather, he peers into the cube of one-way mirrors. The human is tall, bulky, and dressed in black. It carries a polished black tube and... is that a machete? It's banging the huge knife into the walls, shouting something. The soundproof cell contains it. Humans have been, historically, one of the worst bets in the competition. They were an easy way to lose a lot of money. However, Khal's intuition never steers him wrong, and there's something about this human. Something that simply screams 'winner'. Khal thanks the guard and leaves. The next day he places his bet. He doesn't bet on the Fritel. -- By the time the day of the competition arrives, Khal is stressed. He has staked a lot on his intuition by now, and there are people who will have his beak if he's wrong. The first few rounds are weak species, probably killing each other by accident. The human is one of the last ones to be let into the arena. It duels some of the previous winners and prevails. Then, the Gurgan is unleashed unto it. The human takes stock of the enormous Gurgan as it attacks. A sideways step and a clever stab of the machete right through the soft scar tissue, and the round is over. It's not long before the human and the Fritel are facing off as finalists. The human looks its opponent head-to-claw and, with its voice picked up and translated and amplified by a hundrend devices around the arena, asks: 'Do I really have to kill Mufasa? Again?'. The audience stays still. No one understands the meaning of the question. It would have gone unanswered anyway. The Fritel growls, and charges. The fight is longer by far than the one with the Gurgan, and more brutal. Khal has already started mourning his beautiful beak when the human, pinned underneath the Fritel and with no hope of survival, suddenly unleashes fire upon the species. The Fritel howls and falls backward, revealing to the audience a belly full of holes leaking purple blood. It thrashes a few times and stills. The human stands, wiping its grotesque crimson blood from its face. It turns to the main box where the Wise One watches and bellows, 'You happy, you ugly motherfucker? Can I leave now?' Khal listens absently to the Wise One grant her favout to Earth, commend the human and order for him to be mind-wiped and sent back. He doesn't really care. He only cares that he's much, much richer than he was five minutes ago and that his beak will remain attached to the rest of him for the foreseeable future. Ah, yes. Khaleri'huik does indeed know when a bet will prove profitable.	"You bet on the human?" my friend asks. "Tool-reliant creatures never do well." "Just got to get one with the right tools," I say. "We use tools, don't we?" "It's not the same." "Sure it is. If you had a weapon, instead of food, even you'd do pretty well. Have you seen their planet's record?" It was not a good record. Their planet used to do rather well, but... "No, I stopped caring when they stopped sending lizards. Mega-fauna always wins." He's not completely wrong, either. Big animals are hard to kill, and their sheer mass is a weapon. Smaller creatures hunt in packs. Twelve times out of thirteen, the victory goes to a big, intelligent carnivore that hunts alone. Humans are none of those. Humans are small. They rely on teamwork. They rely on tools. Without tools, they're weak, even by their own planet's standards. But, the Judges don't care about that. They care about aptitude, and species that use tools have a very high aptitude. We fall quiet as the arena is revealed. The contestants appear, frozen in the same position they were summoned. They are made to understand. Kill or be killed. Survivors are rewarded with freedom and more. I have always loved the area. It is massive, and tailored to the species that would be fighting in it. Rivers, forests, grasslands, mountains, deserts and canyons. I do not remember how many times I have seen it. It is still awe-inspiring. But, I don't have time for that. The contestants are about to start moving. With a bit of help, I spot it. Usually, they drop humans at the border between the grasslands and the forest. This year was no exception. It is a male, but the tools and textiles look a bit different this year. The textiles are mottled to make a form of primitive "camouflage." I say, "and the tools look familiar." The human moves. *** "That wasn't fair," my friend complains. "I'd have had that on lock if not for that human." "I told you," I say. "They just need the right tools." The human in question did not win. But, it did survive long enough to cause quite a few upsets. One of them being the a certain someone's favorite. Perhaps, the next one will do better. Then again, perhaps not.
[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen.	The human soldier had been fighting without rest for three days. The enemies attacks had claimed the use of his right arm and maimed half his body, but still he fought on. As he closed his eyes during an all too frequent lull in the fighting and prayed death didn’t claim him, what was probably the last thing he could have expected to happen.... happened. He found himself in an arena, surrounded by cheering crowds and strange horrors the likes of which even his darkest nightmares could not have dreamed up, as a voice in his head bellowed, to the great pleasure of the crowd, that the “Great Battle Royale” was about to begin. Meanwhile above him, the organisers of the fight noticed something was off, the human was already injured, grevioiesly so, and covered in both his own and other humans blood, a handicap like this would break the spirit of the tournament so they started to make moves to send him back to Earth before the superior species of the Galaxy got to him. Right before they could however, it was their turn to face the unexpected, dropping to one knee the human braced his primitive, crude, but brutal rifle on his maimed arm and fired a single shot at the nearest foe, a Dog Warriors of Zargon Prime, one of the favourites for the tournament, and to their shock the large, heavy and archaic bullet from his gun passed without trouble through the Warriors shields and shattered the ceramic face plate, both of which were designed to provide maximum survivability against plasma weaponry, killing it instantly. He then did this nine more times, cycling the bolt with one hand while maintaining his aim and focus, wiping out most of his rivals in a hail of precision rifle fire, until all that were left was he and the Multi Armed Horror of the Terror Vortex, a creature rebound for its agility and fierce intelligence. In response, the human threw a rock, a strange metal rock the Horror caught with frightening ease, bribing close to its face to examine as it laughed at the pitiful attack, not noticing that the human has already dived for cover right before the grenade exploded, turning it from biology into physics. This primitive, crippled human defeating the greatest killers in the galaxy angered the organisers, so they sent their trump card against him, the previous champion, a being of pure combat and the upmost honour, a Royal Guard from the Vox Regime. But once again, things did not go their way, as the Guard entered the arena the human threw down his now empty rifle and drew an inward curving blade, pointing it at the new challenger before bellowing in what the local translation fields interpreted as “COME AND FIGHT A GURKAH!” at their champion who, to the organisers horror, obliged by stripping off his armour and abandoning all weapons save a single blade of his own, to make it a fair fight. He did not last 10 seconds in a fair fight, the human taking his head with shocking ease. Fearing what letting such a deadly fighting stick around would do, especially one from a species considered to barely be worth including due to their supposed weakness, the organisers hurriedly teleported him back to his trench on Earth, just in time for Lachhiman Gurung to see British reinforcements approaching to drive off the last Japanese attack.... Putting his experiences in the alien arena down to an injury and fatigued induced fever dream, the one armed Gurkha would never know he saved many other humans the horror of being abducted to be slaughtered for sport...	One moment I was in the streets of Al-Fallujah, locked in a gunfight with Isis militants. The next, I was standing in some extraterrestrial super dome, shoulder to shoulder with an amalgam of terrifying creatures. At first, I think it a dream. But the metallic, scratched grip of my M4 responds all too familiarly, paried with my suspended dog tag, vibrating no longer from adrenaline, but fear. A feline creature with a wideset mouth, and reptilian features. A spider-like monstrosity with bioluminescent arms. A mammalian creature with praying mantis-like dagger appendages. More than two dozen creatures, all different sizes, all intimidating. 60 bullets. That's all my carbine has left. The buzzer sounds. The creatures, some being their nature, immediately attack each other. As otherworldly wails, shrieks, roars, clicks, electric explosions, and cacophonous sounds penetrate the air, I take the chance to drop to a darkly lit, blackly-growing vegetated cavern. It is here that I wait. In the relative safety of darkness. Sounds of dying creatures permeate the air. At first regular, the hours pass and the rhythm of dying animals lengthens. It is thus I sit in the darkness. "You are self-conscious, intelligent." The echoed voice rings in my head. A statement. An unspoken knowing. I rotate to the sound, M4 poised to release...A veinous, pulsing entity stands before me. More air than entity, the creature moves it arms. Its veinous strands detach and reattach quickly with each minute movement. It extends its arms, palms up, to me. "You and I will beat this," it says, before it takes me. Unwinding itself, it launches at me, wrapping around, avoiding the barrel of my gun. the creature nets itself onto me. It plunges its many nervous, spiked strands into my skin. Molding with me. The creature's veinous strands writhe into me, writhe into my gun, my grenades. Molding. "Interesting." I hear it. I hear us. We launch ourselves to the upper shelf, the battleground. A raptor-like creature with insect wings eyes us. As it begins a hunter's prowl toward us, we unleash. What was my M4 has now become an organic attachment. Biological bullets are sent forth. They tear through the creature. Spindling into the flesh upon impact. When the creature falls, the bullets crawl out of the corpse, and back up our legs and into our weapon. In this manner, we fell every beast. And we turn our attention to the wall. Our cage. We spider our appendage into the barrier. With our workings, we can feel the barrier failing under our assault. Soon, the beings that brought this hell will be the prey of their own prize.
[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen.	Khaleri'huik knows very well when a bet will prove profitable. It's always been a talent of his, the reason he thrived upon entering the underworld. Usually, his job involves illegal fight rings, males and females starved and pitted against each other, fighting veak and pincer to come out on top. To come out alive. In all his years as a professional, Khal has never been wrong in predicting who would win those fights. But now comes the hightlight of his year. The annual intergalactic battle royale, where unsuspecting species are plucked from their planets and duel in pairs until the best species prevails. It's a difficult competition for a coveted reward: the Wise One will favour the winner's planet until the next competition. Khal descends a flight of stairs to the cells of the competitors. His contacts grant him access each year, so he may gauge the odds. Most species are cowering in their cells. These are the ones who will be picked off first, Khal knows. The weak links, the ones who will be judged unfit and will not survive the arena. Some others are sitting, patiently awaiting the battle. Most of these are just plain brave, which is noble but doesn't constitute a winner. A couple others, namely the Gurgan and the Fritel, are species resistant to the mind wipe. That is, they come from civilisations who have known about ths competition from the very start and have prepared each generation since to win. To wipe the floor with the rest of the galaxy and win the Wise One's favour. It's always one of these two species who wins, their advantage unbeatable by their dumbfounded opponents. Khal always bets on one of them. This year, he decides against the Gurgan. There is scarring on its hide which speaks to greater debilitating injuries - Khal shudders to even think of something terrible enough to pierce a Gurgan hide. Nevertheless, their kind relies on their outer armour to protect the fragile guts. If the hide is pierced, those guts will be permanently damaged and give the victim much grief, provided the Gurgan survives. So, the Fritel it is this year. Khal turns to leave. He has seen enough. The guard's voice stops him. 'Don't you wanna take a look at the human, too? We got a real mean one this year'. Intrigued, Khal turns around. Humans are known to be the biggest weaklings in the Milky Way. They've always been the species that scares the most easily, water flowing on their faces as soon as they see half a pincer. 'Take me there,' he requests. The guard leads him down a corridor and to the left, to solitary. 'Right in here, Big K. We had to separate it because it was trying to whip the weak ones into a resistance. Plus, it was making a huge ruckus all the time and getting on our nerves'. Khal doesn't speak. Rather, he peers into the cube of one-way mirrors. The human is tall, bulky, and dressed in black. It carries a polished black tube and... is that a machete? It's banging the huge knife into the walls, shouting something. The soundproof cell contains it. Humans have been, historically, one of the worst bets in the competition. They were an easy way to lose a lot of money. However, Khal's intuition never steers him wrong, and there's something about this human. Something that simply screams 'winner'. Khal thanks the guard and leaves. The next day he places his bet. He doesn't bet on the Fritel. -- By the time the day of the competition arrives, Khal is stressed. He has staked a lot on his intuition by now, and there are people who will have his beak if he's wrong. The first few rounds are weak species, probably killing each other by accident. The human is one of the last ones to be let into the arena. It duels some of the previous winners and prevails. Then, the Gurgan is unleashed unto it. The human takes stock of the enormous Gurgan as it attacks. A sideways step and a clever stab of the machete right through the soft scar tissue, and the round is over. It's not long before the human and the Fritel are facing off as finalists. The human looks its opponent head-to-claw and, with its voice picked up and translated and amplified by a hundrend devices around the arena, asks: 'Do I really have to kill Mufasa? Again?'. The audience stays still. No one understands the meaning of the question. It would have gone unanswered anyway. The Fritel growls, and charges. The fight is longer by far than the one with the Gurgan, and more brutal. Khal has already started mourning his beautiful beak when the human, pinned underneath the Fritel and with no hope of survival, suddenly unleashes fire upon the species. The Fritel howls and falls backward, revealing to the audience a belly full of holes leaking purple blood. It thrashes a few times and stills. The human stands, wiping its grotesque crimson blood from its face. It turns to the main box where the Wise One watches and bellows, 'You happy, you ugly motherfucker? Can I leave now?' Khal listens absently to the Wise One grant her favout to Earth, commend the human and order for him to be mind-wiped and sent back. He doesn't really care. He only cares that he's much, much richer than he was five minutes ago and that his beak will remain attached to the rest of him for the foreseeable future. Ah, yes. Khaleri'huik does indeed know when a bet will prove profitable.	One moment I was in the streets of Al-Fallujah, locked in a gunfight with Isis militants. The next, I was standing in some extraterrestrial super dome, shoulder to shoulder with an amalgam of terrifying creatures. At first, I think it a dream. But the metallic, scratched grip of my M4 responds all too familiarly, paried with my suspended dog tag, vibrating no longer from adrenaline, but fear. A feline creature with a wideset mouth, and reptilian features. A spider-like monstrosity with bioluminescent arms. A mammalian creature with praying mantis-like dagger appendages. More than two dozen creatures, all different sizes, all intimidating. 60 bullets. That's all my carbine has left. The buzzer sounds. The creatures, some being their nature, immediately attack each other. As otherworldly wails, shrieks, roars, clicks, electric explosions, and cacophonous sounds penetrate the air, I take the chance to drop to a darkly lit, blackly-growing vegetated cavern. It is here that I wait. In the relative safety of darkness. Sounds of dying creatures permeate the air. At first regular, the hours pass and the rhythm of dying animals lengthens. It is thus I sit in the darkness. "You are self-conscious, intelligent." The echoed voice rings in my head. A statement. An unspoken knowing. I rotate to the sound, M4 poised to release...A veinous, pulsing entity stands before me. More air than entity, the creature moves it arms. Its veinous strands detach and reattach quickly with each minute movement. It extends its arms, palms up, to me. "You and I will beat this," it says, before it takes me. Unwinding itself, it launches at me, wrapping around, avoiding the barrel of my gun. the creature nets itself onto me. It plunges its many nervous, spiked strands into my skin. Molding with me. The creature's veinous strands writhe into me, writhe into my gun, my grenades. Molding. "Interesting." I hear it. I hear us. We launch ourselves to the upper shelf, the battleground. A raptor-like creature with insect wings eyes us. As it begins a hunter's prowl toward us, we unleash. What was my M4 has now become an organic attachment. Biological bullets are sent forth. They tear through the creature. Spindling into the flesh upon impact. When the creature falls, the bullets crawl out of the corpse, and back up our legs and into our weapon. In this manner, we fell every beast. And we turn our attention to the wall. Our cage. We spider our appendage into the barrier. With our workings, we can feel the barrier failing under our assault. Soon, the beings that brought this hell will be the prey of their own prize.
[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen.	Khaleri'huik knows very well when a bet will prove profitable. It's always been a talent of his, the reason he thrived upon entering the underworld. Usually, his job involves illegal fight rings, males and females starved and pitted against each other, fighting veak and pincer to come out on top. To come out alive. In all his years as a professional, Khal has never been wrong in predicting who would win those fights. But now comes the hightlight of his year. The annual intergalactic battle royale, where unsuspecting species are plucked from their planets and duel in pairs until the best species prevails. It's a difficult competition for a coveted reward: the Wise One will favour the winner's planet until the next competition. Khal descends a flight of stairs to the cells of the competitors. His contacts grant him access each year, so he may gauge the odds. Most species are cowering in their cells. These are the ones who will be picked off first, Khal knows. The weak links, the ones who will be judged unfit and will not survive the arena. Some others are sitting, patiently awaiting the battle. Most of these are just plain brave, which is noble but doesn't constitute a winner. A couple others, namely the Gurgan and the Fritel, are species resistant to the mind wipe. That is, they come from civilisations who have known about ths competition from the very start and have prepared each generation since to win. To wipe the floor with the rest of the galaxy and win the Wise One's favour. It's always one of these two species who wins, their advantage unbeatable by their dumbfounded opponents. Khal always bets on one of them. This year, he decides against the Gurgan. There is scarring on its hide which speaks to greater debilitating injuries - Khal shudders to even think of something terrible enough to pierce a Gurgan hide. Nevertheless, their kind relies on their outer armour to protect the fragile guts. If the hide is pierced, those guts will be permanently damaged and give the victim much grief, provided the Gurgan survives. So, the Fritel it is this year. Khal turns to leave. He has seen enough. The guard's voice stops him. 'Don't you wanna take a look at the human, too? We got a real mean one this year'. Intrigued, Khal turns around. Humans are known to be the biggest weaklings in the Milky Way. They've always been the species that scares the most easily, water flowing on their faces as soon as they see half a pincer. 'Take me there,' he requests. The guard leads him down a corridor and to the left, to solitary. 'Right in here, Big K. We had to separate it because it was trying to whip the weak ones into a resistance. Plus, it was making a huge ruckus all the time and getting on our nerves'. Khal doesn't speak. Rather, he peers into the cube of one-way mirrors. The human is tall, bulky, and dressed in black. It carries a polished black tube and... is that a machete? It's banging the huge knife into the walls, shouting something. The soundproof cell contains it. Humans have been, historically, one of the worst bets in the competition. They were an easy way to lose a lot of money. However, Khal's intuition never steers him wrong, and there's something about this human. Something that simply screams 'winner'. Khal thanks the guard and leaves. The next day he places his bet. He doesn't bet on the Fritel. -- By the time the day of the competition arrives, Khal is stressed. He has staked a lot on his intuition by now, and there are people who will have his beak if he's wrong. The first few rounds are weak species, probably killing each other by accident. The human is one of the last ones to be let into the arena. It duels some of the previous winners and prevails. Then, the Gurgan is unleashed unto it. The human takes stock of the enormous Gurgan as it attacks. A sideways step and a clever stab of the machete right through the soft scar tissue, and the round is over. It's not long before the human and the Fritel are facing off as finalists. The human looks its opponent head-to-claw and, with its voice picked up and translated and amplified by a hundrend devices around the arena, asks: 'Do I really have to kill Mufasa? Again?'. The audience stays still. No one understands the meaning of the question. It would have gone unanswered anyway. The Fritel growls, and charges. The fight is longer by far than the one with the Gurgan, and more brutal. Khal has already started mourning his beautiful beak when the human, pinned underneath the Fritel and with no hope of survival, suddenly unleashes fire upon the species. The Fritel howls and falls backward, revealing to the audience a belly full of holes leaking purple blood. It thrashes a few times and stills. The human stands, wiping its grotesque crimson blood from its face. It turns to the main box where the Wise One watches and bellows, 'You happy, you ugly motherfucker? Can I leave now?' Khal listens absently to the Wise One grant her favout to Earth, commend the human and order for him to be mind-wiped and sent back. He doesn't really care. He only cares that he's much, much richer than he was five minutes ago and that his beak will remain attached to the rest of him for the foreseeable future. Ah, yes. Khaleri'huik does indeed know when a bet will prove profitable.	“We have an anomaly sir in the harvest for the battle royals.” “What is it Kleitus? Have you bought an amusing play thing for me today?” Kleitus shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. “Well we captured a human as per usual but this one is different.” The merciless overlord raised an eyebrow his finger hovering over the controls in his chairs arm. A press of a button would vaporise this servant as it had many before should he dissapoint. “The system says he’s technically a human but he’s clearly heavily modified, almost grotesque. Upon arrival he took stock of his surroundings, shouted “for the emporer” and promptly slaughter every other species in the holding area with a giant eagle shaped mace.” The overlord’s interest was peaked. He pressed a few buttons and brought up an image of the cell. There standing like a colossus clad in viscera stained armour decorated with wax seals and some sort of scripture was the human. His skull like helmet crackled with some sort of energy field built into a halo of Iron it’s dark eyes seemed to stare right through the camera into the overlords soul. For the first time in a millennia he felt a thrill of fear. “This thing is clearly too dangerous to be allowed to compete. We should recruit it instead Kleitus.” Kleitus shifted again warily eyeing the control pad. “We tried that sir, I sent in a dozen of your elite guard and a diplomat. The human simply said “suffer not the alien or the mutant to live” and smote the diplomat so hard with that mace one of the guard was blinded by bits of his skull. He dispatched the guards too.” “Well vent the atmosphere into space then man, have you no initiative.” “We did sir the armour he wears is apparently proof against the vacuum of space.” With a snarl of frustration the overlord slammed his fist on the keyboard and winced at the shriek of pain as Kleitus was incinerated. He hadn’t meant to do that. He called up the image of the cell once more to look upon this human specimen and puzzle what to do with them, instead he was horrified to see the room empty the steel door torn from its hinges. He pressed a button he never thought to use, his chair sank into the floor and started down the secret passage to his rocket ship. In the distance he heard the screaming start.
[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen.	Khaleri'huik knows very well when a bet will prove profitable. It's always been a talent of his, the reason he thrived upon entering the underworld. Usually, his job involves illegal fight rings, males and females starved and pitted against each other, fighting veak and pincer to come out on top. To come out alive. In all his years as a professional, Khal has never been wrong in predicting who would win those fights. But now comes the hightlight of his year. The annual intergalactic battle royale, where unsuspecting species are plucked from their planets and duel in pairs until the best species prevails. It's a difficult competition for a coveted reward: the Wise One will favour the winner's planet until the next competition. Khal descends a flight of stairs to the cells of the competitors. His contacts grant him access each year, so he may gauge the odds. Most species are cowering in their cells. These are the ones who will be picked off first, Khal knows. The weak links, the ones who will be judged unfit and will not survive the arena. Some others are sitting, patiently awaiting the battle. Most of these are just plain brave, which is noble but doesn't constitute a winner. A couple others, namely the Gurgan and the Fritel, are species resistant to the mind wipe. That is, they come from civilisations who have known about ths competition from the very start and have prepared each generation since to win. To wipe the floor with the rest of the galaxy and win the Wise One's favour. It's always one of these two species who wins, their advantage unbeatable by their dumbfounded opponents. Khal always bets on one of them. This year, he decides against the Gurgan. There is scarring on its hide which speaks to greater debilitating injuries - Khal shudders to even think of something terrible enough to pierce a Gurgan hide. Nevertheless, their kind relies on their outer armour to protect the fragile guts. If the hide is pierced, those guts will be permanently damaged and give the victim much grief, provided the Gurgan survives. So, the Fritel it is this year. Khal turns to leave. He has seen enough. The guard's voice stops him. 'Don't you wanna take a look at the human, too? We got a real mean one this year'. Intrigued, Khal turns around. Humans are known to be the biggest weaklings in the Milky Way. They've always been the species that scares the most easily, water flowing on their faces as soon as they see half a pincer. 'Take me there,' he requests. The guard leads him down a corridor and to the left, to solitary. 'Right in here, Big K. We had to separate it because it was trying to whip the weak ones into a resistance. Plus, it was making a huge ruckus all the time and getting on our nerves'. Khal doesn't speak. Rather, he peers into the cube of one-way mirrors. The human is tall, bulky, and dressed in black. It carries a polished black tube and... is that a machete? It's banging the huge knife into the walls, shouting something. The soundproof cell contains it. Humans have been, historically, one of the worst bets in the competition. They were an easy way to lose a lot of money. However, Khal's intuition never steers him wrong, and there's something about this human. Something that simply screams 'winner'. Khal thanks the guard and leaves. The next day he places his bet. He doesn't bet on the Fritel. -- By the time the day of the competition arrives, Khal is stressed. He has staked a lot on his intuition by now, and there are people who will have his beak if he's wrong. The first few rounds are weak species, probably killing each other by accident. The human is one of the last ones to be let into the arena. It duels some of the previous winners and prevails. Then, the Gurgan is unleashed unto it. The human takes stock of the enormous Gurgan as it attacks. A sideways step and a clever stab of the machete right through the soft scar tissue, and the round is over. It's not long before the human and the Fritel are facing off as finalists. The human looks its opponent head-to-claw and, with its voice picked up and translated and amplified by a hundrend devices around the arena, asks: 'Do I really have to kill Mufasa? Again?'. The audience stays still. No one understands the meaning of the question. It would have gone unanswered anyway. The Fritel growls, and charges. The fight is longer by far than the one with the Gurgan, and more brutal. Khal has already started mourning his beautiful beak when the human, pinned underneath the Fritel and with no hope of survival, suddenly unleashes fire upon the species. The Fritel howls and falls backward, revealing to the audience a belly full of holes leaking purple blood. It thrashes a few times and stills. The human stands, wiping its grotesque crimson blood from its face. It turns to the main box where the Wise One watches and bellows, 'You happy, you ugly motherfucker? Can I leave now?' Khal listens absently to the Wise One grant her favout to Earth, commend the human and order for him to be mind-wiped and sent back. He doesn't really care. He only cares that he's much, much richer than he was five minutes ago and that his beak will remain attached to the rest of him for the foreseeable future. Ah, yes. Khaleri'huik does indeed know when a bet will prove profitable.	There were goos of various colors strewn throughout the floor, and the alien overlords were shocked. In a normal competition, the tributes would be told of their murderous tasks, and being that most of the randomly selected tributes were commoners, they would scatter throughout the island. Normal creatures would want to run and hide or look for weapons and friends; the match would go on for days and the overseers would be pleased. Instead, the human clad in black promptly decided to finish the fight right then and there, no more than a few seconds after the briefing. And he stood there, eyes filled with sheer will and determination, staring at the overseer who for the first time felt fear. "All...all that killing, why human.....are you done?" "When Helen died, I lost everything. Until that dog arrived on my doorstep, and was killed by the past I left behind. And as I was taking my vengeance, you stole me away. So yeah, I'm pissed. I AM WORKING AGAIN, AND I AM NOT DONE WITH YOU" John Wick 4, May 2022
[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen.	Humans. Normally a subject of derision, weak and infirm. But this thing was not really like those that had been taken before. Xallahieinxix looked at it in the cell it occupied ready for the Battle Royale. It was taller than previous specimens and bulkier, clad in some kind of advanced armour. A dozen small drones buzzed around him periodically and played small sensors over its surroundings. Worse, the weapon it carried was strange, long and hollow connected by a cable to its back. “I can see you you know?” The translation software revealed and Xalla startled, the cages mirror surface should have concealed him. Oh. The device on his eyes was also a sophisticated sensor. He hadn’t even thought to check for thermal detection as it wasn’t an ability that the species had shown before. But he had been taken, the rules were quite clear. The cage opened into the grand arena, and fields pushed the warrior out. Then the dying began in earnest the weak being weeded out... at first, Xalla noticed with a significant shock that the human was casually butchering anything that came close to it with a rapid fire mass driver, but curiously it was also firing to protect a young feline creature. The feline noticed and ran over on all fours bounding to... cower under the humans feet, the crowd went nuts. Soon enough it was just the human and the feline. ‘Only one may exit’ The voice boomed. “Fuck you.” The human began firing on the shield projectors that kept the participants in the arena. With a flash of light they were both teleported out in a rush decision they were both sent to the humans homeworld. Xalla checked his commlink as he received a message. ‘Xalla, no more humans.’	There were goos of various colors strewn throughout the floor, and the alien overlords were shocked. In a normal competition, the tributes would be told of their murderous tasks, and being that most of the randomly selected tributes were commoners, they would scatter throughout the island. Normal creatures would want to run and hide or look for weapons and friends; the match would go on for days and the overseers would be pleased. Instead, the human clad in black promptly decided to finish the fight right then and there, no more than a few seconds after the briefing. And he stood there, eyes filled with sheer will and determination, staring at the overseer who for the first time felt fear. "All...all that killing, why human.....are you done?" "When Helen died, I lost everything. Until that dog arrived on my doorstep, and was killed by the past I left behind. And as I was taking my vengeance, you stole me away. So yeah, I'm pissed. I AM WORKING AGAIN, AND I AM NOT DONE WITH YOU" John Wick 4, May 2022
[WP] The fact the uncanny valley exists is terrifying. Being scared by things that look almost human but aren't. Other animals do not have this. That means that at some point in our evolution, running away from things that looked almost human was advantageous enough to be imprinted on our genetics.	"I started awake, and peered through the dust in my eyes to see the sun overhead. Blinded, I rolled over." "Through the throbbing pain I looked to my left and saw a path through the trees. I looked to my right and lost my breath. Before me sat a large rock right near me covered in blood, as if it were an altar of sacrifice. The blood was partially dried, tracking down revealing the gentle slope of the ground, tracking towards me, tracking onto my hands supporting me and up my arms. I was covered in blood." "That's when I heard the hooting coming from the path. It was like a twisted kind of owl but deeper and harsher than any bird I'd heard before and terrifying in its familiarity that was impossible to place. That's when They rounded the bend. At first I thought them to be people I knew, but couldn't place, like an estranged school friend through the window of a train. And then the lead one turned towards me, and I realised they had no face. They had features, yes, but with hideous asymmetry and a proportions that defied rational description - I only knew that to look upon them was to be viscerally afraid." "'Get away!' I screamed. 'Get away!'. I knew my words were irrational - I had no thought they would listen. I knew them to be hostile." "I tried to jump to my feet but I was woozy and they set toward me, hooting all the time. I struggled to flee but was quickly overtaken. I knew I had no strength left and was resigned to my fate, but as my vision faded I heard the sirens in the distance." "And yet you survived. How did you get away?" asked the man to the far side of the fire, transfixed despite the plume of smoke now directly assaulting him. "What on Earth do you think they were? Did you ever go back to find out?" His friends laughed. I was glad It broke the remaining tension of sharing their campfire with us strangers. "No, you missed the start when you were getting a beer", I said. "These were actually my friends, but I couldn't recognise them. This is the story of my head injury. When they finally found me the police and ambulance were already nearby." "I had gone to follow some animal tracks along the base of the cliff and a falling rock clipped the side of my head. I lost a lot of blood and so while I was conscious large parts of my brain weren't working. It had lasting effects, but when I woke up in the hospital it was merely very difficult, and it took a good 18 months before I felt reasonably back to normal, not so abjectly terrifying as it was in the clearing." "I couldn't see faces. I couldn't understand language. I only acted on pure, unadulterated, animal instinct. I wasn't really human at all at that point. I was an animal. I was prey." His friend to the left nudged his elbow. "You should have seen your face. Hey we should do ghost stories after dinner!" I took another sip of beer and kept quiet. Recalling that primal terror was an effort, so I was happy to lose the control of the conversation. I put my forefinger to the scar on my skull, but my vivid false memory of their non-faces disappeared as plume of smoke wandered once again, choking our side of the fire.	Well the uncanny valley a study on a chart saying that we actually accept and increase our affinity for robots in human likeness as they look more life-like but to a limit. That limit is the uncanny valley, the fact that after a while no matter how detailed, there are no facial muscles, breathing patterns, natural eye movements or connections from said eye contact. It's not indicative of evolution necessarily because it doesn't scare everyone or even most people. I more or less just witness the effect rather than become anything close to "scared" and I'm sure many people just also realize that what isn't flesh and blood, isn't going to register as such in the brains of true organic creatures (Humans, Earth's Apex Creature/Predator) that have lived next to and mated with other human beings for generations.
[WP] The fact the uncanny valley exists is terrifying. Being scared by things that look almost human but aren't. Other animals do not have this. That means that at some point in our evolution, running away from things that looked almost human was advantageous enough to be imprinted on our genetics.	I was a god amongst men. A great warrior who has cut down many men with my sword, eaten the hearts of my brave enemies. I felt nothing in this world could bring me down, other than God himself. So when this petty lord had hired me to lay waste to one of his own villages, I knew something was wrong. He gave me no reason, except that it was "cursed by something beyond God's creation". I told him that no such thing was possible, but the payment was good so the job was to be down. Simply slaughter those peasants, get paid and on to the next. The lord told me that 34 serfs lived there. So when my squad of 23 battle-hardened warriors, each with the strength of ten men, armed to the teeth, first approached the village it seemed at first like activity was normal. But as we crept closer the people seemed... off. Like they were incredibly well made sculptures. I couldn't put my finger on it, but I was terrified. I had never been terrified before in my life. I have killed large bears with a wood-axe, laid waste to countless battles, seen children ripped apart by dogs, dealt with having to fight off warbands while half-starved. But these things terrified me to my core, a base fear which had never been opened until now. I had felt it before when I had seen an intricate doll that looked almost like a person, but it wasn't close enough. That was uncanny, uneasy but was nothing to be afraid of. This was what my primal self was telling me to be uneasy about. I understood then why that petty lord said they were outside of God's creation. I barked at my men to invoke the strength of God and cut them all down. The battle that ensued was the hardest of my life. Their strength was deeply unsettling. I lost an arm to one of their blows. They fought with bare hands, like beasts. Except a beast has emotion in their eyes during battle, just like a man does . Fear, rage, the drive to live. I saw none of that in these demons eyes. I saw nothing at all. And while they killed my men with nothing but their bare hands, long wide, and tapered, we cut them down as well. After the battle I had but 5 men left, each wounded. Without having to say a word we knew what we had to do next. A deep instinct within us told us to gather all of the bodies, both real and uncanny, and burn them all. We put them inside a thatched hut, put extra fuel inside, and set it alight. Now I'm just a man, who does not worship, because no god would bring those things to Earth.	Well the uncanny valley a study on a chart saying that we actually accept and increase our affinity for robots in human likeness as they look more life-like but to a limit. That limit is the uncanny valley, the fact that after a while no matter how detailed, there are no facial muscles, breathing patterns, natural eye movements or connections from said eye contact. It's not indicative of evolution necessarily because it doesn't scare everyone or even most people. I more or less just witness the effect rather than become anything close to "scared" and I'm sure many people just also realize that what isn't flesh and blood, isn't going to register as such in the brains of true organic creatures (Humans, Earth's Apex Creature/Predator) that have lived next to and mated with other human beings for generations.
[WP] The fact the uncanny valley exists is terrifying. Being scared by things that look almost human but aren't. Other animals do not have this. That means that at some point in our evolution, running away from things that looked almost human was advantageous enough to be imprinted on our genetics.	This has all happened before, and it will all happen again. They infiltrated every position of power in society. The perfect ones. The strong one. The beautiful ones. Their name came from the glint and hue of their synthetic skin: Titans. Some called them gods. Some called them strangers. A few ran in terror, as far away as they could get away - across hills or sea. Those are the few who survived. This has all happened before, and it will all happen again. At first they taught men how to perfect their way of life. They improved agriculture and architecture. They filled grain silos. They established trade routes. People gathered in cities to appreciate the finer technological marvels they brought forth: undying torches, healing arts, hanging gardens, music and art beyond the capabilities of mortal man. They demanded only nominal service in return. They had been created to serve mankind, and so to survive they needed the token approval of mankind, what we call worship. This has all happened before, and it will all happen again. Then out of subtle disagreements, they made war with each other and with all that opposed them. Their weapons were of an order greater than any seen since the times of myth and legend. Their strange weapons did not only kill, they poisoned. They poisoned the air, and the water, and the food, so that all became ill. This has all happened before, and it will all happen again. Even grain left in the silos they built was poisoned. Even the animals, the birds, and the insects died in the areas surrounding their cities, where their weapons were used. Only one insect thrived. The flour beetle. Immune to the poison, which it transmuted into medicine, the flour beetle ate the grain in their silos, then it ate the grain left in their fallow fields. This has all happened before, and it will all happen again. This is why the flour beetle - which eats the products of agriculture - is immune to radiation, its life prolonged by radiation. This has all happened before, and it will all happen again. This is why we fear that which is almost human. This has all happened before, and it will all happen again.	Well the uncanny valley a study on a chart saying that we actually accept and increase our affinity for robots in human likeness as they look more life-like but to a limit. That limit is the uncanny valley, the fact that after a while no matter how detailed, there are no facial muscles, breathing patterns, natural eye movements or connections from said eye contact. It's not indicative of evolution necessarily because it doesn't scare everyone or even most people. I more or less just witness the effect rather than become anything close to "scared" and I'm sure many people just also realize that what isn't flesh and blood, isn't going to register as such in the brains of true organic creatures (Humans, Earth's Apex Creature/Predator) that have lived next to and mated with other human beings for generations.
[WP] The fact the uncanny valley exists is terrifying. Being scared by things that look almost human but aren't. Other animals do not have this. That means that at some point in our evolution, running away from things that looked almost human was advantageous enough to be imprinted on our genetics.	The humans always ran. They were hunting or hunted but never in between. When they were hunting it was at the creatures that looked different. The creatures who were food. When they were hunted it was by the creatures that looked the same. The creatures who were hungry. Food is what we became. The humans had to learn. Those who ran the fastest won with hunting, had all the food they wanted. But to the hunters humans all were slow. None could run fast enough, none could escape. Those who hid in the caves now would survive. But the hiding humans all were weak. Barely eating was the price they payed. The humans had to change. They were to slow, they were to weak. They feared the danger no one could see coming, the danger no one felt. That changed with time. They realised hiding was not going to work. When the humans got out of their caves, back to hunting again, they evolved. Those who felt the creatures coming. Those who ran away and hid in time. They survived, and our gut was born. Thank you for reading! Please realise i am not fluent in english and i am not used to writing stories over all. I hope you liked my very short story	Well the uncanny valley a study on a chart saying that we actually accept and increase our affinity for robots in human likeness as they look more life-like but to a limit. That limit is the uncanny valley, the fact that after a while no matter how detailed, there are no facial muscles, breathing patterns, natural eye movements or connections from said eye contact. It's not indicative of evolution necessarily because it doesn't scare everyone or even most people. I more or less just witness the effect rather than become anything close to "scared" and I'm sure many people just also realize that what isn't flesh and blood, isn't going to register as such in the brains of true organic creatures (Humans, Earth's Apex Creature/Predator) that have lived next to and mated with other human beings for generations.
[WP] The fact the uncanny valley exists is terrifying. Being scared by things that look almost human but aren't. Other animals do not have this. That means that at some point in our evolution, running away from things that looked almost human was advantageous enough to be imprinted on our genetics.	Pixwhirx sighed as he studied the analysis of the data he'd fed into the interworld-ship's main computer. Nothing else for it, he'd have to tell Dreemar. "What do you mean it's not going to work???" Dreemar demanded angrily. Pixwhirx had known he would react like this; it was after-all Dreemar's first command of a world take-over, and they'd already invested millennia of work here. "I'm sorry Dreemar, but the analysis is conclusive, the native population has evolved a defense to our techniques." "But how? Why? This scheme has worked on a thousand parallels! We infiltrate and expose them to the programming narratives over successive generations. Primitive minds cannot help but be over-whelmed by the moving image and sound projections. Knowing not that it would turn their brains to mush" punctuating this last part with a ceremonial "Mwah haha." as etiquette demanded. "That's the problem Dreemar, the natives are no longer viewing the programming narratives. Those that were mushed failed to reproduce. Instead of finding mates the mushification caused them to grow obsessed with discussing the narratives, and arguing over inane details." "But this is all to plan! That is what is supposed to happen! They fail to propagate, fight among themselves over which of the deliberately conflicting narratives are true, and die out, leaving a world ripe for the taking" Dreemar cried. "Yes yes, but unfortunately some who view the narratives were not mushified. In fact, a small number of them had a trait we have not encountered before. They can somehow perceive that the simulations within the narratives of their species are artificial. Not only that, but they are actively repelled by those simulations, fleeing when we open a vision-field. The numbers in their population who had this ability were small at first, but this species, is short-lived compared to us, and reproduce quickly. They have passed on this trait to their off-spring and frankly, our viewing numbers are now abysmal. The last successful narrative operation was God Story 2. The subsequent sequels in the series might as well have been straight to burning bush for all the impact they had." "But but... how? Our Cgyian simulations are perfect. Two eyes, that breathing bump in the middle of their faces, the big gaping hole for eating! Who could tell the difference?" "We do not know precisely. The analysis indicates that their ability makes them able to discern the smallest deviation from some inbuilt intuitive impression of how naturally occurring members of their species appear. Our simulations, while indistinguishable to us, are somehow detectable as... different to these primitives. Eyes even slightly too far apart and so on. I tried to correct this in the last narrative, covering one of the main character's eyes with a patch, but they still somehow detected it wasn't one of them", Pixwhirx shrugged, "Might have been the lightning coming out of its hands. Did you know they don't do that? I didn't. Well anyway, that's the conclusion the computer gave." Dreemar growled with displeasure, "then what are we to do Pixwhirx? We can not return home and report a failure, I would be sacrificed to Luxo the Terrible." "Well... we could wait and try again... as I said, this species is short-lived, it would only take a few thousand of their years for them to forget all about these narratives I'm sure. Not long by our standards. Perhaps by then the trait will have bred out of them." "Okay fine." Dreemar, "but if that doesn't work we'll just eat them".	Well the uncanny valley a study on a chart saying that we actually accept and increase our affinity for robots in human likeness as they look more life-like but to a limit. That limit is the uncanny valley, the fact that after a while no matter how detailed, there are no facial muscles, breathing patterns, natural eye movements or connections from said eye contact. It's not indicative of evolution necessarily because it doesn't scare everyone or even most people. I more or less just witness the effect rather than become anything close to "scared" and I'm sure many people just also realize that what isn't flesh and blood, isn't going to register as such in the brains of true organic creatures (Humans, Earth's Apex Creature/Predator) that have lived next to and mated with other human beings for generations.
[WP] The fact the uncanny valley exists is terrifying. Being scared by things that look almost human but aren't. Other animals do not have this. That means that at some point in our evolution, running away from things that looked almost human was advantageous enough to be imprinted on our genetics.	This has all happened before, and it will all happen again. They infiltrated every position of power in society. The perfect ones. The strong one. The beautiful ones. Their name came from the glint and hue of their synthetic skin: Titans. Some called them gods. Some called them strangers. A few ran in terror, as far away as they could get away - across hills or sea. Those are the few who survived. This has all happened before, and it will all happen again. At first they taught men how to perfect their way of life. They improved agriculture and architecture. They filled grain silos. They established trade routes. People gathered in cities to appreciate the finer technological marvels they brought forth: undying torches, healing arts, hanging gardens, music and art beyond the capabilities of mortal man. They demanded only nominal service in return. They had been created to serve mankind, and so to survive they needed the token approval of mankind, what we call worship. This has all happened before, and it will all happen again. Then out of subtle disagreements, they made war with each other and with all that opposed them. Their weapons were of an order greater than any seen since the times of myth and legend. Their strange weapons did not only kill, they poisoned. They poisoned the air, and the water, and the food, so that all became ill. This has all happened before, and it will all happen again. Even grain left in the silos they built was poisoned. Even the animals, the birds, and the insects died in the areas surrounding their cities, where their weapons were used. Only one insect thrived. The flour beetle. Immune to the poison, which it transmuted into medicine, the flour beetle ate the grain in their silos, then it ate the grain left in their fallow fields. This has all happened before, and it will all happen again. This is why the flour beetle - which eats the products of agriculture - is immune to radiation, its life prolonged by radiation. This has all happened before, and it will all happen again. This is why we fear that which is almost human. This has all happened before, and it will all happen again.	Sand bit into the old man's skin as the wind whipped it at his hands, his arms, his face. He trudged on. The once cloudless sky was no more than an orange haze now. The old man thought back to that time before his joints ached and his eyes had grown cloudy, when he'd last seen the heavens extend above in a never ending expanse of blue. So many years before. He stumbled as his feet sunk into the ever shifting dunes. Through his watering eyes he could still make out the silhouette on the horizon so he kept going, onwards through the storm and the wind and the vicious lashings of the sand it carried. Pebbles and grit poured into his shoes through the holes in the toe causing it to shift uncomfortably with each step, but by now he was used to it and his feet had calloused so he hardly felt it. As the thick haze played tricks on his old eyes the silhouette seemed to shift in the distance, as if it were pacing back and forth, impatient. /Stupid old man/ he thought to himself. Statues did not pace, no matter how long we kept them waiting. But it seemed that statues did not listen to the logic of old men, for when he shielded his gaze from the sun with a boney hand, the silhouette had gone. Impatient, it seemed, and tired of waiting. Straightening up, the traveller scanned the vast wastelands before him and it wasn't long before he has spotted it again. He adjusted his course and began to make his way forward, pleased that the statue had decided to meet him half way. This statue, he reflected, was supposed to mirror ourselves. What we want, how we feel and what will become of us. Perhaps it is telling me I am restless, he chuckled to himself. The old mans joints burned and his lips cracked from dehydration but after traveling for so many years through this barren desert he had reached it at last. The old man had hoped to see the truth, a reflection of himself and who he was or could be. What he saw was a corpse. Shrivelled and alone as the sand danced over the stone skin, carved with such delicacy he was sure he could see the fragile bones beneath. As he reached out to trace hollow grey eyes he saw just how thin his own hands had become, so similar to those on the statue, slowly succumbing to the dunes at his feet. /All this time wasted/ he thought bitterly. How could he have been so stupid? To think a status would show him the way of life? That he could learn his true self from a piece of rock? He spat to clear the sand from his mouth. This was not a place to linger long. As he began his trek back through the desolation, ruminating in his disappointment and frustration, he did not notice the statue leave. His fate sealed.
[WP] The fact the uncanny valley exists is terrifying. Being scared by things that look almost human but aren't. Other animals do not have this. That means that at some point in our evolution, running away from things that looked almost human was advantageous enough to be imprinted on our genetics.	The humans always ran. They were hunting or hunted but never in between. When they were hunting it was at the creatures that looked different. The creatures who were food. When they were hunted it was by the creatures that looked the same. The creatures who were hungry. Food is what we became. The humans had to learn. Those who ran the fastest won with hunting, had all the food they wanted. But to the hunters humans all were slow. None could run fast enough, none could escape. Those who hid in the caves now would survive. But the hiding humans all were weak. Barely eating was the price they payed. The humans had to change. They were to slow, they were to weak. They feared the danger no one could see coming, the danger no one felt. That changed with time. They realised hiding was not going to work. When the humans got out of their caves, back to hunting again, they evolved. Those who felt the creatures coming. Those who ran away and hid in time. They survived, and our gut was born. Thank you for reading! Please realise i am not fluent in english and i am not used to writing stories over all. I hope you liked my very short story	Sand bit into the old man's skin as the wind whipped it at his hands, his arms, his face. He trudged on. The once cloudless sky was no more than an orange haze now. The old man thought back to that time before his joints ached and his eyes had grown cloudy, when he'd last seen the heavens extend above in a never ending expanse of blue. So many years before. He stumbled as his feet sunk into the ever shifting dunes. Through his watering eyes he could still make out the silhouette on the horizon so he kept going, onwards through the storm and the wind and the vicious lashings of the sand it carried. Pebbles and grit poured into his shoes through the holes in the toe causing it to shift uncomfortably with each step, but by now he was used to it and his feet had calloused so he hardly felt it. As the thick haze played tricks on his old eyes the silhouette seemed to shift in the distance, as if it were pacing back and forth, impatient. /Stupid old man/ he thought to himself. Statues did not pace, no matter how long we kept them waiting. But it seemed that statues did not listen to the logic of old men, for when he shielded his gaze from the sun with a boney hand, the silhouette had gone. Impatient, it seemed, and tired of waiting. Straightening up, the traveller scanned the vast wastelands before him and it wasn't long before he has spotted it again. He adjusted his course and began to make his way forward, pleased that the statue had decided to meet him half way. This statue, he reflected, was supposed to mirror ourselves. What we want, how we feel and what will become of us. Perhaps it is telling me I am restless, he chuckled to himself. The old mans joints burned and his lips cracked from dehydration but after traveling for so many years through this barren desert he had reached it at last. The old man had hoped to see the truth, a reflection of himself and who he was or could be. What he saw was a corpse. Shrivelled and alone as the sand danced over the stone skin, carved with such delicacy he was sure he could see the fragile bones beneath. As he reached out to trace hollow grey eyes he saw just how thin his own hands had become, so similar to those on the statue, slowly succumbing to the dunes at his feet. /All this time wasted/ he thought bitterly. How could he have been so stupid? To think a status would show him the way of life? That he could learn his true self from a piece of rock? He spat to clear the sand from his mouth. This was not a place to linger long. As he began his trek back through the desolation, ruminating in his disappointment and frustration, he did not notice the statue leave. His fate sealed.
[WP] The fact the uncanny valley exists is terrifying. Being scared by things that look almost human but aren't. Other animals do not have this. That means that at some point in our evolution, running away from things that looked almost human was advantageous enough to be imprinted on our genetics.	\[Poem\] Being Human The eye can show a person’s soul, it acts just like a gate, And every time I look at mine, I see that there’s no fate. Disgust and fear are all I see, I feel this rising heat, And more and more I lose myself, with every sudden beat. \-- My heart it pounds, it cannot stop, I have become a monster, It is as if I’m not myself, I feel like an imposter. And day by day the sun it fades, it lost its former luster, The moon it shines and talks to me, this face of alabaster. \-- And never can I stop myself from staring at this face, Until I stop and see myself, this ugly old disgrace. What is it that has happened here? Why am I so afraid? Can I help my burning soul? Or am I just too late? \-- There is a valley that I wander, in which I have been lost. And staying here it takes a toll, it has a rising cost. Not many can return from here, not many have I seen, And all the people that I meet, know not how I’ve been. \-- Uncanny can it seem at times, uncanny how it changes, How it warps your every thought until your mind deranges. And then you cannot see yourself, you cannot feel your heart, You wish that you could help yourself but know not where to start. \-- And this is what it takes from you, this is what it costs, All you are is fleeting now, but you are still not lost. You are not where you think you are, you are not in this valley, Try and look into your eyes and see that you are canny.	Sand bit into the old man's skin as the wind whipped it at his hands, his arms, his face. He trudged on. The once cloudless sky was no more than an orange haze now. The old man thought back to that time before his joints ached and his eyes had grown cloudy, when he'd last seen the heavens extend above in a never ending expanse of blue. So many years before. He stumbled as his feet sunk into the ever shifting dunes. Through his watering eyes he could still make out the silhouette on the horizon so he kept going, onwards through the storm and the wind and the vicious lashings of the sand it carried. Pebbles and grit poured into his shoes through the holes in the toe causing it to shift uncomfortably with each step, but by now he was used to it and his feet had calloused so he hardly felt it. As the thick haze played tricks on his old eyes the silhouette seemed to shift in the distance, as if it were pacing back and forth, impatient. /Stupid old man/ he thought to himself. Statues did not pace, no matter how long we kept them waiting. But it seemed that statues did not listen to the logic of old men, for when he shielded his gaze from the sun with a boney hand, the silhouette had gone. Impatient, it seemed, and tired of waiting. Straightening up, the traveller scanned the vast wastelands before him and it wasn't long before he has spotted it again. He adjusted his course and began to make his way forward, pleased that the statue had decided to meet him half way. This statue, he reflected, was supposed to mirror ourselves. What we want, how we feel and what will become of us. Perhaps it is telling me I am restless, he chuckled to himself. The old mans joints burned and his lips cracked from dehydration but after traveling for so many years through this barren desert he had reached it at last. The old man had hoped to see the truth, a reflection of himself and who he was or could be. What he saw was a corpse. Shrivelled and alone as the sand danced over the stone skin, carved with such delicacy he was sure he could see the fragile bones beneath. As he reached out to trace hollow grey eyes he saw just how thin his own hands had become, so similar to those on the statue, slowly succumbing to the dunes at his feet. /All this time wasted/ he thought bitterly. How could he have been so stupid? To think a status would show him the way of life? That he could learn his true self from a piece of rock? He spat to clear the sand from his mouth. This was not a place to linger long. As he began his trek back through the desolation, ruminating in his disappointment and frustration, he did not notice the statue leave. His fate sealed.
[WP] The fact the uncanny valley exists is terrifying. Being scared by things that look almost human but aren't. Other animals do not have this. That means that at some point in our evolution, running away from things that looked almost human was advantageous enough to be imprinted on our genetics.	Pixwhirx sighed as he studied the analysis of the data he'd fed into the interworld-ship's main computer. Nothing else for it, he'd have to tell Dreemar. "What do you mean it's not going to work???" Dreemar demanded angrily. Pixwhirx had known he would react like this; it was after-all Dreemar's first command of a world take-over, and they'd already invested millennia of work here. "I'm sorry Dreemar, but the analysis is conclusive, the native population has evolved a defense to our techniques." "But how? Why? This scheme has worked on a thousand parallels! We infiltrate and expose them to the programming narratives over successive generations. Primitive minds cannot help but be over-whelmed by the moving image and sound projections. Knowing not that it would turn their brains to mush" punctuating this last part with a ceremonial "Mwah haha." as etiquette demanded. "That's the problem Dreemar, the natives are no longer viewing the programming narratives. Those that were mushed failed to reproduce. Instead of finding mates the mushification caused them to grow obsessed with discussing the narratives, and arguing over inane details." "But this is all to plan! That is what is supposed to happen! They fail to propagate, fight among themselves over which of the deliberately conflicting narratives are true, and die out, leaving a world ripe for the taking" Dreemar cried. "Yes yes, but unfortunately some who view the narratives were not mushified. In fact, a small number of them had a trait we have not encountered before. They can somehow perceive that the simulations within the narratives of their species are artificial. Not only that, but they are actively repelled by those simulations, fleeing when we open a vision-field. The numbers in their population who had this ability were small at first, but this species, is short-lived compared to us, and reproduce quickly. They have passed on this trait to their off-spring and frankly, our viewing numbers are now abysmal. The last successful narrative operation was God Story 2. The subsequent sequels in the series might as well have been straight to burning bush for all the impact they had." "But but... how? Our Cgyian simulations are perfect. Two eyes, that breathing bump in the middle of their faces, the big gaping hole for eating! Who could tell the difference?" "We do not know precisely. The analysis indicates that their ability makes them able to discern the smallest deviation from some inbuilt intuitive impression of how naturally occurring members of their species appear. Our simulations, while indistinguishable to us, are somehow detectable as... different to these primitives. Eyes even slightly too far apart and so on. I tried to correct this in the last narrative, covering one of the main character's eyes with a patch, but they still somehow detected it wasn't one of them", Pixwhirx shrugged, "Might have been the lightning coming out of its hands. Did you know they don't do that? I didn't. Well anyway, that's the conclusion the computer gave." Dreemar growled with displeasure, "then what are we to do Pixwhirx? We can not return home and report a failure, I would be sacrificed to Luxo the Terrible." "Well... we could wait and try again... as I said, this species is short-lived, it would only take a few thousand of their years for them to forget all about these narratives I'm sure. Not long by our standards. Perhaps by then the trait will have bred out of them." "Okay fine." Dreemar, "but if that doesn't work we'll just eat them".	Sand bit into the old man's skin as the wind whipped it at his hands, his arms, his face. He trudged on. The once cloudless sky was no more than an orange haze now. The old man thought back to that time before his joints ached and his eyes had grown cloudy, when he'd last seen the heavens extend above in a never ending expanse of blue. So many years before. He stumbled as his feet sunk into the ever shifting dunes. Through his watering eyes he could still make out the silhouette on the horizon so he kept going, onwards through the storm and the wind and the vicious lashings of the sand it carried. Pebbles and grit poured into his shoes through the holes in the toe causing it to shift uncomfortably with each step, but by now he was used to it and his feet had calloused so he hardly felt it. As the thick haze played tricks on his old eyes the silhouette seemed to shift in the distance, as if it were pacing back and forth, impatient. /Stupid old man/ he thought to himself. Statues did not pace, no matter how long we kept them waiting. But it seemed that statues did not listen to the logic of old men, for when he shielded his gaze from the sun with a boney hand, the silhouette had gone. Impatient, it seemed, and tired of waiting. Straightening up, the traveller scanned the vast wastelands before him and it wasn't long before he has spotted it again. He adjusted his course and began to make his way forward, pleased that the statue had decided to meet him half way. This statue, he reflected, was supposed to mirror ourselves. What we want, how we feel and what will become of us. Perhaps it is telling me I am restless, he chuckled to himself. The old mans joints burned and his lips cracked from dehydration but after traveling for so many years through this barren desert he had reached it at last. The old man had hoped to see the truth, a reflection of himself and who he was or could be. What he saw was a corpse. Shrivelled and alone as the sand danced over the stone skin, carved with such delicacy he was sure he could see the fragile bones beneath. As he reached out to trace hollow grey eyes he saw just how thin his own hands had become, so similar to those on the statue, slowly succumbing to the dunes at his feet. /All this time wasted/ he thought bitterly. How could he have been so stupid? To think a status would show him the way of life? That he could learn his true self from a piece of rock? He spat to clear the sand from his mouth. This was not a place to linger long. As he began his trek back through the desolation, ruminating in his disappointment and frustration, he did not notice the statue leave. His fate sealed.
[WP] The fact the uncanny valley exists is terrifying. Being scared by things that look almost human but aren't. Other animals do not have this. That means that at some point in our evolution, running away from things that looked almost human was advantageous enough to be imprinted on our genetics.	Meat. Pain. Hunt. Fear. Primal feelings lodged deep inside humanity, inside everyone's minds. Right at the back. Fear of the dark. Fear of a stranger in the dark . He looked up at the dull, white hospital ceiling and blinked. His face feels heavier today, can barely bring himself to smile or even open his eyes, but it's always hard on Sundays. Sunday is test day, when all the doctors and professionals and psychologists and psychiatrists plug him up and hook him up and put those biting little needles behind his eyes and- He takes a deep shuddering breath, and gets out of the shabby little surgical bed. They fed him better on Sundays atleast, sometimes he got an extra hash brown! As he pondered this he entered a whole other realm of resignation, had he sunk so low that a little more potato was something to look forward too? Yeah. They asked him the same questions again today; how did he feel? Did he dream of anything interesting? He knew they were just stalling for the real ones, do you feel watched? Do you feel followed again? And they showd him the pictures, the ones of... Faces. "Human", a slight swish of the paper as the card was placed at the end of the pile and a new one picked out. "Human", swish. "... This one isnt" he said after a small spark of adrenaline, and prepared himself for the really annoying questions. Why do you feel that way? What difference is there between this one and that? He couldn't answer in a way they'd understand. And then the worst one. How do you feel about your dosage? He hated that one. Because no matter how he answered, and he did answer all the questions truthfully, they always upped it. He was not crazy, he knew what he had seen. How it wore his mother like a cheap sock, pressing against the ends of her skin. He shuddered. His mind went hazy. It had all settled into a routine, wake up, get checked, eat, get checked, the questions, the faces, eat, the machines, the needle, sleep. He always tried not to sleep, he didn't like to close his eyes anymore. Even the real ones looked strange to him now. It had been so long since he saw a face that wasn't printed on cheap cardboard. He worried he would eventually stop telling the difference. That might be a blessing. How long has he been awake for now? What day is it? It felt like a Sunday. The questions were getting harder now. His mind was foggy, and his skin felt slick and oily. When had he last slept? Was the sun always so bright? Did the sky always look back at him? "um... human? ", swish "not human. Wait hold o-", swish "..." his heartrate spiked, the features were so wrong but, they felt so right. Its face was tighter. He saw the skin being pressed from the inside. It looked so familiar, like looking in a mirror. They did not use the machines today. He slept of his own accord for the first time in so long that night. Meat. Pain. Hunt. Fear. A stranger in the light. He looked up at the dull, white hospital ceiling and blinked. It was a Sunday. It was always Sunday. It had always been Sunday. His face felt so heavy on sundays. He looked in the mirror, his reflection smiled back with a vigour he didn't feel. His face felt so heavy. Then something that was not his reflection reached out for him from the mirror. He tried to scream but it was too late. At least he wouldn't have to worry about his face feeling heavy anymore, it was worn by someone else now.	Sand bit into the old man's skin as the wind whipped it at his hands, his arms, his face. He trudged on. The once cloudless sky was no more than an orange haze now. The old man thought back to that time before his joints ached and his eyes had grown cloudy, when he'd last seen the heavens extend above in a never ending expanse of blue. So many years before. He stumbled as his feet sunk into the ever shifting dunes. Through his watering eyes he could still make out the silhouette on the horizon so he kept going, onwards through the storm and the wind and the vicious lashings of the sand it carried. Pebbles and grit poured into his shoes through the holes in the toe causing it to shift uncomfortably with each step, but by now he was used to it and his feet had calloused so he hardly felt it. As the thick haze played tricks on his old eyes the silhouette seemed to shift in the distance, as if it were pacing back and forth, impatient. /Stupid old man/ he thought to himself. Statues did not pace, no matter how long we kept them waiting. But it seemed that statues did not listen to the logic of old men, for when he shielded his gaze from the sun with a boney hand, the silhouette had gone. Impatient, it seemed, and tired of waiting. Straightening up, the traveller scanned the vast wastelands before him and it wasn't long before he has spotted it again. He adjusted his course and began to make his way forward, pleased that the statue had decided to meet him half way. This statue, he reflected, was supposed to mirror ourselves. What we want, how we feel and what will become of us. Perhaps it is telling me I am restless, he chuckled to himself. The old mans joints burned and his lips cracked from dehydration but after traveling for so many years through this barren desert he had reached it at last. The old man had hoped to see the truth, a reflection of himself and who he was or could be. What he saw was a corpse. Shrivelled and alone as the sand danced over the stone skin, carved with such delicacy he was sure he could see the fragile bones beneath. As he reached out to trace hollow grey eyes he saw just how thin his own hands had become, so similar to those on the statue, slowly succumbing to the dunes at his feet. /All this time wasted/ he thought bitterly. How could he have been so stupid? To think a status would show him the way of life? That he could learn his true self from a piece of rock? He spat to clear the sand from his mouth. This was not a place to linger long. As he began his trek back through the desolation, ruminating in his disappointment and frustration, he did not notice the statue leave. His fate sealed.
[WP] The fact the uncanny valley exists is terrifying. Being scared by things that look almost human but aren't. Other animals do not have this. That means that at some point in our evolution, running away from things that looked almost human was advantageous enough to be imprinted on our genetics.	This has all happened before, and it will all happen again. They infiltrated every position of power in society. The perfect ones. The strong one. The beautiful ones. Their name came from the glint and hue of their synthetic skin: Titans. Some called them gods. Some called them strangers. A few ran in terror, as far away as they could get away - across hills or sea. Those are the few who survived. This has all happened before, and it will all happen again. At first they taught men how to perfect their way of life. They improved agriculture and architecture. They filled grain silos. They established trade routes. People gathered in cities to appreciate the finer technological marvels they brought forth: undying torches, healing arts, hanging gardens, music and art beyond the capabilities of mortal man. They demanded only nominal service in return. They had been created to serve mankind, and so to survive they needed the token approval of mankind, what we call worship. This has all happened before, and it will all happen again. Then out of subtle disagreements, they made war with each other and with all that opposed them. Their weapons were of an order greater than any seen since the times of myth and legend. Their strange weapons did not only kill, they poisoned. They poisoned the air, and the water, and the food, so that all became ill. This has all happened before, and it will all happen again. Even grain left in the silos they built was poisoned. Even the animals, the birds, and the insects died in the areas surrounding their cities, where their weapons were used. Only one insect thrived. The flour beetle. Immune to the poison, which it transmuted into medicine, the flour beetle ate the grain in their silos, then it ate the grain left in their fallow fields. This has all happened before, and it will all happen again. This is why the flour beetle - which eats the products of agriculture - is immune to radiation, its life prolonged by radiation. This has all happened before, and it will all happen again. This is why we fear that which is almost human. This has all happened before, and it will all happen again.	"I started awake, and peered through the dust in my eyes to see the sun overhead. Blinded, I rolled over." "Through the throbbing pain I looked to my left and saw a path through the trees. I looked to my right and lost my breath. Before me sat a large rock right near me covered in blood, as if it were an altar of sacrifice. The blood was partially dried, tracking down revealing the gentle slope of the ground, tracking towards me, tracking onto my hands supporting me and up my arms. I was covered in blood." "That's when I heard the hooting coming from the path. It was like a twisted kind of owl but deeper and harsher than any bird I'd heard before and terrifying in its familiarity that was impossible to place. That's when They rounded the bend. At first I thought them to be people I knew, but couldn't place, like an estranged school friend through the window of a train. And then the lead one turned towards me, and I realised they had no face. They had features, yes, but with hideous asymmetry and a proportions that defied rational description - I only knew that to look upon them was to be viscerally afraid." "'Get away!' I screamed. 'Get away!'. I knew my words were irrational - I had no thought they would listen. I knew them to be hostile." "I tried to jump to my feet but I was woozy and they set toward me, hooting all the time. I struggled to flee but was quickly overtaken. I knew I had no strength left and was resigned to my fate, but as my vision faded I heard the sirens in the distance." "And yet you survived. How did you get away?" asked the man to the far side of the fire, transfixed despite the plume of smoke now directly assaulting him. "What on Earth do you think they were? Did you ever go back to find out?" His friends laughed. I was glad It broke the remaining tension of sharing their campfire with us strangers. "No, you missed the start when you were getting a beer", I said. "These were actually my friends, but I couldn't recognise them. This is the story of my head injury. When they finally found me the police and ambulance were already nearby." "I had gone to follow some animal tracks along the base of the cliff and a falling rock clipped the side of my head. I lost a lot of blood and so while I was conscious large parts of my brain weren't working. It had lasting effects, but when I woke up in the hospital it was merely very difficult, and it took a good 18 months before I felt reasonably back to normal, not so abjectly terrifying as it was in the clearing." "I couldn't see faces. I couldn't understand language. I only acted on pure, unadulterated, animal instinct. I wasn't really human at all at that point. I was an animal. I was prey." His friend to the left nudged his elbow. "You should have seen your face. Hey we should do ghost stories after dinner!" I took another sip of beer and kept quiet. Recalling that primal terror was an effort, so I was happy to lose the control of the conversation. I put my forefinger to the scar on my skull, but my vivid false memory of their non-faces disappeared as plume of smoke wandered once again, choking our side of the fire.
[WP] The fact the uncanny valley exists is terrifying. Being scared by things that look almost human but aren't. Other animals do not have this. That means that at some point in our evolution, running away from things that looked almost human was advantageous enough to be imprinted on our genetics.	Pixwhirx sighed as he studied the analysis of the data he'd fed into the interworld-ship's main computer. Nothing else for it, he'd have to tell Dreemar. "What do you mean it's not going to work???" Dreemar demanded angrily. Pixwhirx had known he would react like this; it was after-all Dreemar's first command of a world take-over, and they'd already invested millennia of work here. "I'm sorry Dreemar, but the analysis is conclusive, the native population has evolved a defense to our techniques." "But how? Why? This scheme has worked on a thousand parallels! We infiltrate and expose them to the programming narratives over successive generations. Primitive minds cannot help but be over-whelmed by the moving image and sound projections. Knowing not that it would turn their brains to mush" punctuating this last part with a ceremonial "Mwah haha." as etiquette demanded. "That's the problem Dreemar, the natives are no longer viewing the programming narratives. Those that were mushed failed to reproduce. Instead of finding mates the mushification caused them to grow obsessed with discussing the narratives, and arguing over inane details." "But this is all to plan! That is what is supposed to happen! They fail to propagate, fight among themselves over which of the deliberately conflicting narratives are true, and die out, leaving a world ripe for the taking" Dreemar cried. "Yes yes, but unfortunately some who view the narratives were not mushified. In fact, a small number of them had a trait we have not encountered before. They can somehow perceive that the simulations within the narratives of their species are artificial. Not only that, but they are actively repelled by those simulations, fleeing when we open a vision-field. The numbers in their population who had this ability were small at first, but this species, is short-lived compared to us, and reproduce quickly. They have passed on this trait to their off-spring and frankly, our viewing numbers are now abysmal. The last successful narrative operation was God Story 2. The subsequent sequels in the series might as well have been straight to burning bush for all the impact they had." "But but... how? Our Cgyian simulations are perfect. Two eyes, that breathing bump in the middle of their faces, the big gaping hole for eating! Who could tell the difference?" "We do not know precisely. The analysis indicates that their ability makes them able to discern the smallest deviation from some inbuilt intuitive impression of how naturally occurring members of their species appear. Our simulations, while indistinguishable to us, are somehow detectable as... different to these primitives. Eyes even slightly too far apart and so on. I tried to correct this in the last narrative, covering one of the main character's eyes with a patch, but they still somehow detected it wasn't one of them", Pixwhirx shrugged, "Might have been the lightning coming out of its hands. Did you know they don't do that? I didn't. Well anyway, that's the conclusion the computer gave." Dreemar growled with displeasure, "then what are we to do Pixwhirx? We can not return home and report a failure, I would be sacrificed to Luxo the Terrible." "Well... we could wait and try again... as I said, this species is short-lived, it would only take a few thousand of their years for them to forget all about these narratives I'm sure. Not long by our standards. Perhaps by then the trait will have bred out of them." "Okay fine." Dreemar, "but if that doesn't work we'll just eat them".	The humans always ran. They were hunting or hunted but never in between. When they were hunting it was at the creatures that looked different. The creatures who were food. When they were hunted it was by the creatures that looked the same. The creatures who were hungry. Food is what we became. The humans had to learn. Those who ran the fastest won with hunting, had all the food they wanted. But to the hunters humans all were slow. None could run fast enough, none could escape. Those who hid in the caves now would survive. But the hiding humans all were weak. Barely eating was the price they payed. The humans had to change. They were to slow, they were to weak. They feared the danger no one could see coming, the danger no one felt. That changed with time. They realised hiding was not going to work. When the humans got out of their caves, back to hunting again, they evolved. Those who felt the creatures coming. Those who ran away and hid in time. They survived, and our gut was born. Thank you for reading! Please realise i am not fluent in english and i am not used to writing stories over all. I hope you liked my very short story
[WP] The fact the uncanny valley exists is terrifying. Being scared by things that look almost human but aren't. Other animals do not have this. That means that at some point in our evolution, running away from things that looked almost human was advantageous enough to be imprinted on our genetics.	Pixwhirx sighed as he studied the analysis of the data he'd fed into the interworld-ship's main computer. Nothing else for it, he'd have to tell Dreemar. "What do you mean it's not going to work???" Dreemar demanded angrily. Pixwhirx had known he would react like this; it was after-all Dreemar's first command of a world take-over, and they'd already invested millennia of work here. "I'm sorry Dreemar, but the analysis is conclusive, the native population has evolved a defense to our techniques." "But how? Why? This scheme has worked on a thousand parallels! We infiltrate and expose them to the programming narratives over successive generations. Primitive minds cannot help but be over-whelmed by the moving image and sound projections. Knowing not that it would turn their brains to mush" punctuating this last part with a ceremonial "Mwah haha." as etiquette demanded. "That's the problem Dreemar, the natives are no longer viewing the programming narratives. Those that were mushed failed to reproduce. Instead of finding mates the mushification caused them to grow obsessed with discussing the narratives, and arguing over inane details." "But this is all to plan! That is what is supposed to happen! They fail to propagate, fight among themselves over which of the deliberately conflicting narratives are true, and die out, leaving a world ripe for the taking" Dreemar cried. "Yes yes, but unfortunately some who view the narratives were not mushified. In fact, a small number of them had a trait we have not encountered before. They can somehow perceive that the simulations within the narratives of their species are artificial. Not only that, but they are actively repelled by those simulations, fleeing when we open a vision-field. The numbers in their population who had this ability were small at first, but this species, is short-lived compared to us, and reproduce quickly. They have passed on this trait to their off-spring and frankly, our viewing numbers are now abysmal. The last successful narrative operation was God Story 2. The subsequent sequels in the series might as well have been straight to burning bush for all the impact they had." "But but... how? Our Cgyian simulations are perfect. Two eyes, that breathing bump in the middle of their faces, the big gaping hole for eating! Who could tell the difference?" "We do not know precisely. The analysis indicates that their ability makes them able to discern the smallest deviation from some inbuilt intuitive impression of how naturally occurring members of their species appear. Our simulations, while indistinguishable to us, are somehow detectable as... different to these primitives. Eyes even slightly too far apart and so on. I tried to correct this in the last narrative, covering one of the main character's eyes with a patch, but they still somehow detected it wasn't one of them", Pixwhirx shrugged, "Might have been the lightning coming out of its hands. Did you know they don't do that? I didn't. Well anyway, that's the conclusion the computer gave." Dreemar growled with displeasure, "then what are we to do Pixwhirx? We can not return home and report a failure, I would be sacrificed to Luxo the Terrible." "Well... we could wait and try again... as I said, this species is short-lived, it would only take a few thousand of their years for them to forget all about these narratives I'm sure. Not long by our standards. Perhaps by then the trait will have bred out of them." "Okay fine." Dreemar, "but if that doesn't work we'll just eat them".	\[Use this guide to translate the caveman speech.\]([https://public.wsu.edu/\~delahoyd/cavespeak.html](https://public.wsu.edu/~delahoyd/cavespeak.html)) “Neecha, maka. Igac maka-daka neecha!” The other four cavemen whooped and hollered at Igac’s boastful retelling of the saber-toothed cat he had killed earlier that day. Their voices echoed outwards from their cave and into the starry night beyond, the cool night air providing a relaxing contrast to the gentle waves of heat emanating from the fire in front of them. As the five gradually settled down, one of them stood up and spoke, “Torv chok reeshi. Neh-unk reeshi maka-zook.” Igac nodded and replied, “Bato, Torv. Bato maka neechas.” The remaining four watched as the darkness of the surrounding forest enveloped Torv, the sounds of leaves and branches breaking under his feet growing fainter until only silence remained. Igac seized the opportunity to begin regaling his friends anew on his latest pursuit of Birba and was met with playful ridicule as the other three mocked his bumbling ineptitude with the women of their tribe. The back-and-forth exchange lasted for several minutes, after which they began to realize that Torv had yet to return from his water run. Igac and the rest scratched their heads and squinted into the darkness beyond, watching and listening for a sign of their missing companion. Suddenly, they heard a snap to the northeast. Then another. Then two more. But still no sign of Torv. “Torv? Sonta, kuda.” Silence. “Torv? Sonta gu gu-tawa. Owee?” Torvv, sonntah, oweee? The four cavemen eyed one another, their faces hardening as they stood up and gathered their rock spears. Igac spoke once more, “Torv. Akita, lom-gom.” Torvv, Torvv, lohm-gohm. A figure emerged from the darkness and slowly stumbled closer to the cave. Igac tightened his grip on his weapon as he began making out the features of this thing. From a distance, it easily resembled Torv as it perfectly matched his physique. As it grew closer, however, the four cavemen could notice details that were ever so slightly off from their companion. A left eye drooping a little too low, a mouth that hung a little too loosely from the face, a right leg that limped slightly with each step. “Keega! Neh-gonta! Igac maka-daka keega!” shouted Igac. Keegacigacigacigacigacccccccc… It was over in the blink of an eye. The gray stone walls of the cave suddenly coated with splotches and chunks of red. The fire snuffed out from the force of meat falling on top of it, plunging the cave into darkness. The sounds of crunching bones and wet chewing echoing from the cave where laughter and joy once reigned supreme. The figure staggered forth from the cave entrance, wrenching the two spears from its torso and wiping the flecks of blood and flesh from its mouth. A snap to its right caused it to whirl its head around. Seeing nothing, it stumbled back into the envelope of the darkness, back to where it was birthed and back to where it would thrive under the cover of night. But where that last branch had just broken, there sat the young Birba who dared not move an inch from her position, waiting for what felt like hours until she believed the aberration had truly vacated the area. She sprinted southwards, choking back hot tears and sobs. Not daring to look back lest the abomination catch her, ignoring the stinging pain of vines and branches poking at every part of her exposed legs and feet. She had to warn the tribe of the monstrosity that threatened to terrorize them all. She had to. No matter what. r/williamk9949
[WP] The fact the uncanny valley exists is terrifying. Being scared by things that look almost human but aren't. Other animals do not have this. That means that at some point in our evolution, running away from things that looked almost human was advantageous enough to be imprinted on our genetics.	Meat. Pain. Hunt. Fear. Primal feelings lodged deep inside humanity, inside everyone's minds. Right at the back. Fear of the dark. Fear of a stranger in the dark . He looked up at the dull, white hospital ceiling and blinked. His face feels heavier today, can barely bring himself to smile or even open his eyes, but it's always hard on Sundays. Sunday is test day, when all the doctors and professionals and psychologists and psychiatrists plug him up and hook him up and put those biting little needles behind his eyes and- He takes a deep shuddering breath, and gets out of the shabby little surgical bed. They fed him better on Sundays atleast, sometimes he got an extra hash brown! As he pondered this he entered a whole other realm of resignation, had he sunk so low that a little more potato was something to look forward too? Yeah. They asked him the same questions again today; how did he feel? Did he dream of anything interesting? He knew they were just stalling for the real ones, do you feel watched? Do you feel followed again? And they showd him the pictures, the ones of... Faces. "Human", a slight swish of the paper as the card was placed at the end of the pile and a new one picked out. "Human", swish. "... This one isnt" he said after a small spark of adrenaline, and prepared himself for the really annoying questions. Why do you feel that way? What difference is there between this one and that? He couldn't answer in a way they'd understand. And then the worst one. How do you feel about your dosage? He hated that one. Because no matter how he answered, and he did answer all the questions truthfully, they always upped it. He was not crazy, he knew what he had seen. How it wore his mother like a cheap sock, pressing against the ends of her skin. He shuddered. His mind went hazy. It had all settled into a routine, wake up, get checked, eat, get checked, the questions, the faces, eat, the machines, the needle, sleep. He always tried not to sleep, he didn't like to close his eyes anymore. Even the real ones looked strange to him now. It had been so long since he saw a face that wasn't printed on cheap cardboard. He worried he would eventually stop telling the difference. That might be a blessing. How long has he been awake for now? What day is it? It felt like a Sunday. The questions were getting harder now. His mind was foggy, and his skin felt slick and oily. When had he last slept? Was the sun always so bright? Did the sky always look back at him? "um... human? ", swish "not human. Wait hold o-", swish "..." his heartrate spiked, the features were so wrong but, they felt so right. Its face was tighter. He saw the skin being pressed from the inside. It looked so familiar, like looking in a mirror. They did not use the machines today. He slept of his own accord for the first time in so long that night. Meat. Pain. Hunt. Fear. A stranger in the light. He looked up at the dull, white hospital ceiling and blinked. It was a Sunday. It was always Sunday. It had always been Sunday. His face felt so heavy on sundays. He looked in the mirror, his reflection smiled back with a vigour he didn't feel. His face felt so heavy. Then something that was not his reflection reached out for him from the mirror. He tried to scream but it was too late. At least he wouldn't have to worry about his face feeling heavy anymore, it was worn by someone else now.	\[Use this guide to translate the caveman speech.\]([https://public.wsu.edu/\~delahoyd/cavespeak.html](https://public.wsu.edu/~delahoyd/cavespeak.html)) “Neecha, maka. Igac maka-daka neecha!” The other four cavemen whooped and hollered at Igac’s boastful retelling of the saber-toothed cat he had killed earlier that day. Their voices echoed outwards from their cave and into the starry night beyond, the cool night air providing a relaxing contrast to the gentle waves of heat emanating from the fire in front of them. As the five gradually settled down, one of them stood up and spoke, “Torv chok reeshi. Neh-unk reeshi maka-zook.” Igac nodded and replied, “Bato, Torv. Bato maka neechas.” The remaining four watched as the darkness of the surrounding forest enveloped Torv, the sounds of leaves and branches breaking under his feet growing fainter until only silence remained. Igac seized the opportunity to begin regaling his friends anew on his latest pursuit of Birba and was met with playful ridicule as the other three mocked his bumbling ineptitude with the women of their tribe. The back-and-forth exchange lasted for several minutes, after which they began to realize that Torv had yet to return from his water run. Igac and the rest scratched their heads and squinted into the darkness beyond, watching and listening for a sign of their missing companion. Suddenly, they heard a snap to the northeast. Then another. Then two more. But still no sign of Torv. “Torv? Sonta, kuda.” Silence. “Torv? Sonta gu gu-tawa. Owee?” Torvv, sonntah, oweee? The four cavemen eyed one another, their faces hardening as they stood up and gathered their rock spears. Igac spoke once more, “Torv. Akita, lom-gom.” Torvv, Torvv, lohm-gohm. A figure emerged from the darkness and slowly stumbled closer to the cave. Igac tightened his grip on his weapon as he began making out the features of this thing. From a distance, it easily resembled Torv as it perfectly matched his physique. As it grew closer, however, the four cavemen could notice details that were ever so slightly off from their companion. A left eye drooping a little too low, a mouth that hung a little too loosely from the face, a right leg that limped slightly with each step. “Keega! Neh-gonta! Igac maka-daka keega!” shouted Igac. Keegacigacigacigacigacccccccc… It was over in the blink of an eye. The gray stone walls of the cave suddenly coated with splotches and chunks of red. The fire snuffed out from the force of meat falling on top of it, plunging the cave into darkness. The sounds of crunching bones and wet chewing echoing from the cave where laughter and joy once reigned supreme. The figure staggered forth from the cave entrance, wrenching the two spears from its torso and wiping the flecks of blood and flesh from its mouth. A snap to its right caused it to whirl its head around. Seeing nothing, it stumbled back into the envelope of the darkness, back to where it was birthed and back to where it would thrive under the cover of night. But where that last branch had just broken, there sat the young Birba who dared not move an inch from her position, waiting for what felt like hours until she believed the aberration had truly vacated the area. She sprinted southwards, choking back hot tears and sobs. Not daring to look back lest the abomination catch her, ignoring the stinging pain of vines and branches poking at every part of her exposed legs and feet. She had to warn the tribe of the monstrosity that threatened to terrorize them all. She had to. No matter what. r/williamk9949
[WP] The fact the uncanny valley exists is terrifying. Being scared by things that look almost human but aren't. Other animals do not have this. That means that at some point in our evolution, running away from things that looked almost human was advantageous enough to be imprinted on our genetics.	Anthropology had always been my primary career choice. The finding of missing persons was detour more than anything, a trick I picked up living with an obscure and traditional tribe. Nonetheless, it was my last case as the latter that persuaded me to change course and focus my efforts on the former. The C----- Townland case, yes, that was the one. Like as not you won't have heard of the place. It's far out of the way, and only a few tourists pass that way. I was not a tourist. A missing person had been reported, and I was investigating... after a fashion. There had been a wedding, quite an elaborate affair for the region, with music and drink flowing and a blushing bride and a golden groom and parents with knowing smiles and some bursting into tears. It was to be a happy occasion... until the bride's younger brother went missing. A boy not yet thirteen, he had last been seen stammering in the presence of some strange girl around his own age. Nobody quite knew who she was; they took her for a member of the Tinker caravan that had been outside the village for some weeks. Some of the guests claimed they had seen the boy wander off as if looking for her. After that he was not to be seen again. The townsfolk were in a panic; those who had seen him last were wracked with guilt; it was not long before accusations were hurled at the Tinkers and county authorities were worried about the possibility of a lynch mob. The wandering folk face prejudice today, but I fancy it was far worse at that time. Accusations of child-snatching were given credence, however implausible. Something about a strange people from outside made everyone feel disquiet. But the suspicions between the townsfolk and that caravan had been quiet and suppressed until now, and now were made worse when the Tinkers revealed they were missing a young girl of their own. The feud that ensued was bitter and unpleasant. I was not called in then. I was called in to investigate sightings of the missing boy, the bride's brother. Daniel, his name was. The reports claimed that the boy had been only briefly glimpsed, wearing the tattered clothes he had on at the time of his disappearance. His hair had lost the kiss of the sun from time spent outdoors, and was streaked with grey, but still the correct color; he was thin to emaciation but the correct build. Those witnesses claimed that in the brief flashes they saw before he seemed to again disappear into the trees, he looked to have been living in the woods for perhaps two weeks. But that wedding, the night he disappeared... it had been twenty years ago. That was when the county scraped together some money and contacted me. The boy's family was evenly split, some regarding the sightings as mere ghost stories and seeing them as a torment, and some desperately hoping he could be recovered. I knew not one way or another, but if there was someone to find, living in the woods, I knew I could find him. I had never failed yet. There was a grim crowd that watched me as I went in that day. The woods were thick and, I admit, a bit disquieting. Somehow I was turned around multiple times, as though I were an amateur. And more than once, I became convinced something was whispering among the trees, watching me as I tracked. At perhaps noon, I saw the first unambiguous clue of human habitation. A scrap of cloth, tied around a stick planted in the ground. Yet when I went closer to inspect, I saw something dart through the trees out of the corner of my eye. I followed a few steps, trying to remain hidden... but saw no more trace of activity. When I went to retrieve the cloth, it was gone. I realized now, someone was having a game with me. I know not fully how it happened, but I stayed in the woods longer than I had intended, and before long it was dark. I swore I heard the whispering, now. It seemed some sort of singsong rhyme. "Slime and snails... puppy dog tails" I think I heard. Long after I has lost my own trail, I saw the shadowy shape of a young girl, and some laughter besides that made my skin crawl. I called out to the girl and approached, but she ran, still laughing. I took chase, ignoring the screaming of my nerves. When I stopped, near the hollow of an old, massive tree, I saw no sign of a girl... but found more scraps of cloth. And beside them, I saw the boy, Daniel. Curled up, he was, whimpering in sleep; as he had been described to me, and the twenty years had not touched him. I roused him with a gentle shake, and he awoke with a yelp, like a dog too used to being struck. It took a great deal of quiet pleading to assure him I was a friend, and still I think he was not sure I was fully real. Wrapping my coat over his shoulders, I promised I had come to take him back home, to which he only mumbled "they" would not let him leave, and would not explain who "they" were. He was frantic, terrified; I think he was repeating the rhymes I had heard under his breath. Since he would not elaborate, I asked what had become of the girl. At first he would only say the "thing" was not her. When I pushed as to her location, I refused to say, but his gaze crept to the tree's hollow. To this day I do not know what made me go. The boy begged me not to, as quietly as he could. But if the girl was in there, and if she was the missing Tinker girl, I had a responsibility to find her as well. Against Daniel's protestations, I entered the hollow. I lack the words to describe the horrors I saw in there. The cave was deeper than the hollow could possibly be, and full of the eyes... those little star-bright eyes. The things were... people in skins? Beasts with human bodies? Flitting insects, living toys, imps with woad tattoos or dappled hides, gray withered things with domed heads, they seemed like all those things, but none of them. No bigger than children, they seemed, but they grabbed at me, pulled me, and I heard their mocking laughter and the rhyming. I think I went mad in there, a bit. It was only Daniel that saved me, reaching in and hauling me out. Somehow the strength in his skinny limbs was sufficient to pull me out. The laughter followed me. We ran, the missing boy. We ran as deer do from hunters. I did not wish to stop. Any pause could let those... things gain ground on us. I forced myself to slow once, when it was clear Daniel's health would not let him go further at that pace. And while he ate some of my rations, I turned and saw that girl, or that thing that looked like a girl, once more in the shadows. She was laughing again. In a ray of moonlight I think I saw some of her face. It looked human, but every sense told me it was not. The hair streaming in the wind changed from stringy to thick, from dark to light. The skin of the face was... not right, somehow flawless but sickly in its complexion. Only those eyes seemed not to change, and they were the most inhuman of all. I hurried Daniel to his feet, and we ran on. \\\* There is little else to relate. We both survived that night, and escaped the woods. County authorities were grateful to put that ghost story to rest. The boy's family was stunned; many still refused to accept it could be the same Daniel twenty years lost. His now aged mother, I am told, never learned to accept him. Daniel himself was broken by the experience. He said nothing of his time in the woods. Mostly he would not speak when spoken to, and what he said was vague and hard to decipher. He communicated mostly through drawings or poems. Although his sister took him in, he was never a burden to the family; in his madness he took to painting, toymaking, the making of musical instruments, beekeeping, and all manner of things, showing incredible and lucrative deftness in all of them. They sent me one of his paintings, once, as a gift. Although I appreciated it, it always disquieted me. I felt oddly grieved when Danny died so young. I managed to locate the Tinker caravan that had been at town's outskirts those decades ago. They were no longer welcome near the town, but I am accustomed to the legwork needed to find people. I felt obliged to apologize, as Danny had returned but their girl had not. They spoke only of the missing girl as being away with the Little Folk. I knew not what to make of it. As I said, the whole incident convinced me to give up manhunting, and give myself back to anthropology. For years, I have studied stories about the Little Folk. Myths about them come from all over world, you know. Like another race of man, one we pushed back, living beside us still but in secret. I think of the feud between the Tinkers and the townsfolk. It is in our nature to fear the outsider. I wonder if we learned this talent in response to some other kind of foreigner. An interesting hypothesis, I've always felt. But I fear I lack the conviction to publish my findings. My thoughts are ever with those things in the tree, and that girl whose face seemed to mottle and change in the shadow, not quite human...	\[Use this guide to translate the caveman speech.\]([https://public.wsu.edu/\~delahoyd/cavespeak.html](https://public.wsu.edu/~delahoyd/cavespeak.html)) “Neecha, maka. Igac maka-daka neecha!” The other four cavemen whooped and hollered at Igac’s boastful retelling of the saber-toothed cat he had killed earlier that day. Their voices echoed outwards from their cave and into the starry night beyond, the cool night air providing a relaxing contrast to the gentle waves of heat emanating from the fire in front of them. As the five gradually settled down, one of them stood up and spoke, “Torv chok reeshi. Neh-unk reeshi maka-zook.” Igac nodded and replied, “Bato, Torv. Bato maka neechas.” The remaining four watched as the darkness of the surrounding forest enveloped Torv, the sounds of leaves and branches breaking under his feet growing fainter until only silence remained. Igac seized the opportunity to begin regaling his friends anew on his latest pursuit of Birba and was met with playful ridicule as the other three mocked his bumbling ineptitude with the women of their tribe. The back-and-forth exchange lasted for several minutes, after which they began to realize that Torv had yet to return from his water run. Igac and the rest scratched their heads and squinted into the darkness beyond, watching and listening for a sign of their missing companion. Suddenly, they heard a snap to the northeast. Then another. Then two more. But still no sign of Torv. “Torv? Sonta, kuda.” Silence. “Torv? Sonta gu gu-tawa. Owee?” Torvv, sonntah, oweee? The four cavemen eyed one another, their faces hardening as they stood up and gathered their rock spears. Igac spoke once more, “Torv. Akita, lom-gom.” Torvv, Torvv, lohm-gohm. A figure emerged from the darkness and slowly stumbled closer to the cave. Igac tightened his grip on his weapon as he began making out the features of this thing. From a distance, it easily resembled Torv as it perfectly matched his physique. As it grew closer, however, the four cavemen could notice details that were ever so slightly off from their companion. A left eye drooping a little too low, a mouth that hung a little too loosely from the face, a right leg that limped slightly with each step. “Keega! Neh-gonta! Igac maka-daka keega!” shouted Igac. Keegacigacigacigacigacccccccc… It was over in the blink of an eye. The gray stone walls of the cave suddenly coated with splotches and chunks of red. The fire snuffed out from the force of meat falling on top of it, plunging the cave into darkness. The sounds of crunching bones and wet chewing echoing from the cave where laughter and joy once reigned supreme. The figure staggered forth from the cave entrance, wrenching the two spears from its torso and wiping the flecks of blood and flesh from its mouth. A snap to its right caused it to whirl its head around. Seeing nothing, it stumbled back into the envelope of the darkness, back to where it was birthed and back to where it would thrive under the cover of night. But where that last branch had just broken, there sat the young Birba who dared not move an inch from her position, waiting for what felt like hours until she believed the aberration had truly vacated the area. She sprinted southwards, choking back hot tears and sobs. Not daring to look back lest the abomination catch her, ignoring the stinging pain of vines and branches poking at every part of her exposed legs and feet. She had to warn the tribe of the monstrosity that threatened to terrorize them all. She had to. No matter what. r/williamk9949
[WP] The fact the uncanny valley exists is terrifying. Being scared by things that look almost human but aren't. Other animals do not have this. That means that at some point in our evolution, running away from things that looked almost human was advantageous enough to be imprinted on our genetics.	The retired professor turned this way and that, crazy haired and wild eyed, looking for something that wasn't there. Sturbink's office light had shut off about thirty seconds ago. He had been lost in the research time vortex that afflicted adderall users everywhere, absorbed by first hand accounts of murders from the late 18th century. All of the reports had something in common; the witnesses glimpsed the killers before they vanished, and the killers always seemed achingly familiar, as if they were wayward family members of their unfortunate victims. Sturbink kept returning to the same eyewitness account, fascinated by a gruesome series of murders in a shipyard in Liverpool. The witness survived by hiding in the half-completed hull of a British Man of War, where he watched his friends and coworkers die. When he was finally found he kept repeating the same line over and over. They came like wraiths in the night. The young man's story didn't hold up and he was deemed insane. He stood trial as the murderer and was promptly executed. "No matter," Sturbink said, speaking defiantly to the pitch-black room. He had no family to speak of besides the wonderful woman who came twice a week to clean and do the dishes, so he was used to dealing with the old house's issues by himself. "Just bad timing. Been meaning to replace the light bulb." He bit back a little frustration. So close to tying it all together... this eyewitness account had to contain the final thread in the riddle he had been trying to solve for a decade. Slowly but surely he had begun to uncover common themes in the murders, and now Sturbink was getting closer to understanding how it all fit into the bigger picture. These murders were related in some important way. The same patterns spanned for centures. The retired professor groped around for his phone, feeling an intense sense of relief when his fingers brushed across the cold metal. "I'll just turn the flashlight on," he muttered. Chilled sweat spewed forth, soaking his shirt in seconds. A hand was placed on top of his, now frozen against the phone which still lay flat on the table. Eternity seemed to pass. Sturbink's vision adjusted until he could see an outline of the hand, which was covered in porcelain skin that almost glowed in the dark. His eyes followed the arm upwards to a face that stared at him with otherworldly intensity, its features blurred in the dark. "So close," Sturbink said, eyeing the creature, feeling vindication amidst the pounding terror of his heart. He was right. "You are close," the creature whispered. "So close to uncovering it all." The being's breath was achingly cold, chilling the retired professor where it brushed across his skin. Slowly, surely, the being's features crystallized in the darkness until he could make out a younger Sturbink staring back at him, an unblemished face carrying a serene expression. ----------------- "Fuck," Conrad was standing over the corpse, hands in his pockets, adopting the sarcastic tone of detectives everywhere. In this case it was warranted. The corpse's eyes were bulged and shot through with red veins, as if an unknown pressure threatened to pop them out of their sockets. "Another freezer burn," Conrad said, pointing at Sturbink's clawed hand. "I swear we are seeing this shit more and more." The entire house had been cordoned off, and all traffic had been re-routed through other neighborhoods, not that there was much this late at night. The murder had been reported by a frightened maid earlier this afternoon, and the police presence had increased six-fold after it became clear who the victim was. This didn't make much sense to the two NYPD detectives who had been assigned to the case and ordered to catalog everything before the Feds arrived. The victim was a conspiracy nut who had been a staple commentor on a few outspoken online forums. The guy had been a professor years ago, but for the last two decades of his life he had been a recluse. It was strange for the higher ups to show such an interest in a nobody troll on the internet. "He was working on a novel or something," Tulfer said, eyeing the enormous amount of stacked documents on the table. The victim's laptop was still open, on a whim Tulfer put on a plastic glove and jiggled the mouse a bit, causing the laptop to spring to life. It did not prompt him for a password, instead opening straight to a word document. "Something called Mirrored Species." "Bit of a lunatic, eh?" Conrad said. "FBI guys will be here in a few minutes, we should wrap it up." The light clicked off.	\[Use this guide to translate the caveman speech.\]([https://public.wsu.edu/\~delahoyd/cavespeak.html](https://public.wsu.edu/~delahoyd/cavespeak.html)) “Neecha, maka. Igac maka-daka neecha!” The other four cavemen whooped and hollered at Igac’s boastful retelling of the saber-toothed cat he had killed earlier that day. Their voices echoed outwards from their cave and into the starry night beyond, the cool night air providing a relaxing contrast to the gentle waves of heat emanating from the fire in front of them. As the five gradually settled down, one of them stood up and spoke, “Torv chok reeshi. Neh-unk reeshi maka-zook.” Igac nodded and replied, “Bato, Torv. Bato maka neechas.” The remaining four watched as the darkness of the surrounding forest enveloped Torv, the sounds of leaves and branches breaking under his feet growing fainter until only silence remained. Igac seized the opportunity to begin regaling his friends anew on his latest pursuit of Birba and was met with playful ridicule as the other three mocked his bumbling ineptitude with the women of their tribe. The back-and-forth exchange lasted for several minutes, after which they began to realize that Torv had yet to return from his water run. Igac and the rest scratched their heads and squinted into the darkness beyond, watching and listening for a sign of their missing companion. Suddenly, they heard a snap to the northeast. Then another. Then two more. But still no sign of Torv. “Torv? Sonta, kuda.” Silence. “Torv? Sonta gu gu-tawa. Owee?” Torvv, sonntah, oweee? The four cavemen eyed one another, their faces hardening as they stood up and gathered their rock spears. Igac spoke once more, “Torv. Akita, lom-gom.” Torvv, Torvv, lohm-gohm. A figure emerged from the darkness and slowly stumbled closer to the cave. Igac tightened his grip on his weapon as he began making out the features of this thing. From a distance, it easily resembled Torv as it perfectly matched his physique. As it grew closer, however, the four cavemen could notice details that were ever so slightly off from their companion. A left eye drooping a little too low, a mouth that hung a little too loosely from the face, a right leg that limped slightly with each step. “Keega! Neh-gonta! Igac maka-daka keega!” shouted Igac. Keegacigacigacigacigacccccccc… It was over in the blink of an eye. The gray stone walls of the cave suddenly coated with splotches and chunks of red. The fire snuffed out from the force of meat falling on top of it, plunging the cave into darkness. The sounds of crunching bones and wet chewing echoing from the cave where laughter and joy once reigned supreme. The figure staggered forth from the cave entrance, wrenching the two spears from its torso and wiping the flecks of blood and flesh from its mouth. A snap to its right caused it to whirl its head around. Seeing nothing, it stumbled back into the envelope of the darkness, back to where it was birthed and back to where it would thrive under the cover of night. But where that last branch had just broken, there sat the young Birba who dared not move an inch from her position, waiting for what felt like hours until she believed the aberration had truly vacated the area. She sprinted southwards, choking back hot tears and sobs. Not daring to look back lest the abomination catch her, ignoring the stinging pain of vines and branches poking at every part of her exposed legs and feet. She had to warn the tribe of the monstrosity that threatened to terrorize them all. She had to. No matter what. r/williamk9949
[WP] The fact the uncanny valley exists is terrifying. Being scared by things that look almost human but aren't. Other animals do not have this. That means that at some point in our evolution, running away from things that looked almost human was advantageous enough to be imprinted on our genetics.	"So there is a bit of fuzzy area. Anything below this and our brain is happy to leave it alone and call it Non Human. Anything above this, our brain will identify a face as definitely human. But if you look at a face that falls in this area, uncanny valley as we call it, our brain just can't fully process it. It confuses us. It terrifies us." "But why does this happen Professor?" "Good question, Dylan. We still don't fully understand. There are several theories of course. Maybe it reminds us of the dead. Maybe its because there very several species very close to us competing for survival at the dawn of humanity. It's a very evolutionary response, you see. Something that has to have lasted over a long long time. We continue to look into this. However, there..." The bell rang and the class finished. Professor McCarthy turned around to clear up the blackboard as the class exited through the doors. When he was done and he turned around, he was surprised to find a paper on his desk. It was neatly written. Only a student could've left it there. He sat in his chair and started reading it, wondering why it had been left there. He had a few minutes to kill anyways. He read the first few lines casually, before sitting up bolt upright. **** The entire class looked back at him. "I'm not mad everyone. Someone left a hand written note on my desk. It was super interesting. I just want to know who it was." But no one came forth with the explanation. "You won't get into trouble. I promise. It's just a fascinating idea and I want to know more. Dylan? Katie? Sam?" But no one admitted to it. He sighed. "Fine then. Let's get on with today's lesson." At the end of the period, there was another note. This one was short and to the point. I can't let them know. Just watch them for a while. You'll see it too. ************ His throat started closing up and his heart rate went up. He looked at all the faces staring back at him. His brain was screaming at him. He had to close his eyes. He had to close his eyes or risk losing his sanity. He had to... He came to with a start and found his class working on their assignment. All of them, except Dylan. Dylan looked right at him with a slight smile. A smile, that made him uncomfortable for some reason. A smile far too wide for a human face. He muffled his screaming by stuffing his fist in his mouth. A few kids looked up at him in confusion. "Carry on, please. I'm a bit unwell today." As the class came to an end, he didn't turn around. He observed if anyone would leave something. No one did. After a few minutes, a piece of paper was thrown into the classroom. He ran out to see if he could catch who had thrown it. He saw Dylan standing there, his arm around another of his students. Kevin, he thought was the kid's name. Kevin looked as if he was ready to cry. Dylan waved to him and walked away, his arm still around Kevin's shoulders as he walked beside Dylan. The note had a simple message again. They know. **** Kevin didn't show up for class the next day. Prof McCarthy stopped Dylan at the end of the class. "Where's Kevin?" "Don't know, professor. Who's Kevin?" "You know who Kevin is. You were with him yesterday?" "Was I? I don't recall." The professor looked at Dylan's face to see any indication if he was lying. But the more he looked at his face, the more his own brain screamed back at him. There was something wrong... something he couldn't explain. "Dylan, who... what are you?" Dylan's smile widened. He seemed to have hundreds of teeth. Professor stumbled backwards, knocking some of his books off the table. "Didn't Kevin tell you professor? Surely he did. Clever kid that. Not sure how he found out, but he did." "So he was right?" "I don't know what he told you." "He wrote of monsters, animals, shapeshifters. Ones whose purpose was to infiltrate human kind, and eventually overtake us." "Clever kid for sure. But he won't be any trouble now." "What does that mean?" "Nothing. Don't worry about it professor. In fact, it might be in your best interest to ignore all of this completely." "But you look... you look normal." "Did you think humans were the only ones capable of evolution?" The professor looked at Dylan as he left. ****** Kevin was back in the class. He was smiling. But the more the professor looked at his smile, the more his brain screamed at him. Professor looked around at his class. They were all smiling back at him. So much smiling. The professor screamed and collapsed. ***** More of my ramblings at r/ta_account_12	\[Use this guide to translate the caveman speech.\]([https://public.wsu.edu/\~delahoyd/cavespeak.html](https://public.wsu.edu/~delahoyd/cavespeak.html)) “Neecha, maka. Igac maka-daka neecha!” The other four cavemen whooped and hollered at Igac’s boastful retelling of the saber-toothed cat he had killed earlier that day. Their voices echoed outwards from their cave and into the starry night beyond, the cool night air providing a relaxing contrast to the gentle waves of heat emanating from the fire in front of them. As the five gradually settled down, one of them stood up and spoke, “Torv chok reeshi. Neh-unk reeshi maka-zook.” Igac nodded and replied, “Bato, Torv. Bato maka neechas.” The remaining four watched as the darkness of the surrounding forest enveloped Torv, the sounds of leaves and branches breaking under his feet growing fainter until only silence remained. Igac seized the opportunity to begin regaling his friends anew on his latest pursuit of Birba and was met with playful ridicule as the other three mocked his bumbling ineptitude with the women of their tribe. The back-and-forth exchange lasted for several minutes, after which they began to realize that Torv had yet to return from his water run. Igac and the rest scratched their heads and squinted into the darkness beyond, watching and listening for a sign of their missing companion. Suddenly, they heard a snap to the northeast. Then another. Then two more. But still no sign of Torv. “Torv? Sonta, kuda.” Silence. “Torv? Sonta gu gu-tawa. Owee?” Torvv, sonntah, oweee? The four cavemen eyed one another, their faces hardening as they stood up and gathered their rock spears. Igac spoke once more, “Torv. Akita, lom-gom.” Torvv, Torvv, lohm-gohm. A figure emerged from the darkness and slowly stumbled closer to the cave. Igac tightened his grip on his weapon as he began making out the features of this thing. From a distance, it easily resembled Torv as it perfectly matched his physique. As it grew closer, however, the four cavemen could notice details that were ever so slightly off from their companion. A left eye drooping a little too low, a mouth that hung a little too loosely from the face, a right leg that limped slightly with each step. “Keega! Neh-gonta! Igac maka-daka keega!” shouted Igac. Keegacigacigacigacigacccccccc… It was over in the blink of an eye. The gray stone walls of the cave suddenly coated with splotches and chunks of red. The fire snuffed out from the force of meat falling on top of it, plunging the cave into darkness. The sounds of crunching bones and wet chewing echoing from the cave where laughter and joy once reigned supreme. The figure staggered forth from the cave entrance, wrenching the two spears from its torso and wiping the flecks of blood and flesh from its mouth. A snap to its right caused it to whirl its head around. Seeing nothing, it stumbled back into the envelope of the darkness, back to where it was birthed and back to where it would thrive under the cover of night. But where that last branch had just broken, there sat the young Birba who dared not move an inch from her position, waiting for what felt like hours until she believed the aberration had truly vacated the area. She sprinted southwards, choking back hot tears and sobs. Not daring to look back lest the abomination catch her, ignoring the stinging pain of vines and branches poking at every part of her exposed legs and feet. She had to warn the tribe of the monstrosity that threatened to terrorize them all. She had to. No matter what. r/williamk9949
[WP] The fact the uncanny valley exists is terrifying. Being scared by things that look almost human but aren't. Other animals do not have this. That means that at some point in our evolution, running away from things that looked almost human was advantageous enough to be imprinted on our genetics.	An Old Man is seated on a rock by a large bonfire. To either side of him a group of about a dozen youths sit cross legged, ringing the fire. A few of the youths are whittling at blocks of wood, while others nibble on jerky. They are dressed in rough leather garments stitched together by chords of hemp and sinew. Some of the older ones already have their first tattoos, but most do not. A few adults and older teens loiter near the fire pretending to be busy. In reality they are listening to the Old Man, but do not wish to be seen partaking in children’s tales. “It was in the time of my grandfather’s grandfather’s grandfather. And since I am old enough to be your grandfather it was about 8 generations ago that we came to this valley.” He said. His voice did not carry the hoarse rasp of old age, but rather remained clear and fluid despite the wrinkles and scars on his face that revealed the Old Man’s considerable age. “We came from ancient land, far to the south, when the rising sun is to the right. We needed fresh land to hunt, fresh herds to chase. A land with many trees and shrubs for the women to pick fruit from. “We followed the herds at first. They fled the ancient lands when the rains stopped falling and the dirt turned to sand.” He paused to collect his thoughts. The children were listening raptly. They had never heard this story before. “At first these lands were ideal, beautiful. Full of everything we wanted. But who can tell me why it was not perfect?” The children thought for a moment. They knew an answer was expected, these stories were education as well as entertainment. “Because of the Others.” One of them said, a younger girl. Some of the older children quickly shushed her or else shook their heads in embarrassment. The girl looked abashed and averted her eyes. “Yes, exactly right. The others.” the Old Man said kindly, smiling at her. His audience looked at him quizzically. “It’s no sin to talk about the Others when asked.” He explained. He cleared his throat indicating that the time for discussion was over and it was time for the story to resume. “Yes, the Others. They came from the caves. We prefer to sleep in tents made from skins and woven hemp, but these Others abided deep in the hills and mountains. That is why even today our people never go into the mountains though they surround us on all sides.” “I thought all of the Others were gone.” One of the boys said. The Old Man shot daggers with his eyes at the boy who had spoken. A second boy cuffed him on the head. “Are they, Aku? Do you know why you were named that?” He shook his head. “Because Aku was your grandfather, and my best friend, and he died to keep your mother safe when she was just a girl. It was the Others who killed him. I saw it with my own eyes. So, little Aku, who speaks out of turn during story, are you brave enough to go into the mountains? After all, the Others are all gone, right?” Aku remained silent and turned red in the cheeks. Old Man nodded in approval. He cleared his throat again. “It is true that our ancestors fought back, and for a time we prevailed. Our flint and bone was superior to theirs, and our strategies in battle were superior. But the Others have advantages as well. They are larger than us, and have a deep, bellowing voice that can be heard for half a horizon, meaning they could call for help and always be answered. “Soon enough they stopped competing with us for the herds and retreated into their caves. Instead they now make their desperate living by ambushing our camps and taking away our women, and attacking our hunting parties with greater numbers after they make a kill and steal it for themselves. “Now, who can tell me how to spot an Other?” No one spoke. Old Man shook his head. “Well Aku will be pleased to learn that there hasn’t been an attack on our people for almost thirty seasons now, since Aku was learning to walk. As such your parents haven’t told you how to spot them. Who can tel me why you must know this?” “Because they look like us.” A small child said. “Yes. But more importantly there are other people’s in this valley now as well, our own kind but of different tribes. You must learn what the Other’s look like because you must know the difference between them and the other people of this valley.” “It used to be much easier. The Others in the time of my grandfather were much larger than us, and hairier. Their foreheads were sloped, their noses huge, and their chests were enormous. “But now, ever since they started taking away our women, it has become harder and harder to tell them apart from others of our kind. They know this, and have started using it. On the day young Hakka here was born a group of them came to our camp. We thought they were of our kind, come to trade. When we came out to barter they attacked, they carried away two women, slew two of our men, and stole three mammoth skins. The danger is very real.” “So children, listen and listen well. When you see someone, and your first thought is that something is not right, run. Because the Others may look like us, and may act like us, but they will never look completely the same. I’ll not waste time telling you what to look for, but I urge you to look at each other closely. Go on, look into each other’s faces and study each other. That is the face of our kind. If you see someone else, and something looks different, or if they leave you unsettled, run away as fast as you can. For the Others hate us still, and long to reclaim this valley for their own. Heed my words and obey, fear that which does not look like you.” And with these word the Old Man rose and disappeared into his tent, leaving his audience to their task of studying each other.	\[Use this guide to translate the caveman speech.\]([https://public.wsu.edu/\~delahoyd/cavespeak.html](https://public.wsu.edu/~delahoyd/cavespeak.html)) “Neecha, maka. Igac maka-daka neecha!” The other four cavemen whooped and hollered at Igac’s boastful retelling of the saber-toothed cat he had killed earlier that day. Their voices echoed outwards from their cave and into the starry night beyond, the cool night air providing a relaxing contrast to the gentle waves of heat emanating from the fire in front of them. As the five gradually settled down, one of them stood up and spoke, “Torv chok reeshi. Neh-unk reeshi maka-zook.” Igac nodded and replied, “Bato, Torv. Bato maka neechas.” The remaining four watched as the darkness of the surrounding forest enveloped Torv, the sounds of leaves and branches breaking under his feet growing fainter until only silence remained. Igac seized the opportunity to begin regaling his friends anew on his latest pursuit of Birba and was met with playful ridicule as the other three mocked his bumbling ineptitude with the women of their tribe. The back-and-forth exchange lasted for several minutes, after which they began to realize that Torv had yet to return from his water run. Igac and the rest scratched their heads and squinted into the darkness beyond, watching and listening for a sign of their missing companion. Suddenly, they heard a snap to the northeast. Then another. Then two more. But still no sign of Torv. “Torv? Sonta, kuda.” Silence. “Torv? Sonta gu gu-tawa. Owee?” Torvv, sonntah, oweee? The four cavemen eyed one another, their faces hardening as they stood up and gathered their rock spears. Igac spoke once more, “Torv. Akita, lom-gom.” Torvv, Torvv, lohm-gohm. A figure emerged from the darkness and slowly stumbled closer to the cave. Igac tightened his grip on his weapon as he began making out the features of this thing. From a distance, it easily resembled Torv as it perfectly matched his physique. As it grew closer, however, the four cavemen could notice details that were ever so slightly off from their companion. A left eye drooping a little too low, a mouth that hung a little too loosely from the face, a right leg that limped slightly with each step. “Keega! Neh-gonta! Igac maka-daka keega!” shouted Igac. Keegacigacigacigacigacccccccc… It was over in the blink of an eye. The gray stone walls of the cave suddenly coated with splotches and chunks of red. The fire snuffed out from the force of meat falling on top of it, plunging the cave into darkness. The sounds of crunching bones and wet chewing echoing from the cave where laughter and joy once reigned supreme. The figure staggered forth from the cave entrance, wrenching the two spears from its torso and wiping the flecks of blood and flesh from its mouth. A snap to its right caused it to whirl its head around. Seeing nothing, it stumbled back into the envelope of the darkness, back to where it was birthed and back to where it would thrive under the cover of night. But where that last branch had just broken, there sat the young Birba who dared not move an inch from her position, waiting for what felt like hours until she believed the aberration had truly vacated the area. She sprinted southwards, choking back hot tears and sobs. Not daring to look back lest the abomination catch her, ignoring the stinging pain of vines and branches poking at every part of her exposed legs and feet. She had to warn the tribe of the monstrosity that threatened to terrorize them all. She had to. No matter what. r/williamk9949
[WP] The fact the uncanny valley exists is terrifying. Being scared by things that look almost human but aren't. Other animals do not have this. That means that at some point in our evolution, running away from things that looked almost human was advantageous enough to be imprinted on our genetics.	The EVA 201 class began. As we walked in, we waved our notebooks over the interface and the e-ink paper changed. I took a brief glance at what I presumed would be the syllabus, and found a table of contents: Pages 1-3: Content warnings Page 4: Infohazard waiver and consent form Page 5: University policy on non-consensual disclosure Pages 6-10: [locked pending acceptance] The class was half empty. "I'm sure that by now you've been familiarized with the scrutiny that an evolutionary anthropology class entails. When Dr. Sanchez pioneered his methods of correlational culture reconstruction, he thought it would bring us enlightenment, instead it brought us horror, hatred, and war. But humanity can't blind itself to the truth, even after all it's brought us. So we are the few, unlucky in my opinion, watchers, who study it for the benefit of the rest." "I'm sure you are aware of the policy, but the rules say I need to say it out loud. The material presented in this class ranks a 5 on the individual scale, and a 7 on the societal scale. If you start spreading it to anyone who's not in our program, or didn't opt-out of infoprotection, you will not only be expelled from the program, but will be sanctioned by every major infosec company out there. Depending on the severity, you might be banned from posting on any platform with an infosec contract. People in that situation often end up posting on opt-outer forums, and reading what they post there. After that, few last more than a year before they end up in an insane asylum." "So, don't do it. Also, there's a content warning section which I suggest you read carefully," Brian smirked. He was always one of those who think they're fearless and invincible. He joked about opting out pretty often. "... even if you thought the previous classes weren't that intense. We will be watching video reconstructions from Pleistocene-epoch human cultures, for the first time, though not today. I've had a student who told me that he has seen "snuff films", and he still couldn't take it. Now, please sign your waivers so I can proceed." Over the sound of people walking out the door, I signed both and immediately the next pages changed from a static blur to readable text. Page 6: Intro to psychosymbiosis Page 7: History of psychosymbiote-affected human cultures Page 8: Extinct species Page 9: Extant species Page 10: Public safety implications "As you may have guessed, this class is about the organisms which make their home inside human bodies, and affect our thoughts and behavior. Once you think about it, you may see it's obvious in hindsight. If we have pathogens that quickly evolve to exploit our other tissues and organs, why not exploit the brain? Especially since we have seen so many examples among other animals, like rabies or the Cordyceps fungus? Much of it is the fault of these organisms themselves." "When a microbe infects an animal, it has to evade the immune system to survive, by an endless variety of means. The same goes for these, and over time they have learned to affect the brain, to hide their own existence. Some will delete thoughts and memories that hint at their existence. Others will act more violently, killing the host and releasing spores, or making the host kill the person spreading information about them. You all have been tested at the campus clinic to have relatively benign symbiotes, such as the genus Pacipheria, a clade that seems to tolerate people learning about it. That one does have amnestic and hallucinogenic properties that keep people from seeing the physical and behavioral effects of similar infections on others and themselves, but it doesn't seem to understand abstract academic terminology. So I can teach this class without fear of anything happening to you or me." "But let this be another reminder to keep everything we talk about inside of the classroom. You can't know which of these your friends could be carrying, and how they will respond to a knowledge trigger." The professor went on to explain with a professional tone, while everyone in the class reacted in stunned horror. Brian's smirk was gone from his face. Spores? Hallucinogenic? Physical effects? "Humans have gone through a long co-evolution with these infestations. We would evolve some trait, and they would evolve to counter it. Because many of them tend to deform the human body, and tended to use the host and their deformations to do violence to hosts of competing symbiotes, our brain evolved an instinctive fear reflex towards humans who, how should I put it, 'don't look right'. In response, many of them, including Pacipheria adapted to block out that perception, and make all human-shaped creatures look normal, at least usually. In cases of reported sightings, it and many species will drive the host to disbelieve any accounts." "By promoting the health and sanity of the host, it allowed humans to create civilizations and thus proliferate more. More hosts, more symbiotes. This is what we call a commensalist or even mutualistic symbiote. In the past, parasitic ones were much more common, and we still remember the more recent ones in traditions about "zombies", "monsters", "vampires", all of them coming from historical accounts of infested humans. However, remember that the modern world still hosts many different species, and few of them are as benign..." An hour and a half later, I walked out the classroom in a daze. I learned a lot, about how competition and kin selection among different parasites led to wars and racism, about the genus responsible for what we have come to call "zombies" and some of the ones that were lost to oral history, and terms like "pseudo-neural mycelium" and "cognitostructural autoimmunity", (though the professor still refused to answer what was so disturbing about the Pleistocene epoch), but as I walked past what looked like normal college students, this one thought I couldn't get out of my head was "what would they truly look like through clear eyes?"	\[Use this guide to translate the caveman speech.\]([https://public.wsu.edu/\~delahoyd/cavespeak.html](https://public.wsu.edu/~delahoyd/cavespeak.html)) “Neecha, maka. Igac maka-daka neecha!” The other four cavemen whooped and hollered at Igac’s boastful retelling of the saber-toothed cat he had killed earlier that day. Their voices echoed outwards from their cave and into the starry night beyond, the cool night air providing a relaxing contrast to the gentle waves of heat emanating from the fire in front of them. As the five gradually settled down, one of them stood up and spoke, “Torv chok reeshi. Neh-unk reeshi maka-zook.” Igac nodded and replied, “Bato, Torv. Bato maka neechas.” The remaining four watched as the darkness of the surrounding forest enveloped Torv, the sounds of leaves and branches breaking under his feet growing fainter until only silence remained. Igac seized the opportunity to begin regaling his friends anew on his latest pursuit of Birba and was met with playful ridicule as the other three mocked his bumbling ineptitude with the women of their tribe. The back-and-forth exchange lasted for several minutes, after which they began to realize that Torv had yet to return from his water run. Igac and the rest scratched their heads and squinted into the darkness beyond, watching and listening for a sign of their missing companion. Suddenly, they heard a snap to the northeast. Then another. Then two more. But still no sign of Torv. “Torv? Sonta, kuda.” Silence. “Torv? Sonta gu gu-tawa. Owee?” Torvv, sonntah, oweee? The four cavemen eyed one another, their faces hardening as they stood up and gathered their rock spears. Igac spoke once more, “Torv. Akita, lom-gom.” Torvv, Torvv, lohm-gohm. A figure emerged from the darkness and slowly stumbled closer to the cave. Igac tightened his grip on his weapon as he began making out the features of this thing. From a distance, it easily resembled Torv as it perfectly matched his physique. As it grew closer, however, the four cavemen could notice details that were ever so slightly off from their companion. A left eye drooping a little too low, a mouth that hung a little too loosely from the face, a right leg that limped slightly with each step. “Keega! Neh-gonta! Igac maka-daka keega!” shouted Igac. Keegacigacigacigacigacccccccc… It was over in the blink of an eye. The gray stone walls of the cave suddenly coated with splotches and chunks of red. The fire snuffed out from the force of meat falling on top of it, plunging the cave into darkness. The sounds of crunching bones and wet chewing echoing from the cave where laughter and joy once reigned supreme. The figure staggered forth from the cave entrance, wrenching the two spears from its torso and wiping the flecks of blood and flesh from its mouth. A snap to its right caused it to whirl its head around. Seeing nothing, it stumbled back into the envelope of the darkness, back to where it was birthed and back to where it would thrive under the cover of night. But where that last branch had just broken, there sat the young Birba who dared not move an inch from her position, waiting for what felt like hours until she believed the aberration had truly vacated the area. She sprinted southwards, choking back hot tears and sobs. Not daring to look back lest the abomination catch her, ignoring the stinging pain of vines and branches poking at every part of her exposed legs and feet. She had to warn the tribe of the monstrosity that threatened to terrorize them all. She had to. No matter what. r/williamk9949
[WP] The fact the uncanny valley exists is terrifying. Being scared by things that look almost human but aren't. Other animals do not have this. That means that at some point in our evolution, running away from things that looked almost human was advantageous enough to be imprinted on our genetics.	Pixwhirx sighed as he studied the analysis of the data he'd fed into the interworld-ship's main computer. Nothing else for it, he'd have to tell Dreemar. "What do you mean it's not going to work???" Dreemar demanded angrily. Pixwhirx had known he would react like this; it was after-all Dreemar's first command of a world take-over, and they'd already invested millennia of work here. "I'm sorry Dreemar, but the analysis is conclusive, the native population has evolved a defense to our techniques." "But how? Why? This scheme has worked on a thousand parallels! We infiltrate and expose them to the programming narratives over successive generations. Primitive minds cannot help but be over-whelmed by the moving image and sound projections. Knowing not that it would turn their brains to mush" punctuating this last part with a ceremonial "Mwah haha." as etiquette demanded. "That's the problem Dreemar, the natives are no longer viewing the programming narratives. Those that were mushed failed to reproduce. Instead of finding mates the mushification caused them to grow obsessed with discussing the narratives, and arguing over inane details." "But this is all to plan! That is what is supposed to happen! They fail to propagate, fight among themselves over which of the deliberately conflicting narratives are true, and die out, leaving a world ripe for the taking" Dreemar cried. "Yes yes, but unfortunately some who view the narratives were not mushified. In fact, a small number of them had a trait we have not encountered before. They can somehow perceive that the simulations within the narratives of their species are artificial. Not only that, but they are actively repelled by those simulations, fleeing when we open a vision-field. The numbers in their population who had this ability were small at first, but this species, is short-lived compared to us, and reproduce quickly. They have passed on this trait to their off-spring and frankly, our viewing numbers are now abysmal. The last successful narrative operation was God Story 2. The subsequent sequels in the series might as well have been straight to burning bush for all the impact they had." "But but... how? Our Cgyian simulations are perfect. Two eyes, that breathing bump in the middle of their faces, the big gaping hole for eating! Who could tell the difference?" "We do not know precisely. The analysis indicates that their ability makes them able to discern the smallest deviation from some inbuilt intuitive impression of how naturally occurring members of their species appear. Our simulations, while indistinguishable to us, are somehow detectable as... different to these primitives. Eyes even slightly too far apart and so on. I tried to correct this in the last narrative, covering one of the main character's eyes with a patch, but they still somehow detected it wasn't one of them", Pixwhirx shrugged, "Might have been the lightning coming out of its hands. Did you know they don't do that? I didn't. Well anyway, that's the conclusion the computer gave." Dreemar growled with displeasure, "then what are we to do Pixwhirx? We can not return home and report a failure, I would be sacrificed to Luxo the Terrible." "Well... we could wait and try again... as I said, this species is short-lived, it would only take a few thousand of their years for them to forget all about these narratives I'm sure. Not long by our standards. Perhaps by then the trait will have bred out of them." "Okay fine." Dreemar, "but if that doesn't work we'll just eat them".	\[Poem\] Being Human The eye can show a person’s soul, it acts just like a gate, And every time I look at mine, I see that there’s no fate. Disgust and fear are all I see, I feel this rising heat, And more and more I lose myself, with every sudden beat. \-- My heart it pounds, it cannot stop, I have become a monster, It is as if I’m not myself, I feel like an imposter. And day by day the sun it fades, it lost its former luster, The moon it shines and talks to me, this face of alabaster. \-- And never can I stop myself from staring at this face, Until I stop and see myself, this ugly old disgrace. What is it that has happened here? Why am I so afraid? Can I help my burning soul? Or am I just too late? \-- There is a valley that I wander, in which I have been lost. And staying here it takes a toll, it has a rising cost. Not many can return from here, not many have I seen, And all the people that I meet, know not how I’ve been. \-- Uncanny can it seem at times, uncanny how it changes, How it warps your every thought until your mind deranges. And then you cannot see yourself, you cannot feel your heart, You wish that you could help yourself but know not where to start. \-- And this is what it takes from you, this is what it costs, All you are is fleeting now, but you are still not lost. You are not where you think you are, you are not in this valley, Try and look into your eyes and see that you are canny.
[WP] The fact the uncanny valley exists is terrifying. Being scared by things that look almost human but aren't. Other animals do not have this. That means that at some point in our evolution, running away from things that looked almost human was advantageous enough to be imprinted on our genetics.	"So there is a bit of fuzzy area. Anything below this and our brain is happy to leave it alone and call it Non Human. Anything above this, our brain will identify a face as definitely human. But if you look at a face that falls in this area, uncanny valley as we call it, our brain just can't fully process it. It confuses us. It terrifies us." "But why does this happen Professor?" "Good question, Dylan. We still don't fully understand. There are several theories of course. Maybe it reminds us of the dead. Maybe its because there very several species very close to us competing for survival at the dawn of humanity. It's a very evolutionary response, you see. Something that has to have lasted over a long long time. We continue to look into this. However, there..." The bell rang and the class finished. Professor McCarthy turned around to clear up the blackboard as the class exited through the doors. When he was done and he turned around, he was surprised to find a paper on his desk. It was neatly written. Only a student could've left it there. He sat in his chair and started reading it, wondering why it had been left there. He had a few minutes to kill anyways. He read the first few lines casually, before sitting up bolt upright. **** The entire class looked back at him. "I'm not mad everyone. Someone left a hand written note on my desk. It was super interesting. I just want to know who it was." But no one came forth with the explanation. "You won't get into trouble. I promise. It's just a fascinating idea and I want to know more. Dylan? Katie? Sam?" But no one admitted to it. He sighed. "Fine then. Let's get on with today's lesson." At the end of the period, there was another note. This one was short and to the point. I can't let them know. Just watch them for a while. You'll see it too. ************ His throat started closing up and his heart rate went up. He looked at all the faces staring back at him. His brain was screaming at him. He had to close his eyes. He had to close his eyes or risk losing his sanity. He had to... He came to with a start and found his class working on their assignment. All of them, except Dylan. Dylan looked right at him with a slight smile. A smile, that made him uncomfortable for some reason. A smile far too wide for a human face. He muffled his screaming by stuffing his fist in his mouth. A few kids looked up at him in confusion. "Carry on, please. I'm a bit unwell today." As the class came to an end, he didn't turn around. He observed if anyone would leave something. No one did. After a few minutes, a piece of paper was thrown into the classroom. He ran out to see if he could catch who had thrown it. He saw Dylan standing there, his arm around another of his students. Kevin, he thought was the kid's name. Kevin looked as if he was ready to cry. Dylan waved to him and walked away, his arm still around Kevin's shoulders as he walked beside Dylan. The note had a simple message again. They know. **** Kevin didn't show up for class the next day. Prof McCarthy stopped Dylan at the end of the class. "Where's Kevin?" "Don't know, professor. Who's Kevin?" "You know who Kevin is. You were with him yesterday?" "Was I? I don't recall." The professor looked at Dylan's face to see any indication if he was lying. But the more he looked at his face, the more his own brain screamed back at him. There was something wrong... something he couldn't explain. "Dylan, who... what are you?" Dylan's smile widened. He seemed to have hundreds of teeth. Professor stumbled backwards, knocking some of his books off the table. "Didn't Kevin tell you professor? Surely he did. Clever kid that. Not sure how he found out, but he did." "So he was right?" "I don't know what he told you." "He wrote of monsters, animals, shapeshifters. Ones whose purpose was to infiltrate human kind, and eventually overtake us." "Clever kid for sure. But he won't be any trouble now." "What does that mean?" "Nothing. Don't worry about it professor. In fact, it might be in your best interest to ignore all of this completely." "But you look... you look normal." "Did you think humans were the only ones capable of evolution?" The professor looked at Dylan as he left. ****** Kevin was back in the class. He was smiling. But the more the professor looked at his smile, the more his brain screamed at him. Professor looked around at his class. They were all smiling back at him. So much smiling. The professor screamed and collapsed. ***** More of my ramblings at r/ta_account_12	The retired professor turned this way and that, crazy haired and wild eyed, looking for something that wasn't there. Sturbink's office light had shut off about thirty seconds ago. He had been lost in the research time vortex that afflicted adderall users everywhere, absorbed by first hand accounts of murders from the late 18th century. All of the reports had something in common; the witnesses glimpsed the killers before they vanished, and the killers always seemed achingly familiar, as if they were wayward family members of their unfortunate victims. Sturbink kept returning to the same eyewitness account, fascinated by a gruesome series of murders in a shipyard in Liverpool. The witness survived by hiding in the half-completed hull of a British Man of War, where he watched his friends and coworkers die. When he was finally found he kept repeating the same line over and over. They came like wraiths in the night. The young man's story didn't hold up and he was deemed insane. He stood trial as the murderer and was promptly executed. "No matter," Sturbink said, speaking defiantly to the pitch-black room. He had no family to speak of besides the wonderful woman who came twice a week to clean and do the dishes, so he was used to dealing with the old house's issues by himself. "Just bad timing. Been meaning to replace the light bulb." He bit back a little frustration. So close to tying it all together... this eyewitness account had to contain the final thread in the riddle he had been trying to solve for a decade. Slowly but surely he had begun to uncover common themes in the murders, and now Sturbink was getting closer to understanding how it all fit into the bigger picture. These murders were related in some important way. The same patterns spanned for centures. The retired professor groped around for his phone, feeling an intense sense of relief when his fingers brushed across the cold metal. "I'll just turn the flashlight on," he muttered. Chilled sweat spewed forth, soaking his shirt in seconds. A hand was placed on top of his, now frozen against the phone which still lay flat on the table. Eternity seemed to pass. Sturbink's vision adjusted until he could see an outline of the hand, which was covered in porcelain skin that almost glowed in the dark. His eyes followed the arm upwards to a face that stared at him with otherworldly intensity, its features blurred in the dark. "So close," Sturbink said, eyeing the creature, feeling vindication amidst the pounding terror of his heart. He was right. "You are close," the creature whispered. "So close to uncovering it all." The being's breath was achingly cold, chilling the retired professor where it brushed across his skin. Slowly, surely, the being's features crystallized in the darkness until he could make out a younger Sturbink staring back at him, an unblemished face carrying a serene expression. ----------------- "Fuck," Conrad was standing over the corpse, hands in his pockets, adopting the sarcastic tone of detectives everywhere. In this case it was warranted. The corpse's eyes were bulged and shot through with red veins, as if an unknown pressure threatened to pop them out of their sockets. "Another freezer burn," Conrad said, pointing at Sturbink's clawed hand. "I swear we are seeing this shit more and more." The entire house had been cordoned off, and all traffic had been re-routed through other neighborhoods, not that there was much this late at night. The murder had been reported by a frightened maid earlier this afternoon, and the police presence had increased six-fold after it became clear who the victim was. This didn't make much sense to the two NYPD detectives who had been assigned to the case and ordered to catalog everything before the Feds arrived. The victim was a conspiracy nut who had been a staple commentor on a few outspoken online forums. The guy had been a professor years ago, but for the last two decades of his life he had been a recluse. It was strange for the higher ups to show such an interest in a nobody troll on the internet. "He was working on a novel or something," Tulfer said, eyeing the enormous amount of stacked documents on the table. The victim's laptop was still open, on a whim Tulfer put on a plastic glove and jiggled the mouse a bit, causing the laptop to spring to life. It did not prompt him for a password, instead opening straight to a word document. "Something called Mirrored Species." "Bit of a lunatic, eh?" Conrad said. "FBI guys will be here in a few minutes, we should wrap it up." The light clicked off.
[WP] The fact the uncanny valley exists is terrifying. Being scared by things that look almost human but aren't. Other animals do not have this. That means that at some point in our evolution, running away from things that looked almost human was advantageous enough to be imprinted on our genetics.	An Old Man is seated on a rock by a large bonfire. To either side of him a group of about a dozen youths sit cross legged, ringing the fire. A few of the youths are whittling at blocks of wood, while others nibble on jerky. They are dressed in rough leather garments stitched together by chords of hemp and sinew. Some of the older ones already have their first tattoos, but most do not. A few adults and older teens loiter near the fire pretending to be busy. In reality they are listening to the Old Man, but do not wish to be seen partaking in children’s tales. “It was in the time of my grandfather’s grandfather’s grandfather. And since I am old enough to be your grandfather it was about 8 generations ago that we came to this valley.” He said. His voice did not carry the hoarse rasp of old age, but rather remained clear and fluid despite the wrinkles and scars on his face that revealed the Old Man’s considerable age. “We came from ancient land, far to the south, when the rising sun is to the right. We needed fresh land to hunt, fresh herds to chase. A land with many trees and shrubs for the women to pick fruit from. “We followed the herds at first. They fled the ancient lands when the rains stopped falling and the dirt turned to sand.” He paused to collect his thoughts. The children were listening raptly. They had never heard this story before. “At first these lands were ideal, beautiful. Full of everything we wanted. But who can tell me why it was not perfect?” The children thought for a moment. They knew an answer was expected, these stories were education as well as entertainment. “Because of the Others.” One of them said, a younger girl. Some of the older children quickly shushed her or else shook their heads in embarrassment. The girl looked abashed and averted her eyes. “Yes, exactly right. The others.” the Old Man said kindly, smiling at her. His audience looked at him quizzically. “It’s no sin to talk about the Others when asked.” He explained. He cleared his throat indicating that the time for discussion was over and it was time for the story to resume. “Yes, the Others. They came from the caves. We prefer to sleep in tents made from skins and woven hemp, but these Others abided deep in the hills and mountains. That is why even today our people never go into the mountains though they surround us on all sides.” “I thought all of the Others were gone.” One of the boys said. The Old Man shot daggers with his eyes at the boy who had spoken. A second boy cuffed him on the head. “Are they, Aku? Do you know why you were named that?” He shook his head. “Because Aku was your grandfather, and my best friend, and he died to keep your mother safe when she was just a girl. It was the Others who killed him. I saw it with my own eyes. So, little Aku, who speaks out of turn during story, are you brave enough to go into the mountains? After all, the Others are all gone, right?” Aku remained silent and turned red in the cheeks. Old Man nodded in approval. He cleared his throat again. “It is true that our ancestors fought back, and for a time we prevailed. Our flint and bone was superior to theirs, and our strategies in battle were superior. But the Others have advantages as well. They are larger than us, and have a deep, bellowing voice that can be heard for half a horizon, meaning they could call for help and always be answered. “Soon enough they stopped competing with us for the herds and retreated into their caves. Instead they now make their desperate living by ambushing our camps and taking away our women, and attacking our hunting parties with greater numbers after they make a kill and steal it for themselves. “Now, who can tell me how to spot an Other?” No one spoke. Old Man shook his head. “Well Aku will be pleased to learn that there hasn’t been an attack on our people for almost thirty seasons now, since Aku was learning to walk. As such your parents haven’t told you how to spot them. Who can tel me why you must know this?” “Because they look like us.” A small child said. “Yes. But more importantly there are other people’s in this valley now as well, our own kind but of different tribes. You must learn what the Other’s look like because you must know the difference between them and the other people of this valley.” “It used to be much easier. The Others in the time of my grandfather were much larger than us, and hairier. Their foreheads were sloped, their noses huge, and their chests were enormous. “But now, ever since they started taking away our women, it has become harder and harder to tell them apart from others of our kind. They know this, and have started using it. On the day young Hakka here was born a group of them came to our camp. We thought they were of our kind, come to trade. When we came out to barter they attacked, they carried away two women, slew two of our men, and stole three mammoth skins. The danger is very real.” “So children, listen and listen well. When you see someone, and your first thought is that something is not right, run. Because the Others may look like us, and may act like us, but they will never look completely the same. I’ll not waste time telling you what to look for, but I urge you to look at each other closely. Go on, look into each other’s faces and study each other. That is the face of our kind. If you see someone else, and something looks different, or if they leave you unsettled, run away as fast as you can. For the Others hate us still, and long to reclaim this valley for their own. Heed my words and obey, fear that which does not look like you.” And with these word the Old Man rose and disappeared into his tent, leaving his audience to their task of studying each other.	The retired professor turned this way and that, crazy haired and wild eyed, looking for something that wasn't there. Sturbink's office light had shut off about thirty seconds ago. He had been lost in the research time vortex that afflicted adderall users everywhere, absorbed by first hand accounts of murders from the late 18th century. All of the reports had something in common; the witnesses glimpsed the killers before they vanished, and the killers always seemed achingly familiar, as if they were wayward family members of their unfortunate victims. Sturbink kept returning to the same eyewitness account, fascinated by a gruesome series of murders in a shipyard in Liverpool. The witness survived by hiding in the half-completed hull of a British Man of War, where he watched his friends and coworkers die. When he was finally found he kept repeating the same line over and over. They came like wraiths in the night. The young man's story didn't hold up and he was deemed insane. He stood trial as the murderer and was promptly executed. "No matter," Sturbink said, speaking defiantly to the pitch-black room. He had no family to speak of besides the wonderful woman who came twice a week to clean and do the dishes, so he was used to dealing with the old house's issues by himself. "Just bad timing. Been meaning to replace the light bulb." He bit back a little frustration. So close to tying it all together... this eyewitness account had to contain the final thread in the riddle he had been trying to solve for a decade. Slowly but surely he had begun to uncover common themes in the murders, and now Sturbink was getting closer to understanding how it all fit into the bigger picture. These murders were related in some important way. The same patterns spanned for centures. The retired professor groped around for his phone, feeling an intense sense of relief when his fingers brushed across the cold metal. "I'll just turn the flashlight on," he muttered. Chilled sweat spewed forth, soaking his shirt in seconds. A hand was placed on top of his, now frozen against the phone which still lay flat on the table. Eternity seemed to pass. Sturbink's vision adjusted until he could see an outline of the hand, which was covered in porcelain skin that almost glowed in the dark. His eyes followed the arm upwards to a face that stared at him with otherworldly intensity, its features blurred in the dark. "So close," Sturbink said, eyeing the creature, feeling vindication amidst the pounding terror of his heart. He was right. "You are close," the creature whispered. "So close to uncovering it all." The being's breath was achingly cold, chilling the retired professor where it brushed across his skin. Slowly, surely, the being's features crystallized in the darkness until he could make out a younger Sturbink staring back at him, an unblemished face carrying a serene expression. ----------------- "Fuck," Conrad was standing over the corpse, hands in his pockets, adopting the sarcastic tone of detectives everywhere. In this case it was warranted. The corpse's eyes were bulged and shot through with red veins, as if an unknown pressure threatened to pop them out of their sockets. "Another freezer burn," Conrad said, pointing at Sturbink's clawed hand. "I swear we are seeing this shit more and more." The entire house had been cordoned off, and all traffic had been re-routed through other neighborhoods, not that there was much this late at night. The murder had been reported by a frightened maid earlier this afternoon, and the police presence had increased six-fold after it became clear who the victim was. This didn't make much sense to the two NYPD detectives who had been assigned to the case and ordered to catalog everything before the Feds arrived. The victim was a conspiracy nut who had been a staple commentor on a few outspoken online forums. The guy had been a professor years ago, but for the last two decades of his life he had been a recluse. It was strange for the higher ups to show such an interest in a nobody troll on the internet. "He was working on a novel or something," Tulfer said, eyeing the enormous amount of stacked documents on the table. The victim's laptop was still open, on a whim Tulfer put on a plastic glove and jiggled the mouse a bit, causing the laptop to spring to life. It did not prompt him for a password, instead opening straight to a word document. "Something called Mirrored Species." "Bit of a lunatic, eh?" Conrad said. "FBI guys will be here in a few minutes, we should wrap it up." The light clicked off.
[WP] The fact the uncanny valley exists is terrifying. Being scared by things that look almost human but aren't. Other animals do not have this. That means that at some point in our evolution, running away from things that looked almost human was advantageous enough to be imprinted on our genetics.	The EVA 201 class began. As we walked in, we waved our notebooks over the interface and the e-ink paper changed. I took a brief glance at what I presumed would be the syllabus, and found a table of contents: Pages 1-3: Content warnings Page 4: Infohazard waiver and consent form Page 5: University policy on non-consensual disclosure Pages 6-10: [locked pending acceptance] The class was half empty. "I'm sure that by now you've been familiarized with the scrutiny that an evolutionary anthropology class entails. When Dr. Sanchez pioneered his methods of correlational culture reconstruction, he thought it would bring us enlightenment, instead it brought us horror, hatred, and war. But humanity can't blind itself to the truth, even after all it's brought us. So we are the few, unlucky in my opinion, watchers, who study it for the benefit of the rest." "I'm sure you are aware of the policy, but the rules say I need to say it out loud. The material presented in this class ranks a 5 on the individual scale, and a 7 on the societal scale. If you start spreading it to anyone who's not in our program, or didn't opt-out of infoprotection, you will not only be expelled from the program, but will be sanctioned by every major infosec company out there. Depending on the severity, you might be banned from posting on any platform with an infosec contract. People in that situation often end up posting on opt-outer forums, and reading what they post there. After that, few last more than a year before they end up in an insane asylum." "So, don't do it. Also, there's a content warning section which I suggest you read carefully," Brian smirked. He was always one of those who think they're fearless and invincible. He joked about opting out pretty often. "... even if you thought the previous classes weren't that intense. We will be watching video reconstructions from Pleistocene-epoch human cultures, for the first time, though not today. I've had a student who told me that he has seen "snuff films", and he still couldn't take it. Now, please sign your waivers so I can proceed." Over the sound of people walking out the door, I signed both and immediately the next pages changed from a static blur to readable text. Page 6: Intro to psychosymbiosis Page 7: History of psychosymbiote-affected human cultures Page 8: Extinct species Page 9: Extant species Page 10: Public safety implications "As you may have guessed, this class is about the organisms which make their home inside human bodies, and affect our thoughts and behavior. Once you think about it, you may see it's obvious in hindsight. If we have pathogens that quickly evolve to exploit our other tissues and organs, why not exploit the brain? Especially since we have seen so many examples among other animals, like rabies or the Cordyceps fungus? Much of it is the fault of these organisms themselves." "When a microbe infects an animal, it has to evade the immune system to survive, by an endless variety of means. The same goes for these, and over time they have learned to affect the brain, to hide their own existence. Some will delete thoughts and memories that hint at their existence. Others will act more violently, killing the host and releasing spores, or making the host kill the person spreading information about them. You all have been tested at the campus clinic to have relatively benign symbiotes, such as the genus Pacipheria, a clade that seems to tolerate people learning about it. That one does have amnestic and hallucinogenic properties that keep people from seeing the physical and behavioral effects of similar infections on others and themselves, but it doesn't seem to understand abstract academic terminology. So I can teach this class without fear of anything happening to you or me." "But let this be another reminder to keep everything we talk about inside of the classroom. You can't know which of these your friends could be carrying, and how they will respond to a knowledge trigger." The professor went on to explain with a professional tone, while everyone in the class reacted in stunned horror. Brian's smirk was gone from his face. Spores? Hallucinogenic? Physical effects? "Humans have gone through a long co-evolution with these infestations. We would evolve some trait, and they would evolve to counter it. Because many of them tend to deform the human body, and tended to use the host and their deformations to do violence to hosts of competing symbiotes, our brain evolved an instinctive fear reflex towards humans who, how should I put it, 'don't look right'. In response, many of them, including Pacipheria adapted to block out that perception, and make all human-shaped creatures look normal, at least usually. In cases of reported sightings, it and many species will drive the host to disbelieve any accounts." "By promoting the health and sanity of the host, it allowed humans to create civilizations and thus proliferate more. More hosts, more symbiotes. This is what we call a commensalist or even mutualistic symbiote. In the past, parasitic ones were much more common, and we still remember the more recent ones in traditions about "zombies", "monsters", "vampires", all of them coming from historical accounts of infested humans. However, remember that the modern world still hosts many different species, and few of them are as benign..." An hour and a half later, I walked out the classroom in a daze. I learned a lot, about how competition and kin selection among different parasites led to wars and racism, about the genus responsible for what we have come to call "zombies" and some of the ones that were lost to oral history, and terms like "pseudo-neural mycelium" and "cognitostructural autoimmunity", (though the professor still refused to answer what was so disturbing about the Pleistocene epoch), but as I walked past what looked like normal college students, this one thought I couldn't get out of my head was "what would they truly look like through clear eyes?"	The retired professor turned this way and that, crazy haired and wild eyed, looking for something that wasn't there. Sturbink's office light had shut off about thirty seconds ago. He had been lost in the research time vortex that afflicted adderall users everywhere, absorbed by first hand accounts of murders from the late 18th century. All of the reports had something in common; the witnesses glimpsed the killers before they vanished, and the killers always seemed achingly familiar, as if they were wayward family members of their unfortunate victims. Sturbink kept returning to the same eyewitness account, fascinated by a gruesome series of murders in a shipyard in Liverpool. The witness survived by hiding in the half-completed hull of a British Man of War, where he watched his friends and coworkers die. When he was finally found he kept repeating the same line over and over. They came like wraiths in the night. The young man's story didn't hold up and he was deemed insane. He stood trial as the murderer and was promptly executed. "No matter," Sturbink said, speaking defiantly to the pitch-black room. He had no family to speak of besides the wonderful woman who came twice a week to clean and do the dishes, so he was used to dealing with the old house's issues by himself. "Just bad timing. Been meaning to replace the light bulb." He bit back a little frustration. So close to tying it all together... this eyewitness account had to contain the final thread in the riddle he had been trying to solve for a decade. Slowly but surely he had begun to uncover common themes in the murders, and now Sturbink was getting closer to understanding how it all fit into the bigger picture. These murders were related in some important way. The same patterns spanned for centures. The retired professor groped around for his phone, feeling an intense sense of relief when his fingers brushed across the cold metal. "I'll just turn the flashlight on," he muttered. Chilled sweat spewed forth, soaking his shirt in seconds. A hand was placed on top of his, now frozen against the phone which still lay flat on the table. Eternity seemed to pass. Sturbink's vision adjusted until he could see an outline of the hand, which was covered in porcelain skin that almost glowed in the dark. His eyes followed the arm upwards to a face that stared at him with otherworldly intensity, its features blurred in the dark. "So close," Sturbink said, eyeing the creature, feeling vindication amidst the pounding terror of his heart. He was right. "You are close," the creature whispered. "So close to uncovering it all." The being's breath was achingly cold, chilling the retired professor where it brushed across his skin. Slowly, surely, the being's features crystallized in the darkness until he could make out a younger Sturbink staring back at him, an unblemished face carrying a serene expression. ----------------- "Fuck," Conrad was standing over the corpse, hands in his pockets, adopting the sarcastic tone of detectives everywhere. In this case it was warranted. The corpse's eyes were bulged and shot through with red veins, as if an unknown pressure threatened to pop them out of their sockets. "Another freezer burn," Conrad said, pointing at Sturbink's clawed hand. "I swear we are seeing this shit more and more." The entire house had been cordoned off, and all traffic had been re-routed through other neighborhoods, not that there was much this late at night. The murder had been reported by a frightened maid earlier this afternoon, and the police presence had increased six-fold after it became clear who the victim was. This didn't make much sense to the two NYPD detectives who had been assigned to the case and ordered to catalog everything before the Feds arrived. The victim was a conspiracy nut who had been a staple commentor on a few outspoken online forums. The guy had been a professor years ago, but for the last two decades of his life he had been a recluse. It was strange for the higher ups to show such an interest in a nobody troll on the internet. "He was working on a novel or something," Tulfer said, eyeing the enormous amount of stacked documents on the table. The victim's laptop was still open, on a whim Tulfer put on a plastic glove and jiggled the mouse a bit, causing the laptop to spring to life. It did not prompt him for a password, instead opening straight to a word document. "Something called Mirrored Species." "Bit of a lunatic, eh?" Conrad said. "FBI guys will be here in a few minutes, we should wrap it up." The light clicked off.

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