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[WP] You exit the mall, having just finished a shopping spree. You locate your car, but see that it has been crushed from above. Whatever crushed it is now gone. Luckily, you find a note: “I’m sorry that my time machine landed on your car. My agency will pay for repairs. Just call this number!” | This has to be a joke, right? Is Ashton hiding in the bushes somewhere? Does he still do that?
I stare at my pancaked automobile for a few more moments, getting more livid by the second.
It takes a few attempts to dial the number with my hand shaking, even more pissed that the number will probably be fake. What phone numbers have 14 digits? Overseas?
After a few odd sounding rings someone picks up.
"Tesla Automotives, how can we help you?" a female voice greets.
"Uh.. Tesla?"
"Hello? Are you there?" she asks.
I clear my throat. "Yes, this is Kassie Evans out here in Anaheim, I have a note to call you about my car."
"We're you involved in an accident, ma'am?"
"Me? No. I mean...someone affiliated with your company TOTALLED my car."
"Were you.."
"I was not in the vehicle at the time, no."
I hear faint clicking.
"Are you sure it was one of our employees, ma'am?"
"I sure am."
"How.."
"They left a little note about calling this number about the damage. The asshole even tried to make a joke and say it was a time machine! Is this the kind of people you.."
"Excuse ma'am, a what?"
"A TIME MACHINE."
Faster clicking.
"Please wait ma'am while I transfer you."
"Wait, what.."
"Please hold."
Click.
Oh that bitch!
Whoever is at the end of this prank is going to get both ears full, and a lawsuit to boot!
"Hello, this is Claims." a deep voice says.
"Hello? Why did they transfer.."
"This is Claims. How can I help you?"
"Dammit! Don't tell me I have to start over with.."
"No ma'am, I have your information here. Kassie Evans, Anaheim. Totalled vehicle."
"Yes! That's right! Don't you want to know what type of vehicle it was?"
"No need ma'am. I just need you to repeat what you told the previous assistant."
I switched ears, getting ready to yell at this idiot.
"Which part, for shit's sake.."
"The last part."
"What, about the time machine? That's what your stupid note said. A time machine crushed my car. Can you believe.."
"Have you told anyone else about this?"
"What? No! Who the hell else would I.."
More clicks
"That's all I needed to know. Ma'am, would you say your coordinates at the present moment are 45 South 133 East?"
"My what? I have no clue. If you are sending a truck I can give you an address."
"No need, I have you locked in. Good day ma'am."
He hung up. The son of a... and what the hell am I locked in FOR?
I start pacing, more furious then I've ever been in my whole freaking life.
The cops! I'll call the cops on their asses, this is fraud! And hit and run! And...
Everything is getting red now, which is weird because sunset was an hour ago. I look upward, immediately shielding my eyes from an immensely bright red moon.
That's weird. The moon never turns that color. And usually never gets bigger.
It looks almost like a laser or some kind of beam from... coming down right toward...
"Hello, 911?"
"..."
"Hello? 911 emergency services?"
"... Hello?" | Jay punches in the number on your phone, feeling bewildered all throughout. Is this really happening? Was he really calling a time travel agency?
Well, whoever is on the phone picks up. No time to panic.
"Hello?" goes a female voice.
"Yeah, hey," he says. "Um, I came back from tennis to find my-"
"Car *crashed*," she finishes, then sighs. "I'm Avie, by the way. Short for Avagail. Sorry about the whole car and stuff, trial runs can be a bitch. Um, if you give us your name we'll wire then ecessary money to your account, plus a bonus if you keep quiet about this. We're not doing anything illegal or evil, we're just trying to get these damn time travel machines to work."
*She has a nice voice*, he thinks. It was clear and sweet, like flower perfumed spring air.
"I don't want money," he says. "I want to work for you."
There's a silence on the other end.
"Hello?" he asks.
"Uh, yeah, I'm here. It's just- this isn't exactly protocal. I have to ask my supervisors."
She goes off the phone, and he can hear her talking to someone, their gender made unknown by distance. Then she comes back. "Give us your address, and we'll pick you up in an hour."
"Sure," he says.
He goes home, starts packing. It's lucky he has few friends and possessions, and no family members. An orphan through and through. At six sharp, there's a knock on the door. Jay opens it to see a very beautiful woman in a short red dress. She slides her golden blonde ponytail of her shoulder and grins at him through emerald eyes.
"Hi, Jay" she says, and he recognizes her voice.
"Hey, Avie," he reply, and invite her in.
She sits down on the couch, makes herself comfortable. He bring in some lemonade and chocolatte cookies. She takes a cookie and nibbles on it.
"So, you have a girlfriend? Family members?" she asks casually.
"Nope. My first girlfriend died, and, well, I've just not been able to move on. I moved away from my friends, my homeland. Never had any parents or anything."
"Oh, that's awful." Those blue eyes are so sympathetic. "Let's take you to headquarters, hm? Get you introduced to everyone. Hopefully you'll make some more friends and maybe-" she smiles a sly smile "-get a love life. Sounds good?"
He stands up, grabbing your duffel bag and backpack. "Sounds great."
Jay follows her to her blue sedan. Getting in, he almost catches a sight of something silver, but it's gone before he guesses what it is, and he passes it off as the reflection of the moon or something.
She drives for a while before stopping at a forest. "We take a trail here," she says, opening the door and climbing out.
They start down the trail in silence. *It's weird how she's so quiet, when at home she was so chatty. But hey! Maybe she's nervous? Anyway, it's a nice silence. Not awkward.*
Halfway through, she stops. "I can't take this longer," she says, and slides her arms around his neck and kisses him.
He's stunned, but responds eagerly. Her lips are soft and she tastes like peaches. Somewhere along the way, he feels something cool and vaguely metal pressing against his heart, but dismisses it.
She pulls back slightly. She whispers, "You should have stuck with the money," and drives the knife into his heart. | |
[WP] You exit the mall, having just finished a shopping spree. You locate your car, but see that it has been crushed from above. Whatever crushed it is now gone. Luckily, you find a note: “I’m sorry that my time machine landed on your car. My agency will pay for repairs. Just call this number!” | This has to be a joke, right? Is Ashton hiding in the bushes somewhere? Does he still do that?
I stare at my pancaked automobile for a few more moments, getting more livid by the second.
It takes a few attempts to dial the number with my hand shaking, even more pissed that the number will probably be fake. What phone numbers have 14 digits? Overseas?
After a few odd sounding rings someone picks up.
"Tesla Automotives, how can we help you?" a female voice greets.
"Uh.. Tesla?"
"Hello? Are you there?" she asks.
I clear my throat. "Yes, this is Kassie Evans out here in Anaheim, I have a note to call you about my car."
"We're you involved in an accident, ma'am?"
"Me? No. I mean...someone affiliated with your company TOTALLED my car."
"Were you.."
"I was not in the vehicle at the time, no."
I hear faint clicking.
"Are you sure it was one of our employees, ma'am?"
"I sure am."
"How.."
"They left a little note about calling this number about the damage. The asshole even tried to make a joke and say it was a time machine! Is this the kind of people you.."
"Excuse ma'am, a what?"
"A TIME MACHINE."
Faster clicking.
"Please wait ma'am while I transfer you."
"Wait, what.."
"Please hold."
Click.
Oh that bitch!
Whoever is at the end of this prank is going to get both ears full, and a lawsuit to boot!
"Hello, this is Claims." a deep voice says.
"Hello? Why did they transfer.."
"This is Claims. How can I help you?"
"Dammit! Don't tell me I have to start over with.."
"No ma'am, I have your information here. Kassie Evans, Anaheim. Totalled vehicle."
"Yes! That's right! Don't you want to know what type of vehicle it was?"
"No need ma'am. I just need you to repeat what you told the previous assistant."
I switched ears, getting ready to yell at this idiot.
"Which part, for shit's sake.."
"The last part."
"What, about the time machine? That's what your stupid note said. A time machine crushed my car. Can you believe.."
"Have you told anyone else about this?"
"What? No! Who the hell else would I.."
More clicks
"That's all I needed to know. Ma'am, would you say your coordinates at the present moment are 45 South 133 East?"
"My what? I have no clue. If you are sending a truck I can give you an address."
"No need, I have you locked in. Good day ma'am."
He hung up. The son of a... and what the hell am I locked in FOR?
I start pacing, more furious then I've ever been in my whole freaking life.
The cops! I'll call the cops on their asses, this is fraud! And hit and run! And...
Everything is getting red now, which is weird because sunset was an hour ago. I look upward, immediately shielding my eyes from an immensely bright red moon.
That's weird. The moon never turns that color. And usually never gets bigger.
It looks almost like a laser or some kind of beam from... coming down right toward...
"Hello, 911?"
"..."
"Hello? 911 emergency services?"
"... Hello?" |
=========
This post may not be worth your time to read. If you do read it and you have some idea how to improve it, feel free to comment. For some reason, the story did not go anywhere.
=========
It was a pretty good massage, I liked my new shoes, and I was feeling great until I got out the parking lot.
Smashed. The car was like a thin aluminum soda can stomped on from above. The thickest part was where the engine had been and even that part was less than two feet thick. WTF. The cars on either side of it were fine. Odd.
There was a florescent yellow Post-it note,
“I’m sorry that my time machine landed on your car. My agency will pay for repairs. Just call 724-239-7625.”
OK. Time machine??
I get out my cell phone and call.
"Hello, Highmark Realty, Sandy speaking."
"Hey Sandy, I found your number on a Post-it note beside my crumpled car. Any chance you know what's going on?" (I thought it was prudent to omit the reference to a time machine.)
"Oh. I see. Well, could you give me your name and phone number?"
"Tim Jones, 814-417-3725."
"Just a sec....". "Mr Jones, the computer here says that there is a diamond ring inside one of your new shoes that should more than cover the expense of the car. We are sorry about the inconvenience. Please feel free to call back if you feel that the compensation is inadequate."
"Aaa...Hang on for a minute." I opened my new shoe box and there inside my new left shoe is a rather large diamond ring.
"Sandy, there is a ring here. I will let you know if it's adequate compensation."
Zaire's Jewlery is in the mall, so, why not get it checked out. Arriving at Zaire's, "How can I help you?"
"I have a diamond ring that I would like to get appraised for insurance?"
"We can have it assessed, but there is a minimum charge of $100. If for some reason, it takes more than an hour to appraise the ring, the charge will be $100 per hour; however, usually and hour is sufficient and we can do it right now if you like?"
About 30 minutes later, the ring was appraised for $100,000.
So, mind blown, now what? Time travel is real. People are travelling through time, and at least two of them are rather nice. | |
[WP] You exit the mall, having just finished a shopping spree. You locate your car, but see that it has been crushed from above. Whatever crushed it is now gone. Luckily, you find a note: “I’m sorry that my time machine landed on your car. My agency will pay for repairs. Just call this number!” | Okay I told myself, this must be some sort of prank.
I dialed the number into my phone.
"Hello! Time Cleaners, how may I help you?" Said the voice on the other line.
"Uh... hi, someone crushed my car and said their time machine landed in it?", I said.
"Oh we are very sorry to hear that. Wait just one mom-"
"Do you mean to tell me there are actually time machines?" I interrupted quickly.
"Why yes. We travel through time." Replied the voice.
"Okay so why can't you just go back in time and move my car to prevent this from happening? Can't you just send me money or something?" I replied. Testing their time machine capabilites. I mean, surely, if they can go back in time they can just simply do that right?
"Oh dear.. I'm sorry we don't do that. We travel back in time to clean time. We can't do anything about going back to change small matters like that." The voice said troublingly.
"What do you mean clean time? I don't have any money to fix this and how can you send me money? If I don't get my vehicle to work I'm going to get fired! I just spent the last of my money on work clothes!" I asked with confusion and anger in my voice.
I then started to feel nauseous. The world around me started to shape differently. I was stuck but the world was moving forward quickly. I hear the voice on the other line start to speak.
"We have determined that your life would end due to our mistake. Since we cannot push your life backwards for that short amount of time. We can only bring you forward."
I yell into the phone in desperation "No wait! I just want to go back! I have my family and kids. They'll think I went missing!"
Time froze. The voice said "Well, there is one thing. You could go back in time to be a time cleaner. You wouldn't age until you reach back to your old present self. But we have to set you back at least 500 years."
I said "Okay! Okay! I'll do anything!"
"Perfect!" Exclaimed the voice. "Now we need you to fix some things in history. Let's put you in the year 1227. We will instruct you further. You'll be working with Genghis Khan before his death."
"Why would you want me to do that?" I asked.
The voice said "Genghis Khan had a treasure. Now be careful, we can't have you die before you help us."
And that was the beginning of how I got scammed into working for a time traveling mafia for almost 800 years just to so I could move my god damn car out of the way. My only tip? Don't call the number. Just work overtime to pay for repairs.
But since you're already here... it all began in 1227AD... | “Case number?”
“I don’t- I’m not sure, I don’t think I have one, my car got crushed, and this card-”
“Please hold.” The voice on the other end of the phone droned as though a machine trying to emulate human speech had given up trying to sound convincingly human altogether, then had gone to work at the DMV for 20 years while chain smoking several packs a day. It was still clearly a living being on the other end of the line, though. At least I hoped it was alive, the heavy, rattling breath seemed to indicate as much.
A click indicated the hold music had indicated, and shaky breath once more came through the phone. “Case number,” the voice from before asked again.
“I just told you, I don’t have a case number, that’s why you put me on hold. My car got crushed, and there was a card with this number saying something about time machines.”
“Date, time, and location, miss?”
I rolled my eyes. “September… 17th, 2021, around 11:30 am, in the parking lot of the Sun Valley Mall in Concord, California.”
“Okay, ma’am, if you could give me just a moment to check your case file…” The voice went silent, the breath did not. Through the phone, I could hear clacking of keys, louder than any keyboard I heard. It sounded almost like they were typing at a typewriter. “Miss, are you still there?”
“Yes,” I mumbled.
“Miss, I need you to speak up, you exist in a time when microphones in the average smartphone hadn’t gone through the Tech Revolution of ‘29, if you-”
“Oh my fucking god, yes! Yes, I’m here!”
“Okay, thank you ma’am. I have your case file here, I’m texting you a link that you can use to access it now. You’ll find your case number in the top right corner. Use that with the extension I’m about to forward you to. Have a nice timeline, miss.”
“No, wait, don’t forward- SHIT!” It was too late, I already had the hold music. I put in a pair of earbuds so I could check the link I had been sent. It was a 30 page long document, heavily referencing both my own day at the mall and the travels of somebody named ‘Interloper.’ It seemed Interloper had a reputation with this organization. It also seemed the organization in question was called the Time Traveller’s Cleanup Department. I checked and saw my case number in the top right hand corner of the first page.
The music stopped. “Case number?” The same voice from the previous two conversations droned at me again through the phone. But this time I was ready.
“2187-DTF69-AcornPieWolf-GG420-WhiskeyFoxtrotSierra-Bonsai-CA94520-09172021.” There was a brief silence on the other end of the line.
“Ma’am, did you say AcornPieWolf or AdornPieWolf?”
“Oh for fuck’s sake, what am I doing? My car has been crushed, and I’ve spent the past 20 minutes being passed around from fake department to fake department, getting sent fake documents. I bet you work with the asshole who did this, the Interloper of whatever the fuck they call themselves.”
“Oh, nevermind, if this is an Interloper case, it’ll be Acorn. Thank you for your cooperation, ma’am, the issues in the timeline should be resolved in the next 10 seconds. Thank you for your call.” With that, there was a click and dial tone. Like it was nothing, they wasted 20 minutes of my time. Though I couldn’t blame them completely, I had been stupid enough to buy into the time travel bullshit. It was probably just a ploy to buy time while the perpetrator got out of town. By now, they could be almost anywhere in the bay. 11:30 on a Friday, traffic wouldn’t be too bad. The real question that lingered in my mind was how they did so much damage.
I turned around to inspect the steaming wreck that was once my car, only to find no evidence that any damage had ever been done. The card left behind had vanished from my pocket, the records of the call erased from my phone, and the text with the link to my case file deleted. I blinked, loaded my haul into my trunk, and drove away, forgetting any of this had ever even happened. | |
[WP] You exit the mall, having just finished a shopping spree. You locate your car, but see that it has been crushed from above. Whatever crushed it is now gone. Luckily, you find a note: “I’m sorry that my time machine landed on your car. My agency will pay for repairs. Just call this number!” | "Dinosaur insurance? I haven't got no dinosaur insurance! Why would I ever..." Jonathan screamed into the phone.
"Sir, please do remain civil." 'Tammy' replied cheerfully. "As I mentioned before, dinosaur insurance is mandatory for all time-travelling passengers. No crushed limbs, vehicles or belongings can be refunded without..."
"But I haven't travelled! I left my car, went to buy a pair of pants, and when I came back my car was crushed!"
"Does the damage look like a T-Rex, Pterodactyl or a Stegosaurus print?"
"Like one of your bloody time machines landed on it! I've got a note that says so!"
"Well a Brontosaurus print looks an awful lot like one of our older models..."
"Your bloody time machine wrecked my bloody car! I'm trying to be civil, miss..."
"Sentient android, I've explained."
"Miss Android, but I can't afford to fix my car in this economy. You know, the one that you wrecked."
"*Allegedly* wrecked, sir, until we've ruled out all other possibilities."
"Like dinosaurs?"
"Or the Second Coming of Anhotep the Devourer, praise be upon him. But I see you're calling from 2021 so that might be a few months too early."
"What...? Listen, I just want to talk to someone who can pay to fix my car."
"That would be me, sir. I'm the customer service advisor for all dinosaur or deity-related damages."
"...Can I speak to your manager?"
"Excuse me?"
"Your manager. Please, for the love of god."
"I'm afraid our managers can't be reached by phone. You'll have to come to our office."
"Whatever it takes to get out of this nightmare."
"Very well, sir. Our complementary time machine will arrive any moment now. Please stand clear of any crushable vehicles, and remember...!"
"...Don't you dare say it."
"Dinosaur insurance is mandatory for all time-travelling passengers."
"God damn i..."
*Click* | **1**
You return to where you‘re certain you parked, but all that’s in the bay is a pile of jagged metal that looks like it needs ironing out.
There’s a note stuck to the front of the silvery wreck. It has your name on it: *So sorry my time machine landed on your car! Agency will sort out repairs. Just call this number.*
This mound of metal can’t be your car, you think. But the note is addressed to you — both names — and the maroon of the wreckage is rather like that of your maroon Ford.
And oddly, you think the handwriting looks somewhat familiar.
You run a hand over your face, dragging your lips down like a pathetic clown. The sun is baking today, and the ice cream and meat in your bags needs taking home or your partner’s going to be pissed. Maybe you should take the bus back ASAP and let your insurance and the police deal with all this. That seems to make sense.
Or maybe… Maybe you could give the number a quick call? Find out who these pranksters are and give them a piece of your mind.
​
**Go to section 2 if you want to go straight home.**
**Go to section 3 if you want to call the number.**
​
\*
​
**Section 2**
The ice cream has melted by the time you’re home and slurps around from side to side as you walk through the front door. The bus was even hotter than outside, and crowded, and, naturally, *late*.
“We can’t eat any of that,” says your partner, shaking their head. “It’s all spoiled. Now there’s nothing for dinner. And what did you do to our car?”
You try to explain about the rectangle of mashed metal that used to be your car, and about the note mentioning the time machine.
”This is the last straw. No job in a year is one thing, but wrecking our car… It’s too much. I’m sorry, but I’m leaving.”
The suitcase is packed.
The door slams.
Evening falls.
You’re not as fussy about food-hygiene as your ex-partner, so you sit at your kitchen table in front of an overcooked steak, your lips around a straw that pokes into the liquid of the ice cream tub.
Not a great day. Not really.
If only someone could send you far enough back in time to truly fix things.
Wait, you think, digging into your pocket and finding the crumpled time-machine note. Maybe it‘s not too late! Maybe someone can help you fix things after all.
​
**Go to section 3**
​
\*
​
**Section 3**
“Hello?” says a voice. “This is the agency of time and space, how can we help you yesterday?”
You’re surprised it’s a real number and that the prank is continuing. Whoever this is, there’s some real determination at play. “Look, I know you wrecked my car. I want something done about it. Understand?”
”Wrecked? Oh dear.“
”Yes, i have your rather droll note in front of me. That a time machine landed on it. Time machine indeed! I‘m going to call the police.”
The voice pauses.
”Hello?” you say.
”All done! Have a great yesterday.”
​
**Go to Section 4**
​
\*
​
**Section 4**
Suddenly, the phone in your hand is no longer a phone but a tub of vanilla ice cream. You’re back in the mall, quite confused.
A woman coughs next to you. You jump and cover your mouth. Just like you did earlier…
Surely they can’t have sent you back in time? It can’t have all been true, can it?
But it seems to be.
You pay for the food and hurry out to your car.
Only, your car isn’t there. Instead, there’s only wreckage. The same wreckage as last time. But you do notice something high above it, flying off into the distance. Then, it vanishes.
*A time-machine.*
”They didn’t send me far enough back,” you think, more annoyed than ever.
It slowly dawns. Maybe it’s not all their fault. They put you back in time so you could fix things yourself. You knew exactly what was going to happen.
You glare at your ice cream in disgust. “If I hadn’t wasted time buying you, I could have moved my car in time! I knew it was coming.”
You run your hand over your face. Regret is as hot as the sun. Stand there for good long while until your cheeks start to burn.
The sun! It’s melting your ice cream and your food.
You grab the “Sorry!” note from the off the car. Your left eye twitches. For some reason, you feel like you’ve read it a thousand times before.
**Go to section 2 if you wish to go home by bus**
**Go to Section 3 if you wish to call the number on the note** | |
[WP] You exit the mall, having just finished a shopping spree. You locate your car, but see that it has been crushed from above. Whatever crushed it is now gone. Luckily, you find a note: “I’m sorry that my time machine landed on your car. My agency will pay for repairs. Just call this number!” | I call the number and I hear gargling. "Excuse me?" I say. There's a pause. Then ...
"Oh! A human! It's been so long since I've talked to a human. What are crisps like? Are they different now? I'm sorry, I'm just so excited!"
"Uh, hi," I say. "I'm calling for a car repair. A ... time machine crushed it, apparently."
A deep sigh. "Fucking Alex. I've told him a thousand times not to fly around in that thing when he's drunk as a skunk. He does this, you know? He doesn't listen, does whatever he feels like and we have to pick up the scraps. It's tough sometimes. I had to bury my grandmother in the park. Do you know what that's like? Shoveling dirt to toss your own crinkled flesh and blood into a hole next to some avant garde fountain?"
"... What?"
"He's just a mechanic, you know. He's not supposed to even be in these things. Which is why there's going to be some real consequences now. I bet he gets fired, that prick. Anyway, you called about you car? We can provide you with a voucher. What century are you in?"
"The 21st," I say, hesitating.
"Oh! The century of destruction! Neat! Are you sure you won't prefer a bike? A bit easier on the old conscience, eh? Wait. Are we talking pre- or post-singularity here?"
"I guess pre ..."
"Oh! I see! Must be pretty idyllic, I imagine. From what I heard that was a time of peace and quiet."
"Uhh, it's really not."
"I guess Canada blew up already, huh?"
"... what."
"Nothing! Don't think about it!"
"So, about my car ..."
"Your car! Right! So, this is where our conversation gets a bit rough. You still live in the days when people thought of time as a linear phenomenon. How wrong we were! Time is non-linear. Spacetime trajectories are a bit like the branches of a tree and sometimes they grow out of control and you need a gardener of sorts to cut it into shape. Alex messed with time and crushed your car and now your spacetime trajectory has split off from its neighboring strands of time. So we've got to, you know, snap snap."
"What are you saying?"
"I'm saying it's time to finish our conversation. Alex is a bit of a dick! I'm sorry!"
*End of timeline*. | "What the fuck...?" I placed my groceries on the floor and approached my car.
Wrecked. Absolutely wrecked.
If I had to guess, I would say an elephant stepped on my car. But I knew that was not possible in San Francisco Safeway parking lot. Little did I know, the note on my car was suggesting something far more imaginative.
Future. Time Machine.
I am not kidding. The note stuck between what cannot be called a wiper anymore was written:
"I’m sorry that my time machine landed on your car. My agency will pay for repairs. Just call this number! 414-909-2321"
I looked around to see if there was elephant or time machine around. Nope. Just some passengers pretending they are not taking a picture of my most miserable moment.
I take out the note from the 'wiper' and took out my phone.
"414... what kind of bullshit is this." I started to dial the number. What can I lose really. Maybe he thought it would be funny to leave a note with some nonsense. Maybe he thought that note was humorous.
I just can't wait to see his face when judge orders him to make an enormous pay out.
"Thank you for choosing Future Insurance. For English, press 1. For Chinese, press 2. For Spanish, press 3. For Indian, press 4..."
Ok, this guy went too far.
First you fuck with me with little note about time machine and you have even set up a auto call receiver machine? That's too far.
"Hey! I know you can hear me asshole! stop playing that auto machine and speak up!" I tried my best to stay calm.
"... For Swedish, press 16. For Latin, press 17. For Korean, press 18..."
"I will press 1 you motherfucker" I opened the dial pad and pressed one.
"You have choose English. For accident report, press 1. For transaction inquiry, press 2..." I pressed 1 again.
"Unfortunately, all of our representatives are unavailable at the moment. If you would like to stay on the line, your waiting number is 419. Thank you"
I sat down on the curve keeping my phone attached to my ear.
'This is going to take forever.' I thought as obnoxious piano BGM starts to play. | |
[WP] You have the power of invulnerability. Due to this the government has become scared of what you're capable of and calls you regularly to "test" you're durability. First it were small explosives and weapons but now things have gone way far | You know, I used to be ok with this. I made money, they couldn't kill me, and it was over within a few seconds. At least, when it was something small...ish like a bullet, or a machete. I would get a small bruise from the bullet but it went away quite quickly. Same with the machete. They kept testing various weapons and technology on me partially for efficiency, and partially for curiosity I believe. I don't know the latter for sure but damn, the scientist assigned to me was always giddy as hell.
That was 3 years ago. As it turns out, the government/FBI/whatever you wanna call it - the dudes in charge of making and using the stuff - moved on fast from conventional stuff. We went from bullets, to swords, to blades, to bombs, to lasers, and it just kept progressing.
"So what am I testing today?" I asked. I was getting tired of it but like I said, at least the money was good, a few hundred thousand for each test set my family up for life.
"Umm....something different than usual..." said the scientist. "All these years we've been testing small stuff. But now, we begin to see if you can *break physics itself*"
I had already thought about this before and was surprised it wasn't one of the first tests. "No need doc, I already know I can survive a nuclear explosion. The radiation and agony over the next couple of months though is unbearable so I'll need a couple million for my family, and then about 20x the dose of the strongest pain pills you have. I want to essentially be in a coma for-"
"Oh, no, no." he said cutting me off "There would be no reason for you to survive a nuclear explosion, so no need to test for it. Instead..." he walked over to a blanket over a large object and pulled the blanket off. It looked like any normal machinery that you'd see in a mad scientist's lab.
"Do I test more lasers?" I asked apathetically
He seemed a bit disgruntled at my lack of awareness to the situation. "No, no. *This*," he hugged it as if it was his own child. "Is a *black hole generator*"
Aw crap.
"Don't worry, luckily it'll be a small black hole." Great. Because that made me feel a ton better. "You don't need to stand in it or anything, all you need to do, is stick your finger in it. Worst case scenario you lose the finger. Best case...you don't."
I stepped up to the machine. "I still want the deal that I said with the nuclear stuff." I crossed my arms almost willing to walk out.
"Done." he said. Damn, I should've asked for more. "Get ready to stick your finger in please."
He started the machine up and the lights in the room began to dim. Shit this thing was taking a lot of power but I guess that's what happens when you create a freaking *black hole*. After flashing lights, a few tremors, and some heat emanating from it, the dimming stopped. The result was a black hole the size of a baseball a few feet in front of me.
"There." said the scientist "I'll also remind you that see those waves emanating from it? Those are what stops the black holes force from destroying the earth...and pretty much the solar system. So don't worry." He kept saying all this as if I would feel better. In any case, he seemed to know what he was doing, so I gingerly began the test.
I stuck my hand out and closed my fist except for my pinky finger. I slowly put it down and penetrated the waves surrounding it. Immediately it felt like the black hole was trying to take my finger. The pain was immense...but not unbearable. I saw as my pinky finger went back and forth between *slightly disconnecting from my hand*, and reconnecting with it. The scientist saw this too and his jaw might as well be on the floor.
After about 30 seconds, he shut off the machine. I looked at my pinky but it didn't look like a finger anymore. Instead it looked...electricity in the shape of a finger. And the finger was slowly turning back into a human finger.
Immediately I turned to the scientist "What does this mean?!" I asked with a mix of emotions. Confusion and fear topping them.
"I don't know." he said "But one thing's for sure." He took my pinky in his own hand and examined it. It was 1/4 way to human from electricity. "It appears you're not human."
Edit: [PT 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/p3l5ha/wp_you_have_the_power_of_invulnerability_due_to/h8uui20/) has been requested | For a few million dollars each time, the government would bring me to their research facility and do a number of tests on me.
Unlike others, I'm bestowed the gift of being overpowered as heck.
I first notice these peculiarities of mine when I was visiting a beach. I was chilling on the beach when suddenly the water manifested into the shape of a mouth and said to me in an incredible manly voice, "be OP bro".
And so I was O flippinn P. One thing lead into one another and the government took notice of my invulnerability.
The government don't joke around. The knife stabs quickly turned into nuclear warheads. When those doesn't work, they resort to biological weapons.
As expected, even biological weapons can't draw a drop of blood from my OP body. What wasn't expected was that the biological weapons stayed in my body and I accidentally spread it to the rest of the world.
So there I was, alone as the whole of humankind had departed into the realm of death when the clouds rearranged itself into the shape of a mouth, and it said to me, "being too OP ain't that much fun, yeah?" | |
[WP] You have the power of invulnerability. Due to this the government has become scared of what you're capable of and calls you regularly to "test" you're durability. First it were small explosives and weapons but now things have gone way far | You know, I used to be ok with this. I made money, they couldn't kill me, and it was over within a few seconds. At least, when it was something small...ish like a bullet, or a machete. I would get a small bruise from the bullet but it went away quite quickly. Same with the machete. They kept testing various weapons and technology on me partially for efficiency, and partially for curiosity I believe. I don't know the latter for sure but damn, the scientist assigned to me was always giddy as hell.
That was 3 years ago. As it turns out, the government/FBI/whatever you wanna call it - the dudes in charge of making and using the stuff - moved on fast from conventional stuff. We went from bullets, to swords, to blades, to bombs, to lasers, and it just kept progressing.
"So what am I testing today?" I asked. I was getting tired of it but like I said, at least the money was good, a few hundred thousand for each test set my family up for life.
"Umm....something different than usual..." said the scientist. "All these years we've been testing small stuff. But now, we begin to see if you can *break physics itself*"
I had already thought about this before and was surprised it wasn't one of the first tests. "No need doc, I already know I can survive a nuclear explosion. The radiation and agony over the next couple of months though is unbearable so I'll need a couple million for my family, and then about 20x the dose of the strongest pain pills you have. I want to essentially be in a coma for-"
"Oh, no, no." he said cutting me off "There would be no reason for you to survive a nuclear explosion, so no need to test for it. Instead..." he walked over to a blanket over a large object and pulled the blanket off. It looked like any normal machinery that you'd see in a mad scientist's lab.
"Do I test more lasers?" I asked apathetically
He seemed a bit disgruntled at my lack of awareness to the situation. "No, no. *This*," he hugged it as if it was his own child. "Is a *black hole generator*"
Aw crap.
"Don't worry, luckily it'll be a small black hole." Great. Because that made me feel a ton better. "You don't need to stand in it or anything, all you need to do, is stick your finger in it. Worst case scenario you lose the finger. Best case...you don't."
I stepped up to the machine. "I still want the deal that I said with the nuclear stuff." I crossed my arms almost willing to walk out.
"Done." he said. Damn, I should've asked for more. "Get ready to stick your finger in please."
He started the machine up and the lights in the room began to dim. Shit this thing was taking a lot of power but I guess that's what happens when you create a freaking *black hole*. After flashing lights, a few tremors, and some heat emanating from it, the dimming stopped. The result was a black hole the size of a baseball a few feet in front of me.
"There." said the scientist "I'll also remind you that see those waves emanating from it? Those are what stops the black holes force from destroying the earth...and pretty much the solar system. So don't worry." He kept saying all this as if I would feel better. In any case, he seemed to know what he was doing, so I gingerly began the test.
I stuck my hand out and closed my fist except for my pinky finger. I slowly put it down and penetrated the waves surrounding it. Immediately it felt like the black hole was trying to take my finger. The pain was immense...but not unbearable. I saw as my pinky finger went back and forth between *slightly disconnecting from my hand*, and reconnecting with it. The scientist saw this too and his jaw might as well be on the floor.
After about 30 seconds, he shut off the machine. I looked at my pinky but it didn't look like a finger anymore. Instead it looked...electricity in the shape of a finger. And the finger was slowly turning back into a human finger.
Immediately I turned to the scientist "What does this mean?!" I asked with a mix of emotions. Confusion and fear topping them.
"I don't know." he said "But one thing's for sure." He took my pinky in his own hand and examined it. It was 1/4 way to human from electricity. "It appears you're not human."
Edit: [PT 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/p3l5ha/wp_you_have_the_power_of_invulnerability_due_to/h8uui20/) has been requested | I'm 'Invulnerable' that's the term they give it. I don't think that's quite right though, invulnerable implies invincibility but I can still age, I can still get tired and still get depressed I also seem to be 'invulnerable' to gasses and such. I've lived with this 'condition' for my entire life. I would have loved to have seen the doctors face when they tried to vaccinate me as a baby. My condition is more along the lines of my 'shell' cannot be pierced, punctured or damaged... This includes internally as well. I tried to eat glass when I was younger, Nothing came of it though. When I got older my mother sold me out to the government i'm not sure if it was out of fear or hope of monetary compensation unfortunately for me they pretty much refuse to identify themselves and I still have no idea who they actually are, at first they assumed it was a joke. That lasted about 4 seconds as my mother pulled a small knife from her purse and drove it into my skull, It of course did absolutely nothing although it was entertaining to watch 3 guys tackle her to the floor... They ended up taking me though and its my understanding that my mother was given a sizeable amount of money to 'forget' about me... So im in a facility, at first they opted to keep me contained and locked up, This didn't last very long. I think they were afraid and scared. Clearly they didn't have a thought about me beyond 'risk'. They soon realized I wasn't able to survive without food and water, Honestly other than the 'invulnerability' I'm nothing special. I can be over-powered, hand cuffs can hold me. I can be restrained.
After a few days of being locked up and neglected they gave me an offer. Sit in the cell and die or allow testing on me. In exchange for allowing me to test they would offer me a small freedom in a contained facility, It had everything I could want... I had no chance of escape and wanted to get a semblance of my old life back. I agreed.
At first they tried simple things, a surgical knife, a needle and bats. Nothing even remotely came close. They tried stabbing me shooting me having me hold a grenade. It was clear whoever was in charge just continued to assume I would have a 'limit' and kept ramping up the scale. They drive a truck at me, Shot me with armor piercing bullets, tried to strangle me with wire. I've stared down a tank, had cannonballs bounce off me like pebbles its clear they were stuck and getting nowhere. Pretty much three months of this passed with zero progress. I think the guy in charge was negotiating with the military to justify nuking me, But then someone else stepped in.
This person was the bane of my existence. There were guidelines as to what the would and wouldn't do to me. This person threw the book out the window.
They started trying very unique things, Drilling into my eyes, Putting a tube down my throat and filling it with water, acid, rocks honestly anything they could find, If you thought the bottom half was safe you'd be mistaken, I've had more objects inserted than i can count, ever had a grenade explode inside you? That was an experience to say the least... However not even this guy could kill me... So they slowed down testing...
It's been a few years now, They've called me in for my 'testing' again and honestly I'm not sure why they bother showing up anymore... At this point its clear to me the only thing that will kill me is time... There's only so many things that they can test before they run out. But it seems like this time they've outsourced to the internet, This new idea might be the end of me...
​
***Apologies, These aren't my usual kind of posts. I have pretty much zero writing experience and don't know how to format anything. I apologize in advance if this ends up being wrong or pointless.*** | |
[WP] You have the power of invulnerability. Due to this the government has become scared of what you're capable of and calls you regularly to "test" you're durability. First it were small explosives and weapons but now things have gone way far | You know, I used to be ok with this. I made money, they couldn't kill me, and it was over within a few seconds. At least, when it was something small...ish like a bullet, or a machete. I would get a small bruise from the bullet but it went away quite quickly. Same with the machete. They kept testing various weapons and technology on me partially for efficiency, and partially for curiosity I believe. I don't know the latter for sure but damn, the scientist assigned to me was always giddy as hell.
That was 3 years ago. As it turns out, the government/FBI/whatever you wanna call it - the dudes in charge of making and using the stuff - moved on fast from conventional stuff. We went from bullets, to swords, to blades, to bombs, to lasers, and it just kept progressing.
"So what am I testing today?" I asked. I was getting tired of it but like I said, at least the money was good, a few hundred thousand for each test set my family up for life.
"Umm....something different than usual..." said the scientist. "All these years we've been testing small stuff. But now, we begin to see if you can *break physics itself*"
I had already thought about this before and was surprised it wasn't one of the first tests. "No need doc, I already know I can survive a nuclear explosion. The radiation and agony over the next couple of months though is unbearable so I'll need a couple million for my family, and then about 20x the dose of the strongest pain pills you have. I want to essentially be in a coma for-"
"Oh, no, no." he said cutting me off "There would be no reason for you to survive a nuclear explosion, so no need to test for it. Instead..." he walked over to a blanket over a large object and pulled the blanket off. It looked like any normal machinery that you'd see in a mad scientist's lab.
"Do I test more lasers?" I asked apathetically
He seemed a bit disgruntled at my lack of awareness to the situation. "No, no. *This*," he hugged it as if it was his own child. "Is a *black hole generator*"
Aw crap.
"Don't worry, luckily it'll be a small black hole." Great. Because that made me feel a ton better. "You don't need to stand in it or anything, all you need to do, is stick your finger in it. Worst case scenario you lose the finger. Best case...you don't."
I stepped up to the machine. "I still want the deal that I said with the nuclear stuff." I crossed my arms almost willing to walk out.
"Done." he said. Damn, I should've asked for more. "Get ready to stick your finger in please."
He started the machine up and the lights in the room began to dim. Shit this thing was taking a lot of power but I guess that's what happens when you create a freaking *black hole*. After flashing lights, a few tremors, and some heat emanating from it, the dimming stopped. The result was a black hole the size of a baseball a few feet in front of me.
"There." said the scientist "I'll also remind you that see those waves emanating from it? Those are what stops the black holes force from destroying the earth...and pretty much the solar system. So don't worry." He kept saying all this as if I would feel better. In any case, he seemed to know what he was doing, so I gingerly began the test.
I stuck my hand out and closed my fist except for my pinky finger. I slowly put it down and penetrated the waves surrounding it. Immediately it felt like the black hole was trying to take my finger. The pain was immense...but not unbearable. I saw as my pinky finger went back and forth between *slightly disconnecting from my hand*, and reconnecting with it. The scientist saw this too and his jaw might as well be on the floor.
After about 30 seconds, he shut off the machine. I looked at my pinky but it didn't look like a finger anymore. Instead it looked...electricity in the shape of a finger. And the finger was slowly turning back into a human finger.
Immediately I turned to the scientist "What does this mean?!" I asked with a mix of emotions. Confusion and fear topping them.
"I don't know." he said "But one thing's for sure." He took my pinky in his own hand and examined it. It was 1/4 way to human from electricity. "It appears you're not human."
Edit: [PT 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/p3l5ha/wp_you_have_the_power_of_invulnerability_due_to/h8uui20/) has been requested | You know, waking up once a week to a secret base in the middle of nowhere just to be nuked into nothing was getting pretty old.
Ever since I was a child I had a strange knack for not getting hurt. I never cried whenever I was dropped by my mother, I never screamed when I should have had my body crushed when I ran in front of that car. But I didn't. I was invulnerable to any pain. But it also seemed I was invulnerable with my emotions as well. According to everyone I might as well be an indestructible robot. Not even human.
I walk into the white doors of the small government building that had become my home ever since the day back in 2001 where I had been on the top floor and somehow survived with no scars. I was drafted into the war and was the only one in my army group to survive. That's when the government got its hands on me.
Tunes, doctors, white light, the whole thing. After getting shot in the head a couple times as I walked over toward the back area, I was getting really annoyed or something like that.
"Hey Bill"
"Hey John, stop shooting me in the head or I will do the same to you."
With that John's eyes widened and he quickly left.
"Coward." I mummered as I pushed open the doors to the doctors.
Today was going to be different. This time, I'm going to do the testing.
My lips raised up as I grabbed the axe on the wall. | |
[WP] Humans have been broadcasting messages into space for years. In 2022, a message arrives from Trappist-1e, saying "STOP TRANSMITTING OR THEY WILL HEAR YOU." This message departed from the planet a decade ago. An unknown large object is heading to Earth, currently near Pluto. | “THEY WILL HEAR YOU.”
I haven’t had a moment of peace since that message. The last few days I’ve been watching a large UFO get closer to earth. My nails are bit down to the quick as what seems to be our imminent demise advances. At this point, the object is near enough that amateur stargazers can look up in the night sky with any crap telescope and see that something is coming.
People are dealing with it about how you’d expect. Screaming, crying, blaming each other, end of the world fucking, etc. I just haven’t been sleeping. Thinking about who might have heard us.
The night passes and some of my equipment lets me know the object (ship?? Death ray??) has entered the atmosphere. NASA has set up a giant light, beaming into the sky, hoping to entice “them” to land here, where all the experts are. As much as I am terrified, the academic part of me is massively proud I’m part of the elite welcoming team.
The light beam works. I’m watching the oversized ship land, heart beating in my throat and radiating anxiety through my veins with each pulse. A door opens. Out steps a green being, looking exactly like you’d expect. They open their mouth and a series of clicks come out. They then fiddle with a small dial on their throat.
“Apologies, it appears my translator grabbed onto the speech of one of your more superior beings, I believe you call them dolphins. All that aside we heard you. We listened in on your music and your stories and we heard you have access to one of our holy places. One we lost hold of years ago. We fell out of sync, out of rhythm with the universe. It’s been so long. We wanna go to funky town. Won’t you take us?” | I was scared. I had never been more scared. My hands trembled and my mouth gaped open. The sheer terror of that moment is something I’ll never forget. The dizzying sensations running up my spine made me dry heave and I passed out only to come to an hour or so later staring at the under side of my toilet. How could this be real? I remember thinking. Maybe this is all just a dream I was thinking to myself when there it was. Looking out the window you could see the giant alien ship. I knew then that it was real that it was real and too late. They heard us now they were going to herd us. | |
[WP] Humans have been broadcasting messages into space for years. In 2022, a message arrives from Trappist-1e, saying "STOP TRANSMITTING OR THEY WILL HEAR YOU." This message departed from the planet a decade ago. An unknown large object is heading to Earth, currently near Pluto. | After ten years, we are finally about to do it.
I remember when the message came in, when our radios picked it up. I remember John's crew frantically recording it, the weeks of editing the clip to be clearer, more precise. After that, it was passed off to the translation team. At the time, it was just me, Marsha, and Tim. We worked on that thing day and night, playing and replaying the clip, scribbling syllables on the white board and then erasing them, researching alien languages, both fictional and not, late into the night with a half-devoured box of pizza on the community desk. After all, it was the only real, interesting thing that had happened in a while, maybe the only one we'd ever seen; most of these clips were boring, explainable. But this one isn't just noise. Someone, something, out there is trying to tell us something. This is a message.
We could've had it done sooner, but funding fell by the wayside and the higher-ups denied our overtime requests. Eventually, we became the "Translation and Defect Division," but it was really more defects than translation. Instead of doing the real interesting stuff, we had to fix every bug showing up in every radio, every antenna. More often than not, it was one of John's crew who hadn't read the manual complaining about static when they hadn't configured their shit right, and then John would pound on our door and *demand* we do it, right now. The only thing keeping us from walking out was the hope that one day we'd get to work on that clip again.
And we did. We told John that there was some big issue with their main antenna and we'd need a month or two of overtime to take care of it. Marsha, the genius, engineered a quick shutdown protocol that periodically disrupted operations, and John's crew were none the wiser. We worked and we worked and we worked, and now, we are so, so close to finally cracking it.
"Alright, so we got 'STOP,' and we got something in future tense," says Marsha, her wedges clicking against the floor as she paces.
"I still think it's 'LOST,'" says Tim in between bites of his burrito. He leaned forward and pointed at the board. "See? That one's gotta be something about traveling, or transmitting, something about... space."
"No shit."
"What if IT'S 'STOP TRANSMITTING?'" I offer.
The phone rings.
Marsha clicks over to it and rolls her eyes. "I swear to fuck, if it's John calling right now, I'm gonna scream."
She picks up the phone. Her face, twisted in a scowl, drops to shock. She turns away, muttering *ohs* and *okays* into the line. Tim and I exchange looks: *What is happening?* Marsha hangs the phone on the receiver CBS rejoins us, pensive.
"They..." Her voice breaks. "They found... something. Big. Near Pluto."
"An asteroid?" I ask.
She shakes her head. "Moving fast. They barely picked it up."
Tim vocalizes what we're all thinking: "A ship." He looks up at the board, then rises to take the marker from my hand.
As he writes, the red lights flash on. An emergency. The monitor at the rear of the room wakes to a white screen, with a message from operations, reading, "WARNING! LARGE FOREIGN BODY NEARING EARTH. ENGAGE PROTOCOL ALPHA-RED. THIS IS NOT A DRILL."
Marsha and I stare. Anxiety creeps through me. No, not anxiety; fear. I don't want to believe it's the same craft, but it has to be, and we know it. Never mind that the thing would have to have been moving far faster than the speed of light, or teleported. But if whatever is piloting this thing can teleport, we have a far greater issue on our hands.
"Maybe it's the antenna bug picking up something weird," she says, but she wrote the program, and she knows that isn't possible. We stand in silence, the marker squeaking against the board in slow, rhythmic motions.
Marsha shakes out of it and runs to the phone. We memorized Alpha-Red when we came on back in 2010, but we never expected to use it. Even so, Marsha sent the recited the signal to the other end of the line like she had recited it a thousand times, even though we were never permitted to say it aloud until absolutely necessary. We had always been curious, but we had known what hearing it meant: there is no hope. Not for us, not for anyone.
When I turn back at the board, I see that Tim had stopped writing. He watches the message he wrote, his hand shaking by his side.
"STOP TRANSMITTING OR THEY WILL HEAR YOU."
*Holy shit*, I want to say, but my I can't find my voice, so we stand, staring, like two dumb sheep, the flashing lights painting the board a menacing red.
Marsha, who had been rushing back and forth. suddenly stops, and says, "I don't feel right," and collapses in a thud.
Tim starts to rush to her, but his gait slows, and he stumbles to the floor. Dazed, I step forward, unsure of what I would do when I get there, but my ears start to ring, my vision blurs, and vertigo overcomes me. When I blink, I see my hair splayed out on the floor. The thought comes to me that this is it, this is the end. The floor dances beneath me, and despite it all, I laugh. *If only we'd had that funding!* I think. I feel something wet, a tear or maybe blood, and close my eyes again. | I was scared. I had never been more scared. My hands trembled and my mouth gaped open. The sheer terror of that moment is something I’ll never forget. The dizzying sensations running up my spine made me dry heave and I passed out only to come to an hour or so later staring at the under side of my toilet. How could this be real? I remember thinking. Maybe this is all just a dream I was thinking to myself when there it was. Looking out the window you could see the giant alien ship. I knew then that it was real that it was real and too late. They heard us now they were going to herd us. | |
[WP] Humans have been broadcasting messages into space for years. In 2022, a message arrives from Trappist-1e, saying "STOP TRANSMITTING OR THEY WILL HEAR YOU." This message departed from the planet a decade ago. An unknown large object is heading to Earth, currently near Pluto. | In the late 70’s, the “Aquarius Signal” became a worldwide sensation overnight. It was the first time humanity received a signal that seemed clearly extraterrestrial, clearly artificial, and clearly repeating.
The signal wasn’t very complex. In fact, it was so similar to terrestrial signals that skeptics didn’t believe it was legit in the first place. But the signal was picked up across the world, and its origin could clearly be traced to the constellation of Aquarius, to a red dwarf star 40 lightyears from our own sun, which would only decades later be discovered and named Trappist-1.
It took codebreaking experts only hours to decipher.
The signal repeated 30 times, and contained the same encoded message in English, German, Russian and Spanish:
“Stop transmitting or they will hear you. Leave now. You will not hear from us again.”
Of course, as soon as it was deciphered, the message was immediately ridiculed and dismissed as an elaborate hoax. As time passed, it faded into obscurity, dismissed as a fake and overshadowed my more “legit” SETI finds of the era, like the “Wow!” signal.
Hardly anyone except some UFO and New Age believers and a select few amateur radio enthusiasts remembered it beyond the 80’s.
When astronomers announced in 2021 that Trappist-1 had unexpectedly begun to dim, some sensationalist media outlets brought up the Aquarius signal, and it created some buzz in various esoteric and conspiracy minded circles, but that’s as far as it went.
By December, Trappist-1 had disappeared from the night sky, no longer emitting any detectable radiation. While this certainly was a big scientific mystery, the buzz around it stayed in the sphere of astronomy, and the buzz around the Aquarius Signal stayed within the sphere of UFO and alien believers.
That is, until mid-february 2022.
That’s when the object near Pluto was detected.
At first, it was just exciting news about an extrasolar asteroid flying past. The next Oumuamua. Then it became exciting news about the next Oumuamua crashing into the sun.
Nobody made the connection with the Aquarius Signal at this point, not until the week after the object crashed into the sun.
Across the globe, temperatures dipped below average. Solar astronomers published the first reports of the sun dimming. Climate change deniers celebrated their biggest I-told-you-so moment yet.
A thread titled “Aquarius Signal, Oumuamua 2, sun dimming are connected, the aliens warned us!!” was posted on the r/aliens subreddit.
Starting a few days later, several horror and conspiracy YouTubers made videos about the Reddit thread.
A week later, the Aquarius Signal theory was jokingly visited by mainstream news. At the same time, extreme weather raged across the globe.
Two weeks later, almost all food crops were about to fail. The world prepared for famine at an unprecedented scale. Global superpowers had their armies on high alert. Nobody was talking about the Aquarius Signal any more, they were gearing up to fight over what little remained.
Another two weeks later, a global nuclear war killed 35% or the world's population. The rest quickly followed.
The last remaining humans, huddled in their bunkers, knew nothing of the Aquarius Signal. They perished, never getting to see the sun emit its final rays before it, too, shriveled up and died. | I was scared. I had never been more scared. My hands trembled and my mouth gaped open. The sheer terror of that moment is something I’ll never forget. The dizzying sensations running up my spine made me dry heave and I passed out only to come to an hour or so later staring at the under side of my toilet. How could this be real? I remember thinking. Maybe this is all just a dream I was thinking to myself when there it was. Looking out the window you could see the giant alien ship. I knew then that it was real that it was real and too late. They heard us now they were going to herd us. | |
[WP] Humans have been broadcasting messages into space for years. In 2022, a message arrives from Trappist-1e, saying "STOP TRANSMITTING OR THEY WILL HEAR YOU." This message departed from the planet a decade ago. An unknown large object is heading to Earth, currently near Pluto. | In the late 70’s, the “Aquarius Signal” became a worldwide sensation overnight. It was the first time humanity received a signal that seemed clearly extraterrestrial, clearly artificial, and clearly repeating.
The signal wasn’t very complex. In fact, it was so similar to terrestrial signals that skeptics didn’t believe it was legit in the first place. But the signal was picked up across the world, and its origin could clearly be traced to the constellation of Aquarius, to a red dwarf star 40 lightyears from our own sun, which would only decades later be discovered and named Trappist-1.
It took codebreaking experts only hours to decipher.
The signal repeated 30 times, and contained the same encoded message in English, German, Russian and Spanish:
“Stop transmitting or they will hear you. Leave now. You will not hear from us again.”
Of course, as soon as it was deciphered, the message was immediately ridiculed and dismissed as an elaborate hoax. As time passed, it faded into obscurity, dismissed as a fake and overshadowed my more “legit” SETI finds of the era, like the “Wow!” signal.
Hardly anyone except some UFO and New Age believers and a select few amateur radio enthusiasts remembered it beyond the 80’s.
When astronomers announced in 2021 that Trappist-1 had unexpectedly begun to dim, some sensationalist media outlets brought up the Aquarius signal, and it created some buzz in various esoteric and conspiracy minded circles, but that’s as far as it went.
By December, Trappist-1 had disappeared from the night sky, no longer emitting any detectable radiation. While this certainly was a big scientific mystery, the buzz around it stayed in the sphere of astronomy, and the buzz around the Aquarius Signal stayed within the sphere of UFO and alien believers.
That is, until mid-february 2022.
That’s when the object near Pluto was detected.
At first, it was just exciting news about an extrasolar asteroid flying past. The next Oumuamua. Then it became exciting news about the next Oumuamua crashing into the sun.
Nobody made the connection with the Aquarius Signal at this point, not until the week after the object crashed into the sun.
Across the globe, temperatures dipped below average. Solar astronomers published the first reports of the sun dimming. Climate change deniers celebrated their biggest I-told-you-so moment yet.
A thread titled “Aquarius Signal, Oumuamua 2, sun dimming are connected, the aliens warned us!!” was posted on the r/aliens subreddit.
Starting a few days later, several horror and conspiracy YouTubers made videos about the Reddit thread.
A week later, the Aquarius Signal theory was jokingly visited by mainstream news. At the same time, extreme weather raged across the globe.
Two weeks later, almost all food crops were about to fail. The world prepared for famine at an unprecedented scale. Global superpowers had their armies on high alert. Nobody was talking about the Aquarius Signal any more, they were gearing up to fight over what little remained.
Another two weeks later, a global nuclear war killed 35% or the world's population. The rest quickly followed.
The last remaining humans, huddled in their bunkers, knew nothing of the Aquarius Signal. They perished, never getting to see the sun emit its final rays before it, too, shriveled up and died. | When they came it was without fanfare. There were no dire reports on the news. There was no panic in the streets. There were no grand displays of power and might. There were no glitzy Hollywood entries into our atmosphere. One day it just happened. The skies were black and the power was out. In that deep all encompassing darkness they herded us like cattle into dark chambers with no sight or sound. There was no violence. There was no resistance. Just the quiet and the dark as we stood shoulder to shoulder waiting for the inevitable embrace of oblivion. | |
[WP] Humans have been broadcasting messages into space for years. In 2022, a message arrives from Trappist-1e, saying "STOP TRANSMITTING OR THEY WILL HEAR YOU." This message departed from the planet a decade ago. An unknown large object is heading to Earth, currently near Pluto. | It was some time after the object first appeared that it stopped. It hung there, beside Saturn, having traversed the distance between Pluto and it’s current position in the space of a week without turning into energy.
All laws of physics had been proven bunk in this moment. Now, the world went about its business, trying to live and survive, while waiting for the object to do... something.
When the second message arrived, it caught everyone’s attention.
WHAT. ARE. YOU.
It was not a question. It was not phrased as one. It was a demand.
Man sent back their answer. Some suggested sending all of recorded human history to it, but this shot down in favor of something less pretentious.
WE ARE THE INHABITANTS OF THE THIRD PLANET. HOMO SAPIENS.
The reply was instantaneous.
YOU. ARE. LOUD.
This was met with bemused and some degree of unease. This object regarded us as loud. Why?
Then there was another message.
YOU. ARE. TINY.
Another message.
YOU. ARE. CONFINED.
And a final one.
WHY?
The message sent back this time was the whole of human history, the end result being a plea for knowing if they were alone in the universe.
The reply was simple.
YOU. ARE. NOT. ALONE. ANYMORE.
YOU. WILL. BE.
The last part of the message was not sent for five days.
STUDIED. NOTHING. MORE. | When they came it was without fanfare. There were no dire reports on the news. There was no panic in the streets. There were no grand displays of power and might. There were no glitzy Hollywood entries into our atmosphere. One day it just happened. The skies were black and the power was out. In that deep all encompassing darkness they herded us like cattle into dark chambers with no sight or sound. There was no violence. There was no resistance. Just the quiet and the dark as we stood shoulder to shoulder waiting for the inevitable embrace of oblivion. | |
[WP] Humans have been broadcasting messages into space for years. In 2022, a message arrives from Trappist-1e, saying "STOP TRANSMITTING OR THEY WILL HEAR YOU." This message departed from the planet a decade ago. An unknown large object is heading to Earth, currently near Pluto. | “Where they fucked up, see, was thinking they’re privileged or something.” McDevitt took another hit on her ever disappearing joint. “They always thought First Contact – with capital letters, mind you – would be beamed right to them.”
“Like straight to their computers or something?”
“Beamed straight up their asses for all I know. They just expected to be special because that’s how politicians see themselves.” She set the joint down on the ash tray and watched the smoke trail up, leaning forward to turn up the television showing a black screen. Every tv, every computer, every object that could be connected to the internet or grab hold of the airways or even just had a screen displayed the same soundless message at the top of every hour for the last three days.
STOP TRANSMITTING OR THEY WILL HEAR YOU
“We’re part of that great lie, too.” She glanced at her phone on the table now lit up with the same message. “The message is in every language. English isn’t special. I bet somehow they’re tapping into our individual neuralities to show whatever language we recognize.”
“Neuralities? Making up words now?”
“Brainwaves. Whatever. Neuralities sounds better.”
McDevitt and Henry sat in the dim living room on the small love seat, McDevitt’s legs stretched on top of Henry's out on the coffee table in front of them, blinds shuttered to blot out the cloudless noon sky, and a half empty Pringles can on its side with crumbs sprinkled around it next to the ash tray. A microfiber blanket, one of the good one she regularly employed as a pillow, hung off the end of the couch grazing the floor.
“Neuralities, sure. Does that mean you’re going to start wearing tinfoil hats? Probably start thinking Elvis and JFK are sending these messages from Mars.” Henry said.
“Shut up.” She didn’t bother looking away from the message still on the screen. “But really. I mean, what else is there to do?”
“I’m assuming someone somewhere is transmitting something? And that should be stopped?” Henry reached out for the joint. “Or…”
“Or what everyone else is saying. Stop every kind of radio wave. The predator theory.” McDevitt said.
The Predator Theory had become common knowledge, a household name throughout the world since the messages first started disrupting life every hour. As Dr. Klein, who had already exceeded Fauci status as the face of a crisis, explained in the White House Press Room: The Predator Theory can be explained through Fermi’s Paradox, that one that science fiction fans are accustomed to. The Paradox posits the question that if there are billions of stars with billions of planets, where’s all the life? It should be like a giant fish tank swarming with different varieties of lifeforms. Only there’s silence (or was).
The Predator Theory, Dr. Klein had mentioned behind a podium, looking every bit like the beleaguered scientist from an Apocalypse movie, explains that Paradox. The universe is quiet because like antelope on the savanna or mouse in a home, they have to be quiet. They have to hide their presence from the predators. The ones that swoop in and devour life as it arises throughout the galaxy.
Any time people say “throughout the galaxy” or “little green men” it’s easy to roll your eyes. And who could blame them? It was people worrying about what’s up there when there was still so many things wrong down on this planet. Though, not many eyes were rolling by day three. Not when what’s “up there” started to change what’s down here.
“Do you have another theory?” McDivitt asked.
“I wish it was like a virus or something. Just something some kid cooked up in his garage and let loose across internet.” Henry put the joint down without smoking it. “But devices not connected to anything do the same thing. At the same time. I mean, even our old CRT tv in the closet that’s not even plugged in turns on every time. That’s not something explained away by your antivirus acting up.”
STOP TRANSMITTING OR THEY WILL HEAR YOU
“So you think we’re gonna need Arnold covered in layers of mud to save us?” McDevitt’s laugh was laced with unease.
“I think we need to shut everything down. Go full Amish for a little bit.”
“Countries would never admit that we’re weaker than whatever’s out there. Have you seen Independence Day? Not gonna happen. No way.”
The message flickered off after four minutes, as usual, returning to the two news-people behind a desk. The scroll on the bottom of the screen read the same warning message, though McDevitt was pretty sure the news couldn’t change it. A change took hold earlier this morning. The first time it happened, it was just a curiosity.
McDevitt was in the office stretched with cubicles and egg white walls, waist deep in excel with her mind engulfed in pivot tables and what general nicety to write on Erik’s birthday card who she barely knew. Then, like a calm between thunder rolls, an eerie silence took hold over the entire office. Everyone stopped typing or talking about reports. A moment later they all saw the message for the first time.
STOP TRANSMITTING OR THEY WILL HEAR YOU
STOP TRANSMITTING OR THEY WILL HEAR YOU
STOP TRANSMITTING OR THEY WILL HEAR YOU
STOP TRANSMITTING OR THEY WILL HEAR YOU
STOP TRANSMITTING OR THEY WILL HEAR YOU
STOP TRANSMITTING OR THEY WILL HEAR YOU
STOP TRANSMITTING OR THEY WILL HEAR YOU
A virus. Damn it. Across the entire network. McDevitt watched a handful of the well-trained corporate folks dash to unplug their computers. First by taking out the network cable, then unplugging their entire computers. McDevitt just hoped it wasn’t anything she did. She remembered that Travelocity tab she had opened, but that was a safe website, right?
It was such an odd text, even the font was slightly off, so she pulled out her phone to snap a picture.
STOP TRANSMITTING OR THEY WILL HEAR YOU
Huh. She tried turning the phone off, but nothing happened. That’s when she started to hear more murmuring around the office, others had taken their phones out and noticed the exact same message. She heard someone walk in and say, “The breakroom TV’s busted, it’s showing – oh.”
As more heads started popping up over the cubicles, the message went away and computers (the ones that hadn’t been unplugged) went right back to normal. McDevitt looked at her phone, no message, just her background of an astronaut holding ice cream.
By the end of the day the message showed up four more times and everyone realized the problem wasn’t unique to their office, it was worldwide. Managers were told to recommend desisting any activity on the computers. God forbid whatever it is accesses proprietary information.
McDevitt’s manager called her that night saying the office will be closed the next day. She asked Henry to go to the grocery store that evening. The world had the same feeling as the coast on the days leading up to a hurricane. People unsure where the storm would hit, if it hit at all, but stocking up just in case. He came back empty handed. The parking lot alone looked like a tailgate gone horribly wrong, inside the store probably resembled the Thunderdome. They’d be fine with whatever was in the house.
McDevitt reached into the half empty pringles can and munched on the yellow chips. The newspeople looked haggard. Then suddenly shocked. An object, they said, was just spotted by NASA near Saturn.
McDevitt turned off the television, just in case.
“I think we’re fucked.” | I am the keeper of our world's greatest secret.
I still remember the day. It had begun with a statement. "John, you're going to want to see this".
I leant over the table, my temples throbbing. Years spent poring over the message. The modern "wow" signal - the First Contact. The first time that the tendrils of the universe had come to grace our Pale Blue Dot.
We had theorised what the message would represent; its patterns had been too deliberate, too directed for us to ignore. Perhaps a blueprint for some world-breaking invention, or merely a greeting card from a distant world. The possibilities were equally exciting. So we sent messages back into the void, in the hope that we would receive another reply - one we could decipher more easily. And soon, we found movement in the endless night sky. An anonymous object - its size and speed untraceable - that we would track for years on its trajectory. Its path. To us. We named it *Speratus* - "Hope".
We were naive. Children of the universe playing with forces beyond us. The only truth that we had predicted correctly was that *we were not alone.*
John peered over my shoulder, eyeing my scribblings half-heartedly at first. Then he saw the transcription.
"STOP TRANSMITTING OR THEY WILL HEAR YOU."
"Are you sure?" he asked.
I nodded. Sure as the sun rises. It was two in the morning, but neither of us wanted to sleep.
"Well, what do we do?" In his surprise, he hadn't noticed my other notes, and I had half a heart to let him go on in oblivion. But when I turned around, I found him sitting, rigid as a board, his skin pale in the lamplight.
"Marco..." he said, so quiet I barely heard the tremors. "When did we date the message to?"
"Ten years ago."
"... And when did we receive it?"
"Five years."
Five years we had sent messages out into the void, unknowingly throwing their warning - whoever they were - to the cosmic wind.
"What of *Speratus*?"
I shook my head. We had no idea - there was no way to tell what it could be, as it dipped in and out of our sight.
So we waited for fate to claim us - and for a time it was easy to forget. For months, we told only those people who knew how to handle the uncertainty. We stopped transmitting. And *Speratus* drew ever nearer to humanity. With time, we dared to hope - that it was a message, an extension of kindness by our foreign Messiahs.
You may wonder, then, why there is no hope in me as I write these words. A farewell to our world.
You see, we received another message, shortly after the first. It spent 10 years travelling across the cosmos, just as the one prior had. Only John and I know of its true translation - and perhaps we are wrong in holding it from the others. Self-proclaimed guardians of humanity, our fickle minds unwilling to let go. But we lost hope. And the loss of Hope is a painful thing.
"THIS IS OUR LAST MESSAGE.
THEY HEARD OUR WARNING - IT IS TOO LATE.
THEY HEARD YOUR REPLIES - IT IS TOO LATE.
WE SAY GOODBYE.
WE HOPE YOU HAVE THE TIME TO SAY IT TOO."
----
[Sepheren](https://youtube.com/channel/UCpNMGRmDnQljgbKIo6x9Ddw) | |
[WP] In the midst of combat, the villain watches in terror, as the hero swallows an entire roast chicken and two cheese wheels at once. | The wet hand went back into the enormous rucksack, readying a full ham and a coarse cloth bag of uncooked beans. A glint in the eye said the hero knew the fight was soon won.
The villain, a tic beginning to form in their immaculate face, spoke the word HALT.
"How," they said, storming over to the now-frozen bulwark, "are you such a DENSE MOTHERFUCKER"
"He ate three forts worth of rations, great one!" a skulking imp offered, before being engulfed in flames.
A held staff was dashed on the ground. "Slime infiltrators! Obliterate their supply lines! Blackmail their nobility! IDIOTS!" A nearby vase was thrown against the wall, "they never remember that SLIMES. ARE. IDIOTS."
"YOU!" an accusing finger jabbed at the healthy neck of the invader, "how long did it take your stupid mush brain to forget you were ACTING? That you're a mean nasty slime telling mean nasty lies with your dumb slime face? It probably took one mirroSTOP IT!" A sheepish (and still wet) hand retreated from the sack, a full melon already in the absurd mouth.
"Just.... Just go. Go to the trappist and report for mimic duty."
...
"And LEAVE THE BAG!" | Oh I have the two perfect characters for this.
Shu was blasting Adam with powerful beams of darkness. Adam quickly grabbed onto him and pulled him down onto the ground. Shu scoffed before he looked up at Adam as he downed a Full fucking rotisserie chicken and two cheese wheels.
“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?” Shu yelled out and scooted back.
Adam looked at him, a blank expression on his face. “What?” He asked.
“WHO DOWNS A ENTIRE DEILI AND A HALF WHILE IN A FIGHT AT THE BOTTOM OF THE UNDERWORLD?” Shu screamed out.
“I do.” Adam replied.
“W-WHAT?” Shu stood up “HOW WERE YOU ABLE TO FIT THAT ALL IN YOUR POCKETS?”
“No clue, ask the chicken.” Adam chuckled. Shu sat there in shock before opening a portal back to the mortal world and closing it behind him as fast as he could.
I know it’s short, but I enjoyed writing it. | |
[WP] In the midst of combat, the villain watches in terror, as the hero swallows an entire roast chicken and two cheese wheels at once. | The wet hand went back into the enormous rucksack, readying a full ham and a coarse cloth bag of uncooked beans. A glint in the eye said the hero knew the fight was soon won.
The villain, a tic beginning to form in their immaculate face, spoke the word HALT.
"How," they said, storming over to the now-frozen bulwark, "are you such a DENSE MOTHERFUCKER"
"He ate three forts worth of rations, great one!" a skulking imp offered, before being engulfed in flames.
A held staff was dashed on the ground. "Slime infiltrators! Obliterate their supply lines! Blackmail their nobility! IDIOTS!" A nearby vase was thrown against the wall, "they never remember that SLIMES. ARE. IDIOTS."
"YOU!" an accusing finger jabbed at the healthy neck of the invader, "how long did it take your stupid mush brain to forget you were ACTING? That you're a mean nasty slime telling mean nasty lies with your dumb slime face? It probably took one mirroSTOP IT!" A sheepish (and still wet) hand retreated from the sack, a full melon already in the absurd mouth.
"Just.... Just go. Go to the trappist and report for mimic duty."
...
"And LEAVE THE BAG!" |
“What kind of woman are you?”
The hero finished the impromptu meal with a loud belch.
“A hungry one!” The hero lunged forward and the villain parried the strike. The clangs of steel continued to ring in the small laboratory. The hero noticed the villain’s attacks were slower and kept more rigid in his guard stance. In a blur a flash of steel cut across the hero’s shoulder, she countered and met only steel. The hero felt blood beginning to flow out of the wound.
“Nice.” the hero commented, then reached into a small bag and pulled out another full chicken and swallowed it whole almost instantly. The villain watched in disgust then horror as the wound he just made closed up.
“Incredible. And revolting!” The villain rushed in with a flurry of attacks, the hero now on the defensive, was being pushed back. The villain locked their blades and drove the hero against one of the alchemy benches, then drew a small dagger. The hero reached into her bag and pulled out some Aerinth powder and shoved it into her mouth. The villain felt the dagger puncture but nowhere near as deep as it should. The dagger was being pushed out as if the body was rejecting the dagger. The villain tried driving it in again but was thrown off, crashing into some of the alembic equipment. The villain reached for a small red vial, popped the cork and drank the contents.
“Oh, you use potions too?” The hero took out two glass bottles, one that glowed red and the other, green. The villain watched as the hero’s mouth opened again and it was like she just absorbed the whole bottle and contents into her body after swallowing. The hero’s arms swelled and her stance was perfect, no longer leaving openings from fatigue.
“I’ve had enough! I will find a way to purge you, you unnatural, putrid, abomination!” The hero rushed and cut across the villain’s chest as a purple doorway appeared behind him. The villain felt himself rush across a long distance then stopped in his personal home, blood soaking his clothes. The villain slumped down and felt his wound close up as the potion did its work. | |
[WP] In the midst of combat, the villain watches in terror, as the hero swallows an entire roast chicken and two cheese wheels at once. | "I''ve come here to vanquish you, as you have done so to the innocent!"
"You? I've... heard of you, I suppose"
"Ahah! Have you heard of my incredible feats then, such as the slaying of a dragon, the destroying of evil capitals?!"
"Not really, no. I've more of your 'slaying of banquets', your 'destroying of luncheons'. Which leads me to my first question: Do you.. happen to need anything for your stomach right now? To be quite frank, it wouldn't sit right with me to fight a man with such a pressing medical issue."
"Silence, harlot! Your evil reign of terror over those you claim to be your 'patients', and 'willing test subjects' ends here!"
"I'm offended, really. I am a legitimate doctor, with a legitimate license, with legitimate government funding, for Pete's sake!"
"No more lies! You indeed to deceive with your clever word-magic! Pah! You think anyone would believe this 'government' you speak of?!"
This.. hero lunges forth, towards the "villain". Being who he was, however, he stupidly tripped over a chair.
"Your traps cannot hold me back forever, demon! I will kill you, and restore peace!
The hero, already seemingly bruised and beaten, proceeds to pull out a.. r-roasted chicken out of his.. pack? Why would it be kept in there?! Who would keep it in there?! He continues and eats the entire chicken whole, in a fraction of a second.
"Hah! I am unkillable, with my recipes at my aid!"
"This is exactly what I meant when I was talking about medical issues. How about you sit down, I treat you, and we discuss what's wrong, okay?"
The hero must've been too proud, or too offended by the suggestion, since he proceeded to bash around in an area, which was.. not at all close to his 'foe'. He's a clumsy buffoon, let's face it. While he was throwing his tantrum, he tripped **again**, and manages to somehow hit his head on the weapon he was wielding. How stupid.
"I think you REALLY need a doctor there, mister 'hero'. That's not exactly the best way to fight me, y'know."
"Curses be to you and your damned witchery! Cease these magical tricks and fight me honourably! You force me to withdraw my final weapon now!"
Surprise, surprise, the glutton drops his weapon, and opts to hold two massive cheese wheels, reeking with stench. He continues to somehow shove both wheels into his mouth at the same time, a feat commonly needing Herculean resolve.
"I'm ready now! Step down from your throne and let us duel, hand to hand!"
"If you're as strong as you are hungry, I might actually be afraid of you. The only thing I DO fear right now, is that awful smell coming from your breath, and we're several many meters away! Maybe try fighting a dentist next time, this isn't something I can cure so easily."
"Then damn you to the deepest pits of hell! You insult my honour and my family name, and for that you shall perish!"
Anger doesn't give you any more control over your body than being drunk would, and he unsurprisingly, in his slow walk towards the enemy, staggered, and proceeded to fall, straight into a sealed container of used syringes. The unluckier part of that was how his helmet managed to breach the lid, and he received an unhealthy dose of pain.
"How.. could you.. not fear.. my hunger..? A-all the r-rest.. did.."
"Buddy. Really now? I'm in the medical field. A pig is nothing when you see hundreds of people with pencils or lightbulbs up their ass." | Through his slashes and swings,
I countered and parried.
He couldn't hit a thing
And was getting quiet weary.
I swung back with my sword towards his side
And struck him so deep, I'd thought he died.
Alas, he lived, and kept swinging and slew,
But was too weak, and so he withdrew.
No where to run, no advantage to gain.
I had him cornered, any effort he made would be in vain.
I walked to him slowly, gloating and prideful,
That I would finally defeat my lifelong rival.
Then, out of thin air, he produced slowly
Two wheels of cheese and a large piece of poultry.
Then, to my horror, swallowed it all with one suck.
I couldn't stop myself from gasping, "what the FUCK?"
He then began attacking, his vigor renewed.
And I could not keep up, if I fought, I'd be through.
So I backed away, deflecting and walking.
This whole entire debacle was, honestly, quite shocking.
When the moment came, I ran, turned tail.
For my choices were to run or to fight and fail.
And I got away, he could not keep pace
And in bars and in taverns, told stories of him to save face.
But to this day, what he did still haunts me.
That he could eat a whole chicken in one gulp
And then attack with glee. | |
[WP] In the midst of combat, the villain watches in terror, as the hero swallows an entire roast chicken and two cheese wheels at once. | "Do you... Do you want an antacid or something?" Dr. Malediction lowered his death ray and stepped away from the doomsday console, ponderously scratching the base of his pale skull. "That cannot have been healthy."
"Be silent, villain. Your lies will not make me stray from my mission!" The White Knight raged, his hand clasped around his Sword of Truth. "With my health restored, I will rid the kingdom of your evil machinations and all shall see that *I*, Sir Gawain the Righteous, are worthy to ask the princess' hand in marriage."
"You mean the prime minister's daughter? We're a constitutional monar..."
"Silence, fiend! I have scaled the steps of your infernal tower, have vanquished your minions and not even your death ray can stop me. Kneel before me and beg, and I might just let you live."
Dr. Malediction looked unphased. "...You could have taken the elevator, you know. Anyway, are you sure you're alright? You look a bit pale. I've got an x-ray machine in the back that..."
"Cease your malevolent pontification, villain. Your words shall not lead me astray from my sacred path! My... my..." The White Knight trembled. His gauntleted hand scratched at his gleaming breastplate. "My holy sword will... will banish you to the deepest pit of the... Inferno, *fiend*." As he spat out the final word, embers erupted from the Knight's Sword of Truth.
"Nice monologue, cheap party trick... But seriously, let me take a look. I *am* a medical doctor, you know." Dr. Malediction pressed a button and a compartment of his doomsday console hissed open. "I've got a first aid kit right here," he continued, wafting away clouds of sulphurous smoke that emerged from the machine.
The White Knight's face had turned paler than his armour, yet he remained defiant: "The Divine protects me, demon. No... No witchcraft of yours can... can change that. My quest... my god-given quest... will... will..." His hand clawed feebly at his breastplate. The Sword of Truth fell to the ground, it's embers extinguished. "What... have... you..."
"I think you did this to yourself, mate. I can practically smell the cholesterol on your breath." Dr. Malediction lay a sincere claw across his cloaked chest. "Anyhow, let me finish this first, and then I'll call you an ambulance..."
Vile smoke billowed from the doomsday console as Dr. Maledication pressed a large, crimson button. Immediately, the building rumbled and shook on its foundations. Plaster rained down from the ceiling, as something was launched from one of the floors above.
"If the hospitals are still standing after this, of course..." | Vindicator stood watching in awe as Cpt Justice flew down.
This was Vindicator’s first week as a villain. And just his luck to run into the greatest superhero in their town.
The immaculate costume, bright eyes, the square jaw, the cape flying in the wind as Cpt. Justice landed was a sight to behold.
Vindicator thought about running. But his legs failed him. All he could do was stand there as Justice came towards him.
Finally, he also noticed that the hero carried a large paper bag with him.
Vindicator struggled to breathe as he had a panic attack. What was in the bag? Some sort of a weapon? But the Cpt. didn’t need weapons. He was the greatest even without one. His legs finally gave out and Vindicator found himself slumped to the ground.
At least there was no one around to see his humiliation. Vindicator had that going for him at least.
With jaw dropping speed, Cpt. Justice picked up a table and chair and set them in front of Vindicator.
“Come sit.”
Vindicator tried. But his legs were still jelly.
Cpt. Justice helped him up and into a chair. He then sat in another chair opposite him and put the brown bag on the table.
“So tell me. Who are you?”
“I… I…”
Cpt. Justice took out a whole roast chicken and two cheese wheels out the bag and onto paper plates. “I hope you don’t mind. I have a rather high metabolic rate. I need to eat more than a regular human. So, your name?”
“Vindicator.”
“Indicator? Of what?”
“Vindicator, sir. With a V.”
“Ah! Do you know what that word means? Don’t you think that’s more of a superhero name?”
“I suppose, sir. I wanted to be a superhero. But I was falsely accused and thrown in jail and then the hero council rejected me and…”
“Save me the sob story please. I just wanted you to know it’s a stupid name.”
Vindicator was taken aback by his words. Cpt. Justice was supposed to be the best of them all. The man Vindicator had grown up idolizing. “It’s not a sob story! I’m not crying.”
“Well you will be. As soon as I finish my food.” Cpt. Justice was already through half his roast chicken and had already finished the cheese wheels.
“Come on man. Wouldn’t kill you to be nice to people.”
“I am nice to people. I just don’t consider you one. No! You people are like roaches. You have a minor grievance and you guys decide becoming a super villain is the solution. And then I have to clean up the mess. I mean look at you. You’re barely walking straight. Do you have a superpower?”
“No. But I’m a trained martial artist and I have this special gun.”
“And I have super strength and super speed and can fly. Let’s face it. You’re fucked.”
Whatever vindicator had expected, it wasn’t this. Cpt. Justice was supposed to be the good guy.
The superhero continued. “See life is made up of opportunities. Every opportunity gives you choices. You just made the wrong ones, fuck face. I’m going to horribly mutilate you. So that you don’t come back again you see. I created this rule for me back when I was starting out that I wouldn’t kill people. Stupid rule. One I wish i hadn’t set up. But now I’m stuck with it. And it leads to roaches like you coming back again and again and I’m sick of it. You 2 bit villains think you can come to my town and you…”
Vindicator had tears in his eyes and was looking down so he didn’t notice it at first.
Cpt Justice banged on the table. Vindicator looked at the hero sitting opposite him. He was going a bit red in face and clawing at his throat.
Vindicator looked at the plate where the roast chicken still lay, unfinished.
Cpt. Justice tried to grab Vindicator croaking out something that sounded like help.
Instead, Vindicator pushed him to the ground. “Opportunities and choices as you said Captain.”
Cpt. Justice tried to read for the radio on his utility belt.
“Uh uh uh. Just the two of us now.” Vindicator took the radio and smashed it with his foot. The hero’s face was blue now. He tried to stick his fingers into his throat but the Vindicator kicked them away.
“Opportunities and choices. How right you were, captain. Looks like I won’t be a 2 bit villain anymore.”
The Vindicator brought up his gun and fired. | |
[WP] In the midst of combat, the villain watches in terror, as the hero swallows an entire roast chicken and two cheese wheels at once. | I felt the presence of the man long before he reached my chambers. I could faintly hear the noises of him fighting my fellow fallen warriors within the crypt. As he entered my chambers, I waited until he would be able to see my coffin, then made my move. I blew the lid off my coffin and stood. My movements were precise, measured. I had always enjoyed a dramatic entrance. But the invader ignored me. He grabbed some dusty potions from a long-forgotten shelf. He stuffed them in his bag with barely a glance. He also grabbed on old bowl, some herbs, and a bucket. I thought it strange, but I didn't care for the items. I wasn't quite sure how they even got here in the first place. The potions would probably have gone bad, if that was even possible.
I didn't care for the items, but I did care about his nonchalance. I was a feared soldier in life and in death, I would not be ignored. I started toward him, dragging my sword behind me. The tip had long since dulled, and I didn't have the fine motor control to keep it aloft as I walked. He finally seemed to decide to give me the time of day, and turned to face me, drawing his weapon. A warhammer of the same era as myself. As I realized that he must have taken it off one of my men, I advanced, enraged. I swung wildly at him, with a windup that even the most inexperienced fighter could have avoided. A downside of my body being held together by little more than rotting muscle and hardened skin. He avoided my swing, and went low, hitting me hard with the hammer. It barely hurt - I had long since abandoned mortal feelings of pain - but I knew it would leave lasting damage that my body would no longer naturally heal. An annoyance.
The stranger scowled, and mumbled under his breath. He spoke a language I could not understand. My native language had fallen from prominence, it seemed. No matter, I had not spoken my own language since my death. Instead, I used some Words of Power I had learned long ago. The words were laced with a magical force, and knocked my attacker him from his feet. I took the opportunity to get a solid hit in, my sword digging deep into his armor. As blood sprung from the wound, I wasted no time hitting him again. He stood and backed away, but I closed the distance and once again landed a heavy blow. This time, though, he managed to trade with me, landing another hard hit with his hammer.
We both took a few steps back, reeling from the hits. He swung his bag around, digging through it with vigor. I longed for the day when a mixture of herbs would help knit together my wounds. He dug past weapons, armor, books, bowls, baskets, solid gold bars... if I hadn't been so shocked by the sheer number of items within his bag, I might have tried to finish him off while he was distracted. His face lit up as he found what he was looking for.
He started to pull all sorts of food from the depths of the bag. He turned an apple into a core with impressive speed, then popped the core into his mouth as he took a swig of some expensive aged wine. He pulled out a few pastries, eating them in a bite or two each, dual-wielding baked goods like he couldn't decide which to eat first. I took the chance to reel back for another swing... but then he pulled out an entire cheese wheel. I paused. I thought if I lopped off his head right now, I'd miss what was sure to be a feat for the ages. And I was right. As I watched, he did the impossible.
Like a drunk dairy farmer trying to win a bet, he jammed cheese into his mouth faster than any man I had ever met - and I had feasted with Vikings.
As he finished the cheese wheel, I noticed the bleeding of his wounds begin to slow. My confusion was only interrupted by abject horror as he pulled out an entire rotisserie chicken. It wasn't exactly well-preserved, but he ate it with the same raucous gobbling he had demonstrated with all of the other food he had pulled from the depths of the bag. I was almost certain he ate the bones, too, but I didn't have time to process that as he pulled out another entire wheel of cheese, and began to eat that too. Whatever bizarre intimidation technique he was displaying had worked already. I'd given up after the first cheese wheel. I wished I spoke his language, I'd plead with him to stop this madness.
As he finished off three bottles of cheap mead, he once again readied himself for battle. His wounds had completely healed. He smiled, and belched. I dropped my sword and threw my hands up in surrender. He wasted no time lodging the warhammer's sharp end in my head. As my consciousness faded, my opponent coughed up a chicken bone. He considered it for second, then used it to pick his teeth as he dug through my belongings. With that, I closed my eyes. My life was complete, because I had truly seen it all. | Vindicator stood watching in awe as Cpt Justice flew down.
This was Vindicator’s first week as a villain. And just his luck to run into the greatest superhero in their town.
The immaculate costume, bright eyes, the square jaw, the cape flying in the wind as Cpt. Justice landed was a sight to behold.
Vindicator thought about running. But his legs failed him. All he could do was stand there as Justice came towards him.
Finally, he also noticed that the hero carried a large paper bag with him.
Vindicator struggled to breathe as he had a panic attack. What was in the bag? Some sort of a weapon? But the Cpt. didn’t need weapons. He was the greatest even without one. His legs finally gave out and Vindicator found himself slumped to the ground.
At least there was no one around to see his humiliation. Vindicator had that going for him at least.
With jaw dropping speed, Cpt. Justice picked up a table and chair and set them in front of Vindicator.
“Come sit.”
Vindicator tried. But his legs were still jelly.
Cpt. Justice helped him up and into a chair. He then sat in another chair opposite him and put the brown bag on the table.
“So tell me. Who are you?”
“I… I…”
Cpt. Justice took out a whole roast chicken and two cheese wheels out the bag and onto paper plates. “I hope you don’t mind. I have a rather high metabolic rate. I need to eat more than a regular human. So, your name?”
“Vindicator.”
“Indicator? Of what?”
“Vindicator, sir. With a V.”
“Ah! Do you know what that word means? Don’t you think that’s more of a superhero name?”
“I suppose, sir. I wanted to be a superhero. But I was falsely accused and thrown in jail and then the hero council rejected me and…”
“Save me the sob story please. I just wanted you to know it’s a stupid name.”
Vindicator was taken aback by his words. Cpt. Justice was supposed to be the best of them all. The man Vindicator had grown up idolizing. “It’s not a sob story! I’m not crying.”
“Well you will be. As soon as I finish my food.” Cpt. Justice was already through half his roast chicken and had already finished the cheese wheels.
“Come on man. Wouldn’t kill you to be nice to people.”
“I am nice to people. I just don’t consider you one. No! You people are like roaches. You have a minor grievance and you guys decide becoming a super villain is the solution. And then I have to clean up the mess. I mean look at you. You’re barely walking straight. Do you have a superpower?”
“No. But I’m a trained martial artist and I have this special gun.”
“And I have super strength and super speed and can fly. Let’s face it. You’re fucked.”
Whatever vindicator had expected, it wasn’t this. Cpt. Justice was supposed to be the good guy.
The superhero continued. “See life is made up of opportunities. Every opportunity gives you choices. You just made the wrong ones, fuck face. I’m going to horribly mutilate you. So that you don’t come back again you see. I created this rule for me back when I was starting out that I wouldn’t kill people. Stupid rule. One I wish i hadn’t set up. But now I’m stuck with it. And it leads to roaches like you coming back again and again and I’m sick of it. You 2 bit villains think you can come to my town and you…”
Vindicator had tears in his eyes and was looking down so he didn’t notice it at first.
Cpt Justice banged on the table. Vindicator looked at the hero sitting opposite him. He was going a bit red in face and clawing at his throat.
Vindicator looked at the plate where the roast chicken still lay, unfinished.
Cpt. Justice tried to grab Vindicator croaking out something that sounded like help.
Instead, Vindicator pushed him to the ground. “Opportunities and choices as you said Captain.”
Cpt. Justice tried to read for the radio on his utility belt.
“Uh uh uh. Just the two of us now.” Vindicator took the radio and smashed it with his foot. The hero’s face was blue now. He tried to stick his fingers into his throat but the Vindicator kicked them away.
“Opportunities and choices. How right you were, captain. Looks like I won’t be a 2 bit villain anymore.”
The Vindicator brought up his gun and fired. | |
[WP] In the midst of combat, the villain watches in terror, as the hero swallows an entire roast chicken and two cheese wheels at once. | I felt the presence of the man long before he reached my chambers. I could faintly hear the noises of him fighting my fellow fallen warriors within the crypt. As he entered my chambers, I waited until he would be able to see my coffin, then made my move. I blew the lid off my coffin and stood. My movements were precise, measured. I had always enjoyed a dramatic entrance. But the invader ignored me. He grabbed some dusty potions from a long-forgotten shelf. He stuffed them in his bag with barely a glance. He also grabbed on old bowl, some herbs, and a bucket. I thought it strange, but I didn't care for the items. I wasn't quite sure how they even got here in the first place. The potions would probably have gone bad, if that was even possible.
I didn't care for the items, but I did care about his nonchalance. I was a feared soldier in life and in death, I would not be ignored. I started toward him, dragging my sword behind me. The tip had long since dulled, and I didn't have the fine motor control to keep it aloft as I walked. He finally seemed to decide to give me the time of day, and turned to face me, drawing his weapon. A warhammer of the same era as myself. As I realized that he must have taken it off one of my men, I advanced, enraged. I swung wildly at him, with a windup that even the most inexperienced fighter could have avoided. A downside of my body being held together by little more than rotting muscle and hardened skin. He avoided my swing, and went low, hitting me hard with the hammer. It barely hurt - I had long since abandoned mortal feelings of pain - but I knew it would leave lasting damage that my body would no longer naturally heal. An annoyance.
The stranger scowled, and mumbled under his breath. He spoke a language I could not understand. My native language had fallen from prominence, it seemed. No matter, I had not spoken my own language since my death. Instead, I used some Words of Power I had learned long ago. The words were laced with a magical force, and knocked my attacker him from his feet. I took the opportunity to get a solid hit in, my sword digging deep into his armor. As blood sprung from the wound, I wasted no time hitting him again. He stood and backed away, but I closed the distance and once again landed a heavy blow. This time, though, he managed to trade with me, landing another hard hit with his hammer.
We both took a few steps back, reeling from the hits. He swung his bag around, digging through it with vigor. I longed for the day when a mixture of herbs would help knit together my wounds. He dug past weapons, armor, books, bowls, baskets, solid gold bars... if I hadn't been so shocked by the sheer number of items within his bag, I might have tried to finish him off while he was distracted. His face lit up as he found what he was looking for.
He started to pull all sorts of food from the depths of the bag. He turned an apple into a core with impressive speed, then popped the core into his mouth as he took a swig of some expensive aged wine. He pulled out a few pastries, eating them in a bite or two each, dual-wielding baked goods like he couldn't decide which to eat first. I took the chance to reel back for another swing... but then he pulled out an entire cheese wheel. I paused. I thought if I lopped off his head right now, I'd miss what was sure to be a feat for the ages. And I was right. As I watched, he did the impossible.
Like a drunk dairy farmer trying to win a bet, he jammed cheese into his mouth faster than any man I had ever met - and I had feasted with Vikings.
As he finished the cheese wheel, I noticed the bleeding of his wounds begin to slow. My confusion was only interrupted by abject horror as he pulled out an entire rotisserie chicken. It wasn't exactly well-preserved, but he ate it with the same raucous gobbling he had demonstrated with all of the other food he had pulled from the depths of the bag. I was almost certain he ate the bones, too, but I didn't have time to process that as he pulled out another entire wheel of cheese, and began to eat that too. Whatever bizarre intimidation technique he was displaying had worked already. I'd given up after the first cheese wheel. I wished I spoke his language, I'd plead with him to stop this madness.
As he finished off three bottles of cheap mead, he once again readied himself for battle. His wounds had completely healed. He smiled, and belched. I dropped my sword and threw my hands up in surrender. He wasted no time lodging the warhammer's sharp end in my head. As my consciousness faded, my opponent coughed up a chicken bone. He considered it for second, then used it to pick his teeth as he dug through my belongings. With that, I closed my eyes. My life was complete, because I had truly seen it all. | _"So Ser Beren, you said he ate 2 cheese wheels and a whole roast chicken while trying to fight you?"_
"YES! I didn't even know they had the bodies for that. One minute I was slicing him to ribbons and the next he gobbled down a whole wheel of cheese, and then another without blinking... _and then_ he pulled out the chicken... there were _no_ bones left. None! Who does that‽" Ser Beren of Drummond had his head in his hands, elbows propped up on his knees, crop of dark hair obscuring most of his face. He sat in a red lounge decorated with bones and a few dragon talons. Across from him sat a man with a nice robe and a scroll and quill on the equally nice table beside him. The man looked skeptical but continued scrawling notes on the parchment.
"Uh huh... and then what happened? Did you kill this man or did he flee from your advances?"
"Neither!" Ser Beren sat up with a frazzled expression. "He took a few good hits from my health drain spell and then produced a potion out of nowhere! This crazy person uncorked it, chugged it and smashed the bottle over his horn adorned helm and charged me screaming like a heathen! I did the only logical thing I could and ran!"
"How did that make you feel?"
"What do yoy think!?!?!?!??!??!!"
He had to lean back from Ser Beren leaning forward and sighed. "Aren't you a villain?"
"Yes-"
"And aren't you one of the most feared necromancers of your time?"
"Yes but why-"
"You seem to be showing signs of a mental breakage. I'm going to give you a recipe for a tincture I want you to take daily. There seems to be some hallucinations happening and this should clear your head-"
Ser Beren stood up and knocked the table over as the temporary advisor scrawled some items on another parchment. "I am not hallucinating! I was terrified! I was in awe but men aren't supposed to do these things! How do you think I was hallucinating wh..when.."
The other man spoke something as Ser Beren ranted, a sleep spell that left him droopy for a moment before he crumpled to the ground. There was another sigh as Ser Beren was picked up and taken to his chambers. "Don't worry, we'll treat you well. I promise. It is common after all for people of your type to have these sorts of problems; we'll get it all sorted out." | |
[WP] In the midst of combat, the villain watches in terror, as the hero swallows an entire roast chicken and two cheese wheels at once. | “And now for the finishing blow, I Fishmonger will gut you and put an end to your heroic deeds.” Fishmonger raised his hook, aiming it at the cut on the hero’s stomach, only to watch in horror as Festivica did not block the attack. Instead, they unhinged their jaw, reaching for something in the pocket of their suit.
The sides of Festivica’s suit were squished with slimy pieces of cheese that probably once made up a full two wheels. Only to melt under the incredible heat generated by suit and skin colliding with one another. Luckily his back up item was still holding up, pulling out the now cooked whole chicken, Fishmonger halting his killing blow when he noticed the chicken.
“A cooked chicken? I thought that was some type of weapon. Are you telling me you have been fighting with a cooked chicken in your clothing? That’s disgusting and unhygienic. What if some slime got onto it?” Fishmonger backed away, releasing the hero who had yet to correct his jaw.
It appeared Festivica wanted to speak, but was struggling with a small bout of lockjaw. He opted to stuff the whole chicken down his throat, watching it bulge in his throat before sliding into his stomach in an act that almost made the Fishmonger heave. He had seen some awful things, but that was by far the worst. When the food was swallowed, his jaw returned to its previous position and the cut on his stomach vanished.
“Oh, the chicken was raw when I put it into the suit and that wasn’t slime, its cheese. Do you want some?” He reached into the pits of his suit, a swishing sound coming from his clothing as he moved the hot cheese around, producing a handful to the villain who only continued to back away in terror.
“How did you hide that in your suit? What sort of freak are you? This is too much. I can’t fight you, too many health violations.” Fishmonger tried to build up the will to fight, only for that fire inside of him to extinguish. “I can’t do this. I have lived my life defying law and order, but there’s one line I never crossed in all my years. I never committed a health violation like the one you have in your suit. I wouldn’t stoop so slow, the people that buy fish from me deserve better.”
“You kill people! It’s not that weird, all the heroes do it.” Festivica bluffed, awkwardly looking at the gooey cheese in his hand, licking his lips.
“Bullshit. No one is that much of a freak. Don’t you dare lick it. I swear if you lick it, I’m going to burn down a cheese factory with you in it.” He said, shuddering as Festivica licked the mess of cheese on his hand, causing Fishmonger to collapse in disgust. “Momma, I just wanted to be a good fishmonger like you, with a little murder on the side and petty bank robbery. Is that so bad?” Fishmonger whimpered, unable to process the sight in front of him.
With the villain defeated, Festivica made the call to the cops, who hurried to the scene, giving him a strange look. “Um, you have some cheese in your hands. Do you need a napkin or something? How did you get cheese on your hands during a fight?”
Festivica tried to wipe the cheese off onto his suit, only causing it to stain the fabric. “I fell through a cheese shop.” He said, earning a raised eyebrow from the cop.
“This is the third one this week. The villains also in the same traumatic state as the last two. Are you telling me the truth? People are getting suspicious.” Festivica began to sweat as the cop continued to grill him until he raised his hands, making snow fall from the sky.
“Oh, what do you know? It’s Christmas again! How good are my festival abilities?” Before the cop could question it, Festivica crouched, legs growing a thick coating of brown fur before he bounced thirty feet into the air, bunny hopping away from the area thanks to his abilities, infusing his legs with the magic of easter.
“What a weirdo. We really need to start background checking these heroes.” The cop said to his buddy by the car, who only gave a nod as Fishmonger rolled around on the floor screaming.
“HE COOKED A RAW CHICKEN IN HIS CLOTHING.” He screamed as the cops handcuffed him and pulled into the back of the police car.
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) | I was amused when I saw him, for the first time. His wide face, rosy with drink. His huge belly, stretching the seams of his shirt. He was sitting at a table in a dingy bar, alone, drinking wine by the cupful. Before him was heaped tons of food. Some of it, already bitten into; a great deal, yet untouched. Beside him sat his sword and his armour.
I stood before his table and straightened my back. I pulled off my helmet and unsheathed my sword. I knocked the table with the hilt.
"Dear Sir Bunger!" I cried to the fat old knight. "I am Clarence Hombelle. Son of Douglas Hombelle. Nephew of the great Sir Jonathon Hombelle, whom you slew. I have searched for months to find you. I have waited many years for this night. I am here to avenge my uncle's death, and to restore honour to our family name. I am here to kill you, Sir Bunger. So stand and fight."
The fat old knight looked up from the table. He gazed at me with sleepy eyes. "What's that now?" he asked. "Ham bell? I'd sure like a ham bell, to ring whenever I crave a handful of bacons. Or a nice juicy chop. Or a half-dozen sausages. Ding-a-ling-ding. A ham bell. See?"
He didn't seem to understand. He was too drunk. I would have to drive the point home.
"Sir Jonathan Hombelle was my uncle," I repeated. "Fourteen years ago, you duelled him in the battle of Four Peaks, and killed him with a thrust through the gut. Since that wretched day, our family has languished. Our fortunes have sunk to the bottom of the mire. I have come to duel you, in the hopes that your death will pull us out of the wretched state into which we have descended. Stand, sir knight, and duel me. Either your life or mine concludes tonight."
"Hombelle," the inebriated corpulent said to himself, as if tasting the word. "Hombelle. Sir Hombelle. . .Yes! Yes, lad! Of course! The young skin-and-bones with canary yellow stockings! Hombelle! Feathers in his helm! And a nose like yours! Long as a pelican's! Nimble on his feat, the poor birdie was. But I was nimbler! Skewered him like a rotisserie chicken! But that was back in my fighting days. . .Ah, Four Peaks. What a battle! What a war! Though too much blood spilled for the wrong reasons. Your uncle and them others. . .Rebels. Ambitious. Treasonous. Taking up arms against the crown. Sneaking around like thieves. Slaughtering their own countrymen. And for what? To be peppered by sword points? To be strung up on the royal gallows? To secure early sleeps in wooden boxes, six feet under the dirt? A damn shame."
He stared solemnly at the air in front of him, gently shaking his head. Then he glugged down a cup of wine, wiped his lips, and smiled.
"But what's this about a duel, young pecker?" he asked. "Vengeance? Danger? Death? A humbler Hombelle would let bygones be bygones. He'd sit down at the table and wet his beak. There's no better way to swallow your pride, young swallow, than with a cup of cold spring wine. Eh? What do you say? Have a seat, little rooster. Leave the strutting and cock-a-doodle-doing to the other bird-brained buffoons. You're smarter than them."
"I'll not kill you like some half-penny cutthroat," I said, my temper rising. "I won't stab you while you sit there, without armour or arms. But I'll call you coward at the top of my lungs if you won't rise to the occasion."
"Ha!" cried the fat old knight, reaching for a hunk of beef and tossing it in his mouth. He chewed as he spoke. "I'm old and drunk, I'll give you that. Older than I once was. . .though not so drunk as I'll one day be. But neither years nor booze'll ever keep me from rising to the occasion, if you know what I mean. You ask any whore south of Tiddle Market, and she'll corroborate--Sir Barry Bunger's the stiffest customer she's ever laid hands on! Always rises to the occasion. Ha ha ha!"
"Enough with your lewd nonsense!" I cried. "Stand and draw, Sir Knight!"
"A moment, lad," he said, pouring and then finishing off another cup of wine. "Ah. Mmm. Yes. A moment. Let me get my armour on, before we duel. Then I'll have at ye. But first my armour. . .Where did I put the blasted--there!"
I watched the drunken tub of guts fumble with his armour. The breast plate wouldn't fit over his bulk. He wheezed and he squeezed and pulled. Eventually, he gave up.
"Guess she'll stay loose," he said with a shrug.
He plopped on his helmet, heaved himself to his feet, and unsheathed his sword. He staggered a little, and had to lean on his weapon like a cane to keep balance.
I shook my head in disbelief.
This was the fabled knight my father had told me so many stories about? The legendary swordsman who had vanquished dozens? The hero who'd ended the civil wars with a single swift stroke to my usurping uncle's belly? The cause of our family's ruin?
He was already out of breath and sweating greasy drops like melted butter. It would be closer to butchering a fat cow than duelling!
"One little snack first," the glutton panted, raising his visor. "And then to the duel. The flashing of swords. The clanging of steel on steel. Magnificent! Glorious! Eh? Though I'd prefer a fork in my left and a knife in my right than a claymore in both, if you want the honest truth. Hmm. Yes. One little morsel before we change blows. Let me see."
He wiggled his fat stubby fingers over the heap of food on his table. Then with astonishing rapidity his hand pounced on a full wheel of cheese. With three enormous bites, the whole wheel was gone. He licked his lips as he scanned for the next morsel.
"Meat!" he exclaimed, his hand seizing a whole roast chicken in a flash. "Protein before and after any strenuous activity. Doctor's orders, young man. Doctor's orders. And I'm no rebel in the blood, like you. I heed authority. I listen to experts." He winked.
"You're eating the bones!" I cried out, disgusted by how wide his mouth could stretch, horrified to watch him shove the whole chicken in there and chew.
"Best part of the bird," he affirmed, crunching as he spoke. "Most flavour. Extra calcium. Good for a fellow in his old age." He swallowed, bones and all, and wiped his greasy fingers on his shirt. Then he snapped up another whole wheel of cheese.
"Dessert," the fat knight explained with a slight bow. Again, in a few quick chomps, the wheel of cheese was no more.
Sir Barry Bunger patted his belly and sighed with contentment. With the tip of his tongue, he worked at a piece of chicken stuck between his molars. Then he snagged and swigged from the bottle of wine, gulp after gulp, until it was empty.
I was so impressed and mortified by his display that my guard was totally down. When he swung the bottle at my head, I failed to react in time, and it smashed upon my temple.
"Have at you!" he cried.
I fell to the ground in pain, seeing stars. Though I never blacked out, I was close. And all the while I could hear his thunderous footsteps rumbling across the creaky bar floor.
By the time I regained my composure and looked up, the coward was gone.
\- - -
I now see the prompt said *during* combat. I suppose Sir Bunger hoovered his food during their combative battle of wits.
r/CLBHos | |
[WP] In the midst of combat, the villain watches in terror, as the hero swallows an entire roast chicken and two cheese wheels at once. | "Do you... Do you want an antacid or something?" Dr. Malediction lowered his death ray and stepped away from the doomsday console, ponderously scratching the base of his pale skull. "That cannot have been healthy."
"Be silent, villain. Your lies will not make me stray from my mission!" The White Knight raged, his hand clasped around his Sword of Truth. "With my health restored, I will rid the kingdom of your evil machinations and all shall see that *I*, Sir Gawain the Righteous, are worthy to ask the princess' hand in marriage."
"You mean the prime minister's daughter? We're a constitutional monar..."
"Silence, fiend! I have scaled the steps of your infernal tower, have vanquished your minions and not even your death ray can stop me. Kneel before me and beg, and I might just let you live."
Dr. Malediction looked unphased. "...You could have taken the elevator, you know. Anyway, are you sure you're alright? You look a bit pale. I've got an x-ray machine in the back that..."
"Cease your malevolent pontification, villain. Your words shall not lead me astray from my sacred path! My... my..." The White Knight trembled. His gauntleted hand scratched at his gleaming breastplate. "My holy sword will... will banish you to the deepest pit of the... Inferno, *fiend*." As he spat out the final word, embers erupted from the Knight's Sword of Truth.
"Nice monologue, cheap party trick... But seriously, let me take a look. I *am* a medical doctor, you know." Dr. Malediction pressed a button and a compartment of his doomsday console hissed open. "I've got a first aid kit right here," he continued, wafting away clouds of sulphurous smoke that emerged from the machine.
The White Knight's face had turned paler than his armour, yet he remained defiant: "The Divine protects me, demon. No... No witchcraft of yours can... can change that. My quest... my god-given quest... will... will..." His hand clawed feebly at his breastplate. The Sword of Truth fell to the ground, it's embers extinguished. "What... have... you..."
"I think you did this to yourself, mate. I can practically smell the cholesterol on your breath." Dr. Malediction lay a sincere claw across his cloaked chest. "Anyhow, let me finish this first, and then I'll call you an ambulance..."
Vile smoke billowed from the doomsday console as Dr. Maledication pressed a large, crimson button. Immediately, the building rumbled and shook on its foundations. Plaster rained down from the ceiling, as something was launched from one of the floors above.
"If the hospitals are still standing after this, of course..." | I was amused when I saw him, for the first time. His wide face, rosy with drink. His huge belly, stretching the seams of his shirt. He was sitting at a table in a dingy bar, alone, drinking wine by the cupful. Before him was heaped tons of food. Some of it, already bitten into; a great deal, yet untouched. Beside him sat his sword and his armour.
I stood before his table and straightened my back. I pulled off my helmet and unsheathed my sword. I knocked the table with the hilt.
"Dear Sir Bunger!" I cried to the fat old knight. "I am Clarence Hombelle. Son of Douglas Hombelle. Nephew of the great Sir Jonathon Hombelle, whom you slew. I have searched for months to find you. I have waited many years for this night. I am here to avenge my uncle's death, and to restore honour to our family name. I am here to kill you, Sir Bunger. So stand and fight."
The fat old knight looked up from the table. He gazed at me with sleepy eyes. "What's that now?" he asked. "Ham bell? I'd sure like a ham bell, to ring whenever I crave a handful of bacons. Or a nice juicy chop. Or a half-dozen sausages. Ding-a-ling-ding. A ham bell. See?"
He didn't seem to understand. He was too drunk. I would have to drive the point home.
"Sir Jonathan Hombelle was my uncle," I repeated. "Fourteen years ago, you duelled him in the battle of Four Peaks, and killed him with a thrust through the gut. Since that wretched day, our family has languished. Our fortunes have sunk to the bottom of the mire. I have come to duel you, in the hopes that your death will pull us out of the wretched state into which we have descended. Stand, sir knight, and duel me. Either your life or mine concludes tonight."
"Hombelle," the inebriated corpulent said to himself, as if tasting the word. "Hombelle. Sir Hombelle. . .Yes! Yes, lad! Of course! The young skin-and-bones with canary yellow stockings! Hombelle! Feathers in his helm! And a nose like yours! Long as a pelican's! Nimble on his feat, the poor birdie was. But I was nimbler! Skewered him like a rotisserie chicken! But that was back in my fighting days. . .Ah, Four Peaks. What a battle! What a war! Though too much blood spilled for the wrong reasons. Your uncle and them others. . .Rebels. Ambitious. Treasonous. Taking up arms against the crown. Sneaking around like thieves. Slaughtering their own countrymen. And for what? To be peppered by sword points? To be strung up on the royal gallows? To secure early sleeps in wooden boxes, six feet under the dirt? A damn shame."
He stared solemnly at the air in front of him, gently shaking his head. Then he glugged down a cup of wine, wiped his lips, and smiled.
"But what's this about a duel, young pecker?" he asked. "Vengeance? Danger? Death? A humbler Hombelle would let bygones be bygones. He'd sit down at the table and wet his beak. There's no better way to swallow your pride, young swallow, than with a cup of cold spring wine. Eh? What do you say? Have a seat, little rooster. Leave the strutting and cock-a-doodle-doing to the other bird-brained buffoons. You're smarter than them."
"I'll not kill you like some half-penny cutthroat," I said, my temper rising. "I won't stab you while you sit there, without armour or arms. But I'll call you coward at the top of my lungs if you won't rise to the occasion."
"Ha!" cried the fat old knight, reaching for a hunk of beef and tossing it in his mouth. He chewed as he spoke. "I'm old and drunk, I'll give you that. Older than I once was. . .though not so drunk as I'll one day be. But neither years nor booze'll ever keep me from rising to the occasion, if you know what I mean. You ask any whore south of Tiddle Market, and she'll corroborate--Sir Barry Bunger's the stiffest customer she's ever laid hands on! Always rises to the occasion. Ha ha ha!"
"Enough with your lewd nonsense!" I cried. "Stand and draw, Sir Knight!"
"A moment, lad," he said, pouring and then finishing off another cup of wine. "Ah. Mmm. Yes. A moment. Let me get my armour on, before we duel. Then I'll have at ye. But first my armour. . .Where did I put the blasted--there!"
I watched the drunken tub of guts fumble with his armour. The breast plate wouldn't fit over his bulk. He wheezed and he squeezed and pulled. Eventually, he gave up.
"Guess she'll stay loose," he said with a shrug.
He plopped on his helmet, heaved himself to his feet, and unsheathed his sword. He staggered a little, and had to lean on his weapon like a cane to keep balance.
I shook my head in disbelief.
This was the fabled knight my father had told me so many stories about? The legendary swordsman who had vanquished dozens? The hero who'd ended the civil wars with a single swift stroke to my usurping uncle's belly? The cause of our family's ruin?
He was already out of breath and sweating greasy drops like melted butter. It would be closer to butchering a fat cow than duelling!
"One little snack first," the glutton panted, raising his visor. "And then to the duel. The flashing of swords. The clanging of steel on steel. Magnificent! Glorious! Eh? Though I'd prefer a fork in my left and a knife in my right than a claymore in both, if you want the honest truth. Hmm. Yes. One little morsel before we change blows. Let me see."
He wiggled his fat stubby fingers over the heap of food on his table. Then with astonishing rapidity his hand pounced on a full wheel of cheese. With three enormous bites, the whole wheel was gone. He licked his lips as he scanned for the next morsel.
"Meat!" he exclaimed, his hand seizing a whole roast chicken in a flash. "Protein before and after any strenuous activity. Doctor's orders, young man. Doctor's orders. And I'm no rebel in the blood, like you. I heed authority. I listen to experts." He winked.
"You're eating the bones!" I cried out, disgusted by how wide his mouth could stretch, horrified to watch him shove the whole chicken in there and chew.
"Best part of the bird," he affirmed, crunching as he spoke. "Most flavour. Extra calcium. Good for a fellow in his old age." He swallowed, bones and all, and wiped his greasy fingers on his shirt. Then he snapped up another whole wheel of cheese.
"Dessert," the fat knight explained with a slight bow. Again, in a few quick chomps, the wheel of cheese was no more.
Sir Barry Bunger patted his belly and sighed with contentment. With the tip of his tongue, he worked at a piece of chicken stuck between his molars. Then he snagged and swigged from the bottle of wine, gulp after gulp, until it was empty.
I was so impressed and mortified by his display that my guard was totally down. When he swung the bottle at my head, I failed to react in time, and it smashed upon my temple.
"Have at you!" he cried.
I fell to the ground in pain, seeing stars. Though I never blacked out, I was close. And all the while I could hear his thunderous footsteps rumbling across the creaky bar floor.
By the time I regained my composure and looked up, the coward was gone.
\- - -
I now see the prompt said *during* combat. I suppose Sir Bunger hoovered his food during their combative battle of wits.
r/CLBHos | |
[WP] In the midst of combat, the villain watches in terror, as the hero swallows an entire roast chicken and two cheese wheels at once. | I felt the presence of the man long before he reached my chambers. I could faintly hear the noises of him fighting my fellow fallen warriors within the crypt. As he entered my chambers, I waited until he would be able to see my coffin, then made my move. I blew the lid off my coffin and stood. My movements were precise, measured. I had always enjoyed a dramatic entrance. But the invader ignored me. He grabbed some dusty potions from a long-forgotten shelf. He stuffed them in his bag with barely a glance. He also grabbed on old bowl, some herbs, and a bucket. I thought it strange, but I didn't care for the items. I wasn't quite sure how they even got here in the first place. The potions would probably have gone bad, if that was even possible.
I didn't care for the items, but I did care about his nonchalance. I was a feared soldier in life and in death, I would not be ignored. I started toward him, dragging my sword behind me. The tip had long since dulled, and I didn't have the fine motor control to keep it aloft as I walked. He finally seemed to decide to give me the time of day, and turned to face me, drawing his weapon. A warhammer of the same era as myself. As I realized that he must have taken it off one of my men, I advanced, enraged. I swung wildly at him, with a windup that even the most inexperienced fighter could have avoided. A downside of my body being held together by little more than rotting muscle and hardened skin. He avoided my swing, and went low, hitting me hard with the hammer. It barely hurt - I had long since abandoned mortal feelings of pain - but I knew it would leave lasting damage that my body would no longer naturally heal. An annoyance.
The stranger scowled, and mumbled under his breath. He spoke a language I could not understand. My native language had fallen from prominence, it seemed. No matter, I had not spoken my own language since my death. Instead, I used some Words of Power I had learned long ago. The words were laced with a magical force, and knocked my attacker him from his feet. I took the opportunity to get a solid hit in, my sword digging deep into his armor. As blood sprung from the wound, I wasted no time hitting him again. He stood and backed away, but I closed the distance and once again landed a heavy blow. This time, though, he managed to trade with me, landing another hard hit with his hammer.
We both took a few steps back, reeling from the hits. He swung his bag around, digging through it with vigor. I longed for the day when a mixture of herbs would help knit together my wounds. He dug past weapons, armor, books, bowls, baskets, solid gold bars... if I hadn't been so shocked by the sheer number of items within his bag, I might have tried to finish him off while he was distracted. His face lit up as he found what he was looking for.
He started to pull all sorts of food from the depths of the bag. He turned an apple into a core with impressive speed, then popped the core into his mouth as he took a swig of some expensive aged wine. He pulled out a few pastries, eating them in a bite or two each, dual-wielding baked goods like he couldn't decide which to eat first. I took the chance to reel back for another swing... but then he pulled out an entire cheese wheel. I paused. I thought if I lopped off his head right now, I'd miss what was sure to be a feat for the ages. And I was right. As I watched, he did the impossible.
Like a drunk dairy farmer trying to win a bet, he jammed cheese into his mouth faster than any man I had ever met - and I had feasted with Vikings.
As he finished the cheese wheel, I noticed the bleeding of his wounds begin to slow. My confusion was only interrupted by abject horror as he pulled out an entire rotisserie chicken. It wasn't exactly well-preserved, but he ate it with the same raucous gobbling he had demonstrated with all of the other food he had pulled from the depths of the bag. I was almost certain he ate the bones, too, but I didn't have time to process that as he pulled out another entire wheel of cheese, and began to eat that too. Whatever bizarre intimidation technique he was displaying had worked already. I'd given up after the first cheese wheel. I wished I spoke his language, I'd plead with him to stop this madness.
As he finished off three bottles of cheap mead, he once again readied himself for battle. His wounds had completely healed. He smiled, and belched. I dropped my sword and threw my hands up in surrender. He wasted no time lodging the warhammer's sharp end in my head. As my consciousness faded, my opponent coughed up a chicken bone. He considered it for second, then used it to pick his teeth as he dug through my belongings. With that, I closed my eyes. My life was complete, because I had truly seen it all. | I was amused when I saw him, for the first time. His wide face, rosy with drink. His huge belly, stretching the seams of his shirt. He was sitting at a table in a dingy bar, alone, drinking wine by the cupful. Before him was heaped tons of food. Some of it, already bitten into; a great deal, yet untouched. Beside him sat his sword and his armour.
I stood before his table and straightened my back. I pulled off my helmet and unsheathed my sword. I knocked the table with the hilt.
"Dear Sir Bunger!" I cried to the fat old knight. "I am Clarence Hombelle. Son of Douglas Hombelle. Nephew of the great Sir Jonathon Hombelle, whom you slew. I have searched for months to find you. I have waited many years for this night. I am here to avenge my uncle's death, and to restore honour to our family name. I am here to kill you, Sir Bunger. So stand and fight."
The fat old knight looked up from the table. He gazed at me with sleepy eyes. "What's that now?" he asked. "Ham bell? I'd sure like a ham bell, to ring whenever I crave a handful of bacons. Or a nice juicy chop. Or a half-dozen sausages. Ding-a-ling-ding. A ham bell. See?"
He didn't seem to understand. He was too drunk. I would have to drive the point home.
"Sir Jonathan Hombelle was my uncle," I repeated. "Fourteen years ago, you duelled him in the battle of Four Peaks, and killed him with a thrust through the gut. Since that wretched day, our family has languished. Our fortunes have sunk to the bottom of the mire. I have come to duel you, in the hopes that your death will pull us out of the wretched state into which we have descended. Stand, sir knight, and duel me. Either your life or mine concludes tonight."
"Hombelle," the inebriated corpulent said to himself, as if tasting the word. "Hombelle. Sir Hombelle. . .Yes! Yes, lad! Of course! The young skin-and-bones with canary yellow stockings! Hombelle! Feathers in his helm! And a nose like yours! Long as a pelican's! Nimble on his feat, the poor birdie was. But I was nimbler! Skewered him like a rotisserie chicken! But that was back in my fighting days. . .Ah, Four Peaks. What a battle! What a war! Though too much blood spilled for the wrong reasons. Your uncle and them others. . .Rebels. Ambitious. Treasonous. Taking up arms against the crown. Sneaking around like thieves. Slaughtering their own countrymen. And for what? To be peppered by sword points? To be strung up on the royal gallows? To secure early sleeps in wooden boxes, six feet under the dirt? A damn shame."
He stared solemnly at the air in front of him, gently shaking his head. Then he glugged down a cup of wine, wiped his lips, and smiled.
"But what's this about a duel, young pecker?" he asked. "Vengeance? Danger? Death? A humbler Hombelle would let bygones be bygones. He'd sit down at the table and wet his beak. There's no better way to swallow your pride, young swallow, than with a cup of cold spring wine. Eh? What do you say? Have a seat, little rooster. Leave the strutting and cock-a-doodle-doing to the other bird-brained buffoons. You're smarter than them."
"I'll not kill you like some half-penny cutthroat," I said, my temper rising. "I won't stab you while you sit there, without armour or arms. But I'll call you coward at the top of my lungs if you won't rise to the occasion."
"Ha!" cried the fat old knight, reaching for a hunk of beef and tossing it in his mouth. He chewed as he spoke. "I'm old and drunk, I'll give you that. Older than I once was. . .though not so drunk as I'll one day be. But neither years nor booze'll ever keep me from rising to the occasion, if you know what I mean. You ask any whore south of Tiddle Market, and she'll corroborate--Sir Barry Bunger's the stiffest customer she's ever laid hands on! Always rises to the occasion. Ha ha ha!"
"Enough with your lewd nonsense!" I cried. "Stand and draw, Sir Knight!"
"A moment, lad," he said, pouring and then finishing off another cup of wine. "Ah. Mmm. Yes. A moment. Let me get my armour on, before we duel. Then I'll have at ye. But first my armour. . .Where did I put the blasted--there!"
I watched the drunken tub of guts fumble with his armour. The breast plate wouldn't fit over his bulk. He wheezed and he squeezed and pulled. Eventually, he gave up.
"Guess she'll stay loose," he said with a shrug.
He plopped on his helmet, heaved himself to his feet, and unsheathed his sword. He staggered a little, and had to lean on his weapon like a cane to keep balance.
I shook my head in disbelief.
This was the fabled knight my father had told me so many stories about? The legendary swordsman who had vanquished dozens? The hero who'd ended the civil wars with a single swift stroke to my usurping uncle's belly? The cause of our family's ruin?
He was already out of breath and sweating greasy drops like melted butter. It would be closer to butchering a fat cow than duelling!
"One little snack first," the glutton panted, raising his visor. "And then to the duel. The flashing of swords. The clanging of steel on steel. Magnificent! Glorious! Eh? Though I'd prefer a fork in my left and a knife in my right than a claymore in both, if you want the honest truth. Hmm. Yes. One little morsel before we change blows. Let me see."
He wiggled his fat stubby fingers over the heap of food on his table. Then with astonishing rapidity his hand pounced on a full wheel of cheese. With three enormous bites, the whole wheel was gone. He licked his lips as he scanned for the next morsel.
"Meat!" he exclaimed, his hand seizing a whole roast chicken in a flash. "Protein before and after any strenuous activity. Doctor's orders, young man. Doctor's orders. And I'm no rebel in the blood, like you. I heed authority. I listen to experts." He winked.
"You're eating the bones!" I cried out, disgusted by how wide his mouth could stretch, horrified to watch him shove the whole chicken in there and chew.
"Best part of the bird," he affirmed, crunching as he spoke. "Most flavour. Extra calcium. Good for a fellow in his old age." He swallowed, bones and all, and wiped his greasy fingers on his shirt. Then he snapped up another whole wheel of cheese.
"Dessert," the fat knight explained with a slight bow. Again, in a few quick chomps, the wheel of cheese was no more.
Sir Barry Bunger patted his belly and sighed with contentment. With the tip of his tongue, he worked at a piece of chicken stuck between his molars. Then he snagged and swigged from the bottle of wine, gulp after gulp, until it was empty.
I was so impressed and mortified by his display that my guard was totally down. When he swung the bottle at my head, I failed to react in time, and it smashed upon my temple.
"Have at you!" he cried.
I fell to the ground in pain, seeing stars. Though I never blacked out, I was close. And all the while I could hear his thunderous footsteps rumbling across the creaky bar floor.
By the time I regained my composure and looked up, the coward was gone.
\- - -
I now see the prompt said *during* combat. I suppose Sir Bunger hoovered his food during their combative battle of wits.
r/CLBHos | |
[WP] In the midst of combat, the villain watches in terror, as the hero swallows an entire roast chicken and two cheese wheels at once. | "Do you... Do you want an antacid or something?" Dr. Malediction lowered his death ray and stepped away from the doomsday console, ponderously scratching the base of his pale skull. "That cannot have been healthy."
"Be silent, villain. Your lies will not make me stray from my mission!" The White Knight raged, his hand clasped around his Sword of Truth. "With my health restored, I will rid the kingdom of your evil machinations and all shall see that *I*, Sir Gawain the Righteous, are worthy to ask the princess' hand in marriage."
"You mean the prime minister's daughter? We're a constitutional monar..."
"Silence, fiend! I have scaled the steps of your infernal tower, have vanquished your minions and not even your death ray can stop me. Kneel before me and beg, and I might just let you live."
Dr. Malediction looked unphased. "...You could have taken the elevator, you know. Anyway, are you sure you're alright? You look a bit pale. I've got an x-ray machine in the back that..."
"Cease your malevolent pontification, villain. Your words shall not lead me astray from my sacred path! My... my..." The White Knight trembled. His gauntleted hand scratched at his gleaming breastplate. "My holy sword will... will banish you to the deepest pit of the... Inferno, *fiend*." As he spat out the final word, embers erupted from the Knight's Sword of Truth.
"Nice monologue, cheap party trick... But seriously, let me take a look. I *am* a medical doctor, you know." Dr. Malediction pressed a button and a compartment of his doomsday console hissed open. "I've got a first aid kit right here," he continued, wafting away clouds of sulphurous smoke that emerged from the machine.
The White Knight's face had turned paler than his armour, yet he remained defiant: "The Divine protects me, demon. No... No witchcraft of yours can... can change that. My quest... my god-given quest... will... will..." His hand clawed feebly at his breastplate. The Sword of Truth fell to the ground, it's embers extinguished. "What... have... you..."
"I think you did this to yourself, mate. I can practically smell the cholesterol on your breath." Dr. Malediction lay a sincere claw across his cloaked chest. "Anyhow, let me finish this first, and then I'll call you an ambulance..."
Vile smoke billowed from the doomsday console as Dr. Maledication pressed a large, crimson button. Immediately, the building rumbled and shook on its foundations. Plaster rained down from the ceiling, as something was launched from one of the floors above.
"If the hospitals are still standing after this, of course..." | “And now for the finishing blow, I Fishmonger will gut you and put an end to your heroic deeds.” Fishmonger raised his hook, aiming it at the cut on the hero’s stomach, only to watch in horror as Festivica did not block the attack. Instead, they unhinged their jaw, reaching for something in the pocket of their suit.
The sides of Festivica’s suit were squished with slimy pieces of cheese that probably once made up a full two wheels. Only to melt under the incredible heat generated by suit and skin colliding with one another. Luckily his back up item was still holding up, pulling out the now cooked whole chicken, Fishmonger halting his killing blow when he noticed the chicken.
“A cooked chicken? I thought that was some type of weapon. Are you telling me you have been fighting with a cooked chicken in your clothing? That’s disgusting and unhygienic. What if some slime got onto it?” Fishmonger backed away, releasing the hero who had yet to correct his jaw.
It appeared Festivica wanted to speak, but was struggling with a small bout of lockjaw. He opted to stuff the whole chicken down his throat, watching it bulge in his throat before sliding into his stomach in an act that almost made the Fishmonger heave. He had seen some awful things, but that was by far the worst. When the food was swallowed, his jaw returned to its previous position and the cut on his stomach vanished.
“Oh, the chicken was raw when I put it into the suit and that wasn’t slime, its cheese. Do you want some?” He reached into the pits of his suit, a swishing sound coming from his clothing as he moved the hot cheese around, producing a handful to the villain who only continued to back away in terror.
“How did you hide that in your suit? What sort of freak are you? This is too much. I can’t fight you, too many health violations.” Fishmonger tried to build up the will to fight, only for that fire inside of him to extinguish. “I can’t do this. I have lived my life defying law and order, but there’s one line I never crossed in all my years. I never committed a health violation like the one you have in your suit. I wouldn’t stoop so slow, the people that buy fish from me deserve better.”
“You kill people! It’s not that weird, all the heroes do it.” Festivica bluffed, awkwardly looking at the gooey cheese in his hand, licking his lips.
“Bullshit. No one is that much of a freak. Don’t you dare lick it. I swear if you lick it, I’m going to burn down a cheese factory with you in it.” He said, shuddering as Festivica licked the mess of cheese on his hand, causing Fishmonger to collapse in disgust. “Momma, I just wanted to be a good fishmonger like you, with a little murder on the side and petty bank robbery. Is that so bad?” Fishmonger whimpered, unable to process the sight in front of him.
With the villain defeated, Festivica made the call to the cops, who hurried to the scene, giving him a strange look. “Um, you have some cheese in your hands. Do you need a napkin or something? How did you get cheese on your hands during a fight?”
Festivica tried to wipe the cheese off onto his suit, only causing it to stain the fabric. “I fell through a cheese shop.” He said, earning a raised eyebrow from the cop.
“This is the third one this week. The villains also in the same traumatic state as the last two. Are you telling me the truth? People are getting suspicious.” Festivica began to sweat as the cop continued to grill him until he raised his hands, making snow fall from the sky.
“Oh, what do you know? It’s Christmas again! How good are my festival abilities?” Before the cop could question it, Festivica crouched, legs growing a thick coating of brown fur before he bounced thirty feet into the air, bunny hopping away from the area thanks to his abilities, infusing his legs with the magic of easter.
“What a weirdo. We really need to start background checking these heroes.” The cop said to his buddy by the car, who only gave a nod as Fishmonger rolled around on the floor screaming.
“HE COOKED A RAW CHICKEN IN HIS CLOTHING.” He screamed as the cops handcuffed him and pulled into the back of the police car.
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) | |
[WP] In the midst of combat, the villain watches in terror, as the hero swallows an entire roast chicken and two cheese wheels at once. | I felt the presence of the man long before he reached my chambers. I could faintly hear the noises of him fighting my fellow fallen warriors within the crypt. As he entered my chambers, I waited until he would be able to see my coffin, then made my move. I blew the lid off my coffin and stood. My movements were precise, measured. I had always enjoyed a dramatic entrance. But the invader ignored me. He grabbed some dusty potions from a long-forgotten shelf. He stuffed them in his bag with barely a glance. He also grabbed on old bowl, some herbs, and a bucket. I thought it strange, but I didn't care for the items. I wasn't quite sure how they even got here in the first place. The potions would probably have gone bad, if that was even possible.
I didn't care for the items, but I did care about his nonchalance. I was a feared soldier in life and in death, I would not be ignored. I started toward him, dragging my sword behind me. The tip had long since dulled, and I didn't have the fine motor control to keep it aloft as I walked. He finally seemed to decide to give me the time of day, and turned to face me, drawing his weapon. A warhammer of the same era as myself. As I realized that he must have taken it off one of my men, I advanced, enraged. I swung wildly at him, with a windup that even the most inexperienced fighter could have avoided. A downside of my body being held together by little more than rotting muscle and hardened skin. He avoided my swing, and went low, hitting me hard with the hammer. It barely hurt - I had long since abandoned mortal feelings of pain - but I knew it would leave lasting damage that my body would no longer naturally heal. An annoyance.
The stranger scowled, and mumbled under his breath. He spoke a language I could not understand. My native language had fallen from prominence, it seemed. No matter, I had not spoken my own language since my death. Instead, I used some Words of Power I had learned long ago. The words were laced with a magical force, and knocked my attacker him from his feet. I took the opportunity to get a solid hit in, my sword digging deep into his armor. As blood sprung from the wound, I wasted no time hitting him again. He stood and backed away, but I closed the distance and once again landed a heavy blow. This time, though, he managed to trade with me, landing another hard hit with his hammer.
We both took a few steps back, reeling from the hits. He swung his bag around, digging through it with vigor. I longed for the day when a mixture of herbs would help knit together my wounds. He dug past weapons, armor, books, bowls, baskets, solid gold bars... if I hadn't been so shocked by the sheer number of items within his bag, I might have tried to finish him off while he was distracted. His face lit up as he found what he was looking for.
He started to pull all sorts of food from the depths of the bag. He turned an apple into a core with impressive speed, then popped the core into his mouth as he took a swig of some expensive aged wine. He pulled out a few pastries, eating them in a bite or two each, dual-wielding baked goods like he couldn't decide which to eat first. I took the chance to reel back for another swing... but then he pulled out an entire cheese wheel. I paused. I thought if I lopped off his head right now, I'd miss what was sure to be a feat for the ages. And I was right. As I watched, he did the impossible.
Like a drunk dairy farmer trying to win a bet, he jammed cheese into his mouth faster than any man I had ever met - and I had feasted with Vikings.
As he finished the cheese wheel, I noticed the bleeding of his wounds begin to slow. My confusion was only interrupted by abject horror as he pulled out an entire rotisserie chicken. It wasn't exactly well-preserved, but he ate it with the same raucous gobbling he had demonstrated with all of the other food he had pulled from the depths of the bag. I was almost certain he ate the bones, too, but I didn't have time to process that as he pulled out another entire wheel of cheese, and began to eat that too. Whatever bizarre intimidation technique he was displaying had worked already. I'd given up after the first cheese wheel. I wished I spoke his language, I'd plead with him to stop this madness.
As he finished off three bottles of cheap mead, he once again readied himself for battle. His wounds had completely healed. He smiled, and belched. I dropped my sword and threw my hands up in surrender. He wasted no time lodging the warhammer's sharp end in my head. As my consciousness faded, my opponent coughed up a chicken bone. He considered it for second, then used it to pick his teeth as he dug through my belongings. With that, I closed my eyes. My life was complete, because I had truly seen it all. | “And now for the finishing blow, I Fishmonger will gut you and put an end to your heroic deeds.” Fishmonger raised his hook, aiming it at the cut on the hero’s stomach, only to watch in horror as Festivica did not block the attack. Instead, they unhinged their jaw, reaching for something in the pocket of their suit.
The sides of Festivica’s suit were squished with slimy pieces of cheese that probably once made up a full two wheels. Only to melt under the incredible heat generated by suit and skin colliding with one another. Luckily his back up item was still holding up, pulling out the now cooked whole chicken, Fishmonger halting his killing blow when he noticed the chicken.
“A cooked chicken? I thought that was some type of weapon. Are you telling me you have been fighting with a cooked chicken in your clothing? That’s disgusting and unhygienic. What if some slime got onto it?” Fishmonger backed away, releasing the hero who had yet to correct his jaw.
It appeared Festivica wanted to speak, but was struggling with a small bout of lockjaw. He opted to stuff the whole chicken down his throat, watching it bulge in his throat before sliding into his stomach in an act that almost made the Fishmonger heave. He had seen some awful things, but that was by far the worst. When the food was swallowed, his jaw returned to its previous position and the cut on his stomach vanished.
“Oh, the chicken was raw when I put it into the suit and that wasn’t slime, its cheese. Do you want some?” He reached into the pits of his suit, a swishing sound coming from his clothing as he moved the hot cheese around, producing a handful to the villain who only continued to back away in terror.
“How did you hide that in your suit? What sort of freak are you? This is too much. I can’t fight you, too many health violations.” Fishmonger tried to build up the will to fight, only for that fire inside of him to extinguish. “I can’t do this. I have lived my life defying law and order, but there’s one line I never crossed in all my years. I never committed a health violation like the one you have in your suit. I wouldn’t stoop so slow, the people that buy fish from me deserve better.”
“You kill people! It’s not that weird, all the heroes do it.” Festivica bluffed, awkwardly looking at the gooey cheese in his hand, licking his lips.
“Bullshit. No one is that much of a freak. Don’t you dare lick it. I swear if you lick it, I’m going to burn down a cheese factory with you in it.” He said, shuddering as Festivica licked the mess of cheese on his hand, causing Fishmonger to collapse in disgust. “Momma, I just wanted to be a good fishmonger like you, with a little murder on the side and petty bank robbery. Is that so bad?” Fishmonger whimpered, unable to process the sight in front of him.
With the villain defeated, Festivica made the call to the cops, who hurried to the scene, giving him a strange look. “Um, you have some cheese in your hands. Do you need a napkin or something? How did you get cheese on your hands during a fight?”
Festivica tried to wipe the cheese off onto his suit, only causing it to stain the fabric. “I fell through a cheese shop.” He said, earning a raised eyebrow from the cop.
“This is the third one this week. The villains also in the same traumatic state as the last two. Are you telling me the truth? People are getting suspicious.” Festivica began to sweat as the cop continued to grill him until he raised his hands, making snow fall from the sky.
“Oh, what do you know? It’s Christmas again! How good are my festival abilities?” Before the cop could question it, Festivica crouched, legs growing a thick coating of brown fur before he bounced thirty feet into the air, bunny hopping away from the area thanks to his abilities, infusing his legs with the magic of easter.
“What a weirdo. We really need to start background checking these heroes.” The cop said to his buddy by the car, who only gave a nod as Fishmonger rolled around on the floor screaming.
“HE COOKED A RAW CHICKEN IN HIS CLOTHING.” He screamed as the cops handcuffed him and pulled into the back of the police car.
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) | |
[WP] In the midst of combat, the villain watches in terror, as the hero swallows an entire roast chicken and two cheese wheels at once. | I felt the presence of the man long before he reached my chambers. I could faintly hear the noises of him fighting my fellow fallen warriors within the crypt. As he entered my chambers, I waited until he would be able to see my coffin, then made my move. I blew the lid off my coffin and stood. My movements were precise, measured. I had always enjoyed a dramatic entrance. But the invader ignored me. He grabbed some dusty potions from a long-forgotten shelf. He stuffed them in his bag with barely a glance. He also grabbed on old bowl, some herbs, and a bucket. I thought it strange, but I didn't care for the items. I wasn't quite sure how they even got here in the first place. The potions would probably have gone bad, if that was even possible.
I didn't care for the items, but I did care about his nonchalance. I was a feared soldier in life and in death, I would not be ignored. I started toward him, dragging my sword behind me. The tip had long since dulled, and I didn't have the fine motor control to keep it aloft as I walked. He finally seemed to decide to give me the time of day, and turned to face me, drawing his weapon. A warhammer of the same era as myself. As I realized that he must have taken it off one of my men, I advanced, enraged. I swung wildly at him, with a windup that even the most inexperienced fighter could have avoided. A downside of my body being held together by little more than rotting muscle and hardened skin. He avoided my swing, and went low, hitting me hard with the hammer. It barely hurt - I had long since abandoned mortal feelings of pain - but I knew it would leave lasting damage that my body would no longer naturally heal. An annoyance.
The stranger scowled, and mumbled under his breath. He spoke a language I could not understand. My native language had fallen from prominence, it seemed. No matter, I had not spoken my own language since my death. Instead, I used some Words of Power I had learned long ago. The words were laced with a magical force, and knocked my attacker him from his feet. I took the opportunity to get a solid hit in, my sword digging deep into his armor. As blood sprung from the wound, I wasted no time hitting him again. He stood and backed away, but I closed the distance and once again landed a heavy blow. This time, though, he managed to trade with me, landing another hard hit with his hammer.
We both took a few steps back, reeling from the hits. He swung his bag around, digging through it with vigor. I longed for the day when a mixture of herbs would help knit together my wounds. He dug past weapons, armor, books, bowls, baskets, solid gold bars... if I hadn't been so shocked by the sheer number of items within his bag, I might have tried to finish him off while he was distracted. His face lit up as he found what he was looking for.
He started to pull all sorts of food from the depths of the bag. He turned an apple into a core with impressive speed, then popped the core into his mouth as he took a swig of some expensive aged wine. He pulled out a few pastries, eating them in a bite or two each, dual-wielding baked goods like he couldn't decide which to eat first. I took the chance to reel back for another swing... but then he pulled out an entire cheese wheel. I paused. I thought if I lopped off his head right now, I'd miss what was sure to be a feat for the ages. And I was right. As I watched, he did the impossible.
Like a drunk dairy farmer trying to win a bet, he jammed cheese into his mouth faster than any man I had ever met - and I had feasted with Vikings.
As he finished the cheese wheel, I noticed the bleeding of his wounds begin to slow. My confusion was only interrupted by abject horror as he pulled out an entire rotisserie chicken. It wasn't exactly well-preserved, but he ate it with the same raucous gobbling he had demonstrated with all of the other food he had pulled from the depths of the bag. I was almost certain he ate the bones, too, but I didn't have time to process that as he pulled out another entire wheel of cheese, and began to eat that too. Whatever bizarre intimidation technique he was displaying had worked already. I'd given up after the first cheese wheel. I wished I spoke his language, I'd plead with him to stop this madness.
As he finished off three bottles of cheap mead, he once again readied himself for battle. His wounds had completely healed. He smiled, and belched. I dropped my sword and threw my hands up in surrender. He wasted no time lodging the warhammer's sharp end in my head. As my consciousness faded, my opponent coughed up a chicken bone. He considered it for second, then used it to pick his teeth as he dug through my belongings. With that, I closed my eyes. My life was complete, because I had truly seen it all. | "Do you... Do you want an antacid or something?" Dr. Malediction lowered his death ray and stepped away from the doomsday console, ponderously scratching the base of his pale skull. "That cannot have been healthy."
"Be silent, villain. Your lies will not make me stray from my mission!" The White Knight raged, his hand clasped around his Sword of Truth. "With my health restored, I will rid the kingdom of your evil machinations and all shall see that *I*, Sir Gawain the Righteous, are worthy to ask the princess' hand in marriage."
"You mean the prime minister's daughter? We're a constitutional monar..."
"Silence, fiend! I have scaled the steps of your infernal tower, have vanquished your minions and not even your death ray can stop me. Kneel before me and beg, and I might just let you live."
Dr. Malediction looked unphased. "...You could have taken the elevator, you know. Anyway, are you sure you're alright? You look a bit pale. I've got an x-ray machine in the back that..."
"Cease your malevolent pontification, villain. Your words shall not lead me astray from my sacred path! My... my..." The White Knight trembled. His gauntleted hand scratched at his gleaming breastplate. "My holy sword will... will banish you to the deepest pit of the... Inferno, *fiend*." As he spat out the final word, embers erupted from the Knight's Sword of Truth.
"Nice monologue, cheap party trick... But seriously, let me take a look. I *am* a medical doctor, you know." Dr. Malediction pressed a button and a compartment of his doomsday console hissed open. "I've got a first aid kit right here," he continued, wafting away clouds of sulphurous smoke that emerged from the machine.
The White Knight's face had turned paler than his armour, yet he remained defiant: "The Divine protects me, demon. No... No witchcraft of yours can... can change that. My quest... my god-given quest... will... will..." His hand clawed feebly at his breastplate. The Sword of Truth fell to the ground, it's embers extinguished. "What... have... you..."
"I think you did this to yourself, mate. I can practically smell the cholesterol on your breath." Dr. Malediction lay a sincere claw across his cloaked chest. "Anyhow, let me finish this first, and then I'll call you an ambulance..."
Vile smoke billowed from the doomsday console as Dr. Maledication pressed a large, crimson button. Immediately, the building rumbled and shook on its foundations. Plaster rained down from the ceiling, as something was launched from one of the floors above.
"If the hospitals are still standing after this, of course..." | |
[WP] You are an all-powerful warlord, unmatched in your strength. Today a lowly knight challenged you in your throne room and died with a single strike. Suddenly you feel dizzy, and you're back in your throne. The same knight walks in, and dodges your first swing. | It was probably the tenth time that the pup in mismatched armor with a dented shield and that shabby excuse for a blade screamed "Die Destroyer!" that I realized that I was going to be doing this for a while. So I stopped the fight. Dropped my sword, held my hands up and just like that-
-I'm sitting in my throne again. The doors open again. and this nuisance walks in. Again.
And again.
Again again again again.
That kind of thing isn't natural, obviously. I had asked all the questions. Am I going crazy? Am I being punished by some God who finally looked down on this barren creation and didn't like that I had brought order to chaos?
I, who ended the water wars, united the tribes, and managed to civilize these backwater, uneducated, homicidal barbarians?
No wait, I fought barbarians. These assholes just snuck around, setting fire to each other's camps, letting the earth do the dirty work for them.
But enough about me, back to this guy that is screaming "Die Destroyer!" so dramatically for the 5,736th time.
I've been counting.
This time, I finally try the one thing I should have done all along. I keep my magnificent, world conquering, superiorly armored ass in my seat. "No."
And just like that, he stops. "What do you mean, No?"
And that's more words than he's ever actually said in this room. "No, I'm not fighting you. You can't win. And for whatever arcane reason, if you can't win, I have to keep fighting you til you do."
He deflates. "I will learn."
I laugh. "Eventually. But tell me, what does the magic feel like, for you? Has it been pleasant, this vicious cycle that strips away your mind? I want to move forward. You need to. Before you forget why you're doing this."
"So how am I to do that, with you alive? He sounds broken. "I don't even know why I came for you in the first place. "
I stare horrified. He slumps down. There's a nervous chatter going through the court. A helmet rolls from a desperate man. A man that comes for me in my dreams.
Every great conqueror starts somewhere. As much as I would like to play the benevolent savior, my blood was not spilled for this world's sins.
Quite the opposite.
Here before me, is my first kill. My most angry moment in my life. The man who forged my path for me. "Tell me, do you even know who you are?"
Tears are streaming down his face. As defeated as my words have made him where my sword has failed, I feel hollow as he sobs out a single syllable. Steeling himself, he forces himself up, retrieving his helmet, and charging at me.
And in that moment, I know I am dead.
I am paying, finally, for my sins.
I am in hell.
My father said yes. | (First time writing here, so here goes.)
My sword slammed into the ground, leaving a large gash in the stone floor of my throne room, the clang if metal echoing throughout. The somewhat meek-looking knight seemed to breathe a sigh of relief, and threw out a poorly performed thrust with his blade, which left him off balance. I stepped to the side to dodge it, grabbed the blade, and stabbed him through his stomach.
Then, there was that dizzy feeling again, and the next thing I knew, I was on my throne again for the third time. Yet again, the pathetic knight stepped into my throne room and challenge me. Before walking down to him, I glared at him, and he seemed to be frightened. This time, rather than casually walk down the steps from my throne, I slowly stepped down, staring at him the whole time. Upon arriving in front of him, I sighed and readied myself. Just like before, he dodged my vertical swing. Again, that wretched clanging sound echoed through the room and my ears. He didn't seem as relieved this time, though. He did his thrust attack just as before, but it was with much more technique this time around. I stepped to the side again, but since he wasn't off balance this time, he was able to swing his sword at me immediately. I used the pommel of my sword to knock his away, disarming him. Angrily, I yelled at him; "What kind of trickery is this? Why are you doing this!?" He gave a surprised yelp, realizing I had been remembering everything.
Then that dizzy feeling again, and I'm back to my throne. The knight again walked in, but with a much different expression on his face; one of pure fear. But still, he issued his challenge just like he had earlier. I took a deep breath as I looked upon the cowardly, trickster knight. Even with his plate armor and his rather nasty looking blade, he still looked weak. There was a bit more confidence there than when he first arrived, but he was still far from an actual warrior. As I silently walked down towards him, absent-mindedly glancing around at the guards and advisors that were also present in the room, I came up with an idea which I should've come up with before. 'If he can change his actions, then perhaps I could try something different to surprise him again.' I smirked as I arrived in front of him. I lifted up my arm, preparing to slam my blade down as before. The knight dodged preemptively. I smiled as I kicked his leg out from under him and beheaded him. There was no more dizzy feeling. I laughed, happy to be done with him. And then that same feeling was back.
Yet again, I opened my eyes to see the knight challenging me like always. However, at this point, I had had just about enough of this. This repetitious fight had been getting on my nerves for a while now, and I was beginning to get curious why the knight had decided to fight me. Did he intend to claim my kingdom? My riches? Did he come to slay me on behalf of one of the lords I had bested? And how was he able to do this? To seem to reverse time itself? I stood up, and gestures for the guards and the others in the room to leave. The knight looked around, confused as they exited. I stood in front of him again. "Perhaps we can talk instead. Surely you realize by now that you can't win, no matter how much you try." The knight gave me a look of anger mixed with more confusion. "How are you remembering all this? You shouldn't be able to! The spell was meant to work so that no one could!" He seemed rather desperate to know, and as he said this, I began to wonder myself. I then recalled a charm I had been gifted after allowing a sage to stay in my fortress. It was the only item of magical nature that I owned. "I suppose it's due to this charm a sage had given me, many years back." I showed it to the knight, and he looked at it, bewildered. Having answered his question, I asked him mine. "Now, tell me already: why are you here, and why are you able to just...force back time like that?" The knight seemed very hesitant to say anything. After a moment, he spoke. "Well...I've been roaming this land taking on tough opponents. I wanted to be the greatest warrior, but I haven't really been capable of much on my own. One day, this sage came to my hometown. He asked me if he could stay for the night, and I let him. In the morning, he was gone, and left this charm." He pulled out a charm that looked almost exactly like mine, but with some different carvings watched into it. "If I die or simply if I will it to happen, I'll go back in time to a very recent moment. I guess he was the same sage you met, and that's why you're the only person able to remember anything."
Challenging the best warriors and using some time reversing charm to beat them? What a sad idea. It was clear the boy wasn't a very good fighter.but maybe...I spoke up. "I have an idea. I'll train you to make you a better warrior. In return, I want you to stop challenging me and using that charm to reverse time." The boy perked up a bit, but still seemed unsure. "But, well..." After a while more of thinking, he seemed to make up his mind. "Alright. After you train me, I promise I won't use the charm anymore. After all, if you're the one who's training me, why would I need it?" The boy smirked. I chuckled and nodded, and for many months I helped to train him. When it was time for him to leave, we both destroyed our respective charms. After a moment of silence, we noticed a family person on the horizon. The sage, looking much older than I remember him being, but still easily recognizable, waved to us before disappearing over the hill. Me and the now proper knight went our separate ways for many years. However, today I've heard that a familiar knight is heading to my fortress. All that's left to do is wait here for him to challenge me.
(END)
(Okay, that went on longer than I expected. I'm sure there's a ton of stuff I'd need to work on since I don't really write much at all, but I've been seeing cool prompts here for a while and just kinda went for it.) | |
[WP] The human entrance onto the galactic stage has made the job of bounty hunters and assassins difficult: If a target has befriended a human, the human must be killed also. For a human bereaved is the most terrifying of sapients, and ancestors help those who disregard this. | ”No–” Tithax breathed out, back pressed against the cold metal wall of the hall he stood in, and tredapidation clearly evident in his voice. ”...that can’t be.”
The source of the Djokrian’s distress laid shattered in endless bits and pieces on the otherwise pristine floor. A seemingly oversized cog had flown a bit farther away from the main heap of delicately crafted and assembled metal parts. The pile buzzed and moved slightly as a wing part ran out of the last of its power.
Tithrax trembled at the sight of what just moments ago had been a highly intricate piece of machinery. There had been nothing threatening or even remotely dangerous about the little thing. All it had done when the unsuspecting man had entered the room was to unfurl it’s wings and take flight from the workspace someone had left it on. It was the speed that had startled Tithrax so badly at first; the contraption had been quicker than even the worst of harvest bugs from his own planet. Within half-a-blink, Tithrax had reflexively struck out at the offending machine and sent it flying across the room. Surprisingly, it had actually broken beyond fathomable repair just from that one hit. The supposed attack still unnerved him greatly. He knew no adversary who would send such a half-hearted scare and be done with it.
Still perforation ran down Talvari’s forehead. He shakily brought his communication bracelet closer to his bleak face. ”Main Bridge, this is Tithrax from Lower Deck. I repeat, this is-”
His communication attempt was met with static as he shook the device in frustration. Of all the times it could choose to malfunction...!
”Toff,” he tried again, redirecting the channel to one of his colleagues who worked on the deck he was trying to reach. ”Toff, are you there? We have a major security breach-”
The voice that replied back was definitely his colleague, but the static made it impossible to understand anything that made it through. Tithrax’ usually vibrant skin, a feature he, like all other Djokri, prided themselves on, became even more bleak to the point that he looked positively half-dead by his species’ standards.
Wide-open eyes darted back over to the broken machine. It seemed to mock him with the sudden realisation of its origins. That design. The way it had been assembled. Even the foreign material itself. It screamed of one species, and one species only. Humans.
”No. No, no, no, n-” several expletives that would put even Valtrish vocavulary to shame left Tithrax. The one thing about humans that actually stuck in the alien’s mind now re-surfaced. Humans were endurance predators. There was a reason why running from an encounter with humans was considered a death sentence to his kind. His species that had evolved to overpower, not outlast. Now, it seemed, his past had finally caught up with him. Waltzing up to his side as if without a single care in the world. The evil gleam directed right at him, though, spoke otherwise.
”Clever of you to hide away on a transport ship, Djokrian. It took me a while to find the right one.”
No. No, it didn’t. Not long enough at least. Not to Tithrax who, courtesy of his species, was supposed to live a life at least five times the lifespan of the one staring him down.
”I suppose you might not remember me,” the human continued.
Oh, but how wrong they were. Of course Tithrax remembered. How could they forget the moment they had made the singlemost most fatal mistake in their life?
”...zal. Their name was Razal. Though we called them Raz for short.”
The alien blanched. He could care less about the name of one of his old missions. But the look in the human’s eyes. It was unlike anything he had ever seen or was familiar with, but it promised terrible things.
”Well, since you don’t seem to be in a mood to speak, I guess there’s little point in wasting more time.” The human shrugged and effortlessly produced two minuscule gun-like contraptions from underneath their coat.
”W-wait! I can explain!” Tithrax scrambled, dragged out of their panicked stupor.
The human looked utterly unimpressed. ”I’m really not looking for explanations.” They raised the weapons.
”Then... then what are you looking for? I can– I’m sure I can provide it!”
An ice-cold shiver ran down Tithrax’ spine when two teary eyes pierced his.
”I’ve only been looking for one single thing these last four years.”
Their voice cracked, and the last thing Tithrax ever registered was a slightly high-pitched: ”Revenge.” | "Alright wannabes, this is the final section in the Bounty Hunter Licensing Course. You've made it this far and now we get to the good stuff. Target "etiquette". More precisely, the dos and don'ts of the job. We'll start with Humans. Any questions before we start?"
"Yeah, as a human, do I really need this part?"
"Right, this is the first time a human has applied for a license and got this far. There's three of you here today, and yes, all of you need to pay attention. Humans have the strongest pack bonds of any species, as I'm sure you know, and that can make things a little complicated. Humans are unique in that they can form pack bonds with anything, even inanimate objects. You commonly see this in the form of applying pet names to weapons or transportation. Questions on this?"
*Silence*
"Good. A quick history lesson now. When humans were first observed they were primitive. It's what humans called the "Stone Age". Nearly everything on their planet was faster, larger, and stronger than them. The reason they rose to dominance is because of how rapidly they heal, even from nearly fatal wounds. They developed pack tactics, allowing them to either use their combined strength to overpower or use their numbers to terrify larger beasts. They also developed incredible stamina. This allowed them to just walk after a much faster beast untill it became too tired to run away. Questions?"
"What does this have to do with hunting a human for bounty?"
"EVERYTHING! These aren't just physical tactics, these are mindsets. Because they bond so strongly even with members of other species, if your target has a human friend with them, you have to eliminate that human AND cover your tracks or that human's friends will become a problem. They will tirelessly scour the entire universe if they need to in the name of revenge. Because they rely on teamwork it is an easy matter for them to rally hundred of others to join their hunt! If your target is the friend of a human, whether that target is human themselves or not, you have to be very careful. Even if you are careful, you could end up with the entirety of the human species hunting for you. Does this all make sense to everyone? A single human is hardly a threat, but when you take out a single human you end up with ten of them calling for your blood. The same applies to a member of another species that has a human friend. Are we clear?"
*Silence*
"Good, we'll cover strategies to deal with this in the future. We'll discuss the intricacies of how to handle a Vanari next. Take five everyone."
*Thanks for reading! Leave any feedback in the comments, I'm always looking to improve! I shamelessly ripped the "dialog only" style off from u/just_for_this_moment as seen above. Hadn't done it yet and decided to try it out!* | |
[WP] The human entrance onto the galactic stage has made the job of bounty hunters and assassins difficult: If a target has befriended a human, the human must be killed also. For a human bereaved is the most terrifying of sapients, and ancestors help those who disregard this. | Elias, of the planet Turmos, had lived a long, healthy life as a bounty hunter. His name had traveled through the galaxy as half-living legend, half-myth, and there was not many of his species who did not know his tale. They would carry on his story. Yet, his long and healthy life (half of an average humans due to the Yolaves ancestry in his blood), was coming to and end. And he knew it.
Elias had ripped usurpers from their thrones, politicians from their corrupted podiums, and now and then, would run a favor for someone on his world. His adventures had taken him across the galaxy, from the outer territories, to the inner sanctum of the Council. There was only one place he had never gone, and for the first (and last) time in his life, he had watched the Great Waterfalls on Cantix VII, feeling water brush against his hardy leather skin.
"You know," he spoke aloud, to no one in particular, "I always knew you would come. It's just, you age so slowly."
No one replied, but he did hear the soft footsteps of another being come up to him. Elias was sitting on the edge of a cliff, watching the sun set on the final planet he'd ever step foot on. To die at home was never a Yolaves trait.
"The falls are quite beautiful," he said, his eyes stretching to the heavens. Mountains of rock floated in the sky, waterfalls ran down and rained upon the tropical forests, giving life and energy to those on the ground. "I had never been, but when I heard about your inquiries, I knew it was a matter of time. So here I am."
"You know who I am?" The being finally said.
"I do," he said. "A mistake from when I was new to this field of work, a young and naïve Yolaves hoping to make his place in this galaxy."
"That all I am? A mistake?"
Elias shrugged, he wasn't sure what to say. He had never known this being, nor chosen to get to know them. He had taken the job to get out of the slums, and when he was given the mark, the last thing he expected was for them - a Nianes - to have a human child. Or, well, half-human. "I imagine many people would have called you that, given your ancestry," he said harshly.
The human sat down next to him. He did not flinch. "You're dying, aren't you?"
"End of my cycle, yes." Elias turned to look at them. They were beautiful, their human genes far outweighing their Nianes ones. Humans were potent like that, their genes mutated and merged with alien genes to become something *more* than what they were. Evolution, as all humans claimed, was in their hands. "How old are you?"
"Twenty-three," she said, brushing the hair back from her eyes, wrapping them around her ears. "You know, I'm not sure what I expected. In my memories, you were this hulking thing of an alien - a demon incarnate there to take away my family and home, which you did, by the way."
Elias was silent. What more could he say? He had lived the life of a merciless bounty hunter for years. Though, he was not without *some* mercy in his early days. That mercy sat next to him on the cliffside this very moment.
"But seeing you here, facing my family's killer, you're just another alien in this world. Another one trying to make a life in a life-threatening galaxy. Maybe you're not a demon incarnate, but you took everything from me."
She sighed and took a deep breath. Elias faced her again, she did not look at him, but she stared off, watching water fall from the heavens. "You chose a good place to die," she turned to him now, and he recognized the face.
She had grown considerably in the eighteen years he had last seen her. A five year-old hiding beneath the bed to this, a woman in her own right on a quest for revenge. He could still remember that day -- the Nianes laying on top of the bed, blood pouring out from her skull. And below her, hidden away, but visible to Elias, was her -- the human that he spared.
"If I had known you would be old and decrepit, I would not have made the journey," she said. She leaned back on her hands, staring down the horizon. "But I had made little ol' me a promise all those years ago. That I would find you. And I would kill you. And the view is pretty nice."
Elias smirked. "Ah, just death? No human anecdote about how you wanted me to feel the same pain you did? Your lust for revenge? Your thirst for blood?"
"Heh, that what they tell you? That every human is on a quest for vengeance?" She shrugged. "Could be true, but I'm half-human. I only carry some of their ideology.
"Besides, what's pain to a Yolaves? You are some of the harshest, cruelest, and downright merciless species in the galaxy. I guess that's what a thirty-year lifespan does to you all. Fending by the time you could walk, killing by the time you spoke, taking jobs no one else would." She looked at him, full-on now, and her eyes pierced Elias. He had always tried to avoid humans. Even the half-bred ones.
"Some of us are not without mercy," he said.
She smirked, "You mean you, yeah? Leaving a five-year old human alive in a world where you're taught *we're* the enemy?" Then she laughed, a hearty chuckle. "I guess in a way letting me live was a mercy, and a punishment. By the same token of your species, I had to do the same. Fend for myself, kill or be killed, take jobs no one else would."
"You... are an--"
"Assassin? Bounty Hunter? More or less." She reached into her jacket, removed a weapon and placed it on top of her thigh. "There's not much else to say, is there?"
Elias turned back to the horizon. "No," he said, "I knew you would come. And here you are."
She nodded. "Here I am." Then she grabbed her weapon, stood at his side, and waited. The sun was setting after all.
Elias took one last look at the tropics of Cantix VII. A good place to die, she had said, and he agreed. It was better than what most in the galaxy were able to do.
"Oh," he said, and removed a holochip from his pockets, "one last thing, as is tradition within my species." He slid it between his two fingers, and lifted it into the air. "The entirety of my estate -- ship, money, everything. Passed off to the next. I'm sure you have one of your own, but the ship treated me well. I imagine it will do well with you."
Elias did not see her take it, but he felt her remove it from his grasp. Heard the telltale sign of her sliding it into her pocket. He nodded. For a brief moment, the entirety of his life flashed before his eyes. All that was left was him, sitting on a cliffside, watching waterfalls and birds fly, and he felt -- then and there -- a little bliss. He was lucky, he knew that.
And so did she. But the past was the past, and she had grieved and cried and hurt for years. No amount of pain to this Yolaves would ever solve that. So, she took her weapon, aimed it at Elias, and pulled the trigger.
His body would fall off the cliffside, tumble down deep into the waters of Cantix VII and feed the life on the planet. And she would be left alone -- again -- in a galaxy that would threaten her life on each and every step she took. Yet now she was free of him -- of her quest -- and for the first time, in a single Yolaves lifetime, she was free to make her own path. | "Price By The Head Hotlines, how may I help?" I answered the phone. As a veteran call centre of the galaxy's biggest Assassination agency, my voice of course carried with it both authority and a soothing politeness that washed the other party with awe and respect.
"I need a guy dead."
I listened hard. The voice was distorted by a voice modulator, but their mistake was not using a fully synthesized voice. I undid the distortion and decrypted the modulated voice in my head, a young lady, about 20. Poor girl, probably dumped after being scammed by a relationship con artist.
"Mi-My dear customer, I am all yours to command. Who would you like dead?"
"Tralvarsy 948273 of planet Naptemiu Normni, in the Gurbaba Galaxy's solar system."
I checked my star chart, and sure enough, I see the Gurbaba Galaxy but not quite the Naptemiu Normni planet. However, there were only three habitable planets, so I had my guess. But, as a professional veteran super call centre customer support specialist, I must make sure there is no confusion on both ends.
"Now, given the name and number, I assume you are using the Morunian system of names, correct? Can you confirm the name in Universal Common for me please?"
A short silence, and then... "Yes, I am Morunian, I don't know what Universal Common calls this system."
I made a hand sign to my colleague as they passed by, and switched my computer's system to Morunian.
"Great, so I've confirmed the individual and the location, now, I need to ask a few health questions to make sure our underwriting department can do the risk analysis on this Assassination application, ok?"
"Go ahead."
"Does Tralvarsy smoke?"
"No."
"Excellent, excellent, it's good that he doesn't smoke. He's very healthy and would be much more likely to last until we can find a chance to kill him. You have a very good eye for Assassination targets, my la-mazing customer."
"Thank you, but please don't waste time on flattery."
"Now, any high blood pressure, diabetes, stroke, cancer..."
...
After a solid 10 minutes of questioning, I could hear the fatigue on the other side.
"Thank you so much for your patience, dear customer. I know this is dragging it out very long, but we're almost done. What's Tralvarsy's age and gender?"
"482 Morunian Years, Protruding DNA Injector."
Alright, take the 5, carry the 9, divide by an arbitrary fahrenheit and draw two circles and we get... 153 Universal Common years, coincidentally exactly 3.24 times the amount in Earth years, what a coincidence! Which reminds me of the last, most important question.
"Alright, if everything above was no and he is a healthy age with a healthy height and weight, I'm sure this application can go through just fine. But there is one, last, important question. Two actually."
"Go ahead."
"1) Is he showing any symptoms of the recent Aureole-24 pandemic?"
"No."
"Great. Has he ever been in contact with a human in the last 25 Universal Common years, or 74 Morunian years?"
"Why does this matter?"
"It is an important piece of information, ma-my dear customer. Please answer to the best of your ability."
While waiting for the client to reply, my colleague who I had signaled came back with a pile of papers. The call was traced to Princess Nramahanaba of planet Morun, the youngest and least favored member of a historical royal family who no longer holds any political power. Her target, Tralvarsy, is like I suspected, a con artist who scammed her out of the ownership of a couple of mining asteroids.
"No, Tralvarsy has any contact with Humans."
I shuffled through more pages of the document.
"Alright, dear customer, please open up permission to receive holosign files on your phone for us to sign the agreement."
I waited, and in the Agent Comment section, wrote: Client Lied about Human Contact - Contracted Assassination Target Was Introduced By Human.
As soon as I had finished, the holosign document fizzed into existence with the signature whirr of the holographic projector.
"You have within 24 hours to call off the assassination with full refund, and within 3 business days to call off the assassination with partial refund. Afterwards, you may call off the assassination at no cost to you any time before we complete the contract. If you agree, sign here."
A pale, slender and beautiful appendage, like it was a piece of art carved by a master, picked up a holopen and signed on the line.
"Our agents will, at the cost of their own lives, protect any and all information pertaining to the party who ordered the contract, to all acknowledged parties in this document. If you understand this, please sign here."
The line was signed.
"You agree to make a payment anywhere between the amount of 592,039,442 to 9,284,750,200 Universal Credits or the equivalent by depositing the amount into the following banking account once the underwriting approves of your Assassination application, if you are alright with this please sign here."
The line was signed.
"Great, that's all for the assassination contract. Now may I interest you in one of our funeral plans for the deceased to make sure the Galactic Union know of his death? Or arrange his death as an accident?"
"No, thank you."
"That's fine, how about a real life assassination feed, where you can view from a private location a first person account of the assassin assigned to your case and how they complete the contract?"
"I'm not interested in any additional services, thank you, please kill Tralvarsy as soon as possible. Bye."
"No problem dear custo-" Before I could bid my farewell, she had hung up on me.
I shrugged, and called the human who introduced Tralvarsy to the princess and informed him of the impending assassination.
Three days later, my commission was transferred to my bank account, minus the desk fees and the call time penalties.
Two weeks later, Tralvarsy was found dead after having apparently been brutally tortured.
The United Earth Federation invaded and took over the planet Morun to liberate its people from a corrupt monarchy that contracts out brutal inhumane assassinations against political dissidents, like the hero Tralvarsy who was a brave and loyal friend to Steve Goodman and spoke out against the wealth inequality between the royal family and the commoners. Now the thousands of mining asteroids in its asteroid belt is owned by the people, run by the people, for the people... Of the United Earth Federation.
And I, of course, became employee of the month for the fifth month in a row, and Steve Goodman has a few more referrals for me. | |
[WP] The human entrance onto the galactic stage has made the job of bounty hunters and assassins difficult: If a target has befriended a human, the human must be killed also. For a human bereaved is the most terrifying of sapients, and ancestors help those who disregard this. | “I still don't get it.”
“Ok, let's try again. You've heard of 'anger', right?”
“I've read about it.”
“And you've heard of 'revenge'.”
“I mean... I know the word.”
“But you don't really understand it.”
“Of course not, who could? Humans have lots of emotional quirks that no other species comprehends.”
“Tell me what you know.”
“They ah... they derive satisfaction from taking actions against those that wrong them, even if the action itself doesn't provide them any advantage.”
“You just recited that from memory.”
“I already admitted I don't understand it. It doesn't make any sense, what do they gain?”
“Let's try 'anger' again.”
“I don't know, it gives them special powers or something.”
“Now we're getting somewhere. You see, anger can drive a human to do incredible things. It can give them strength, give them confidence. It can make them completely disregard their own well-being in order to accomplish something.”
“Something like revenge?”
“Exactly like revenge.”
“Why are you telling me all this?”
“Because seven years ago you killed a Traegarian with a human companion. A human companion that you failed to appreciate the importance of killing.”
“I remember; it was just an adolescent.”
“Yes, well unfortunately for you it grew up. It travelled the galaxy searching for you."
"And?"
"And I am very, very angry.” | "Hey Marv, quick question."
"Yeah Steve?", Marv responded.
"So, what's the deal with these 2-for-1's we've been getting. These kill orders all have been stating to kill the companion human. Well, why do we have to knock off the target and their pet, seems kind of weird, don't you think?", Steve asked.
Marv replied, "Nah, it makes total sense. It's all there in the historical documents."
"The what?", Steve replied.
"Those data discs that the humans make, the biographical videos about various notable humans. You gotta kill the human if the mark on the kill order is associated with a human.", Marv responded.
"I don't understand. If we get a kill order for a trilaxian, just take out the trilaxian. Why does the human have to die?", Steve asked.
Marv sat up in his chair and leaned in towards Steve. "Next time you get bored, check out the historical documents around a John Wick. Someone made the mistake of killing his Korg, and it took three biographic documents for him to finally call it off."
Steve said, "Imagine that, humans befriending Korgs. That's insane."
Marv slammed his hands on the desk. "Forget the damn Korg! A human in grieving is one of the most potent and the most unpredictable killing machines known throughout the universe. Even worse than the Deep Space Parasites. " Steve looked at Marv as Marv's face began to turn a bright crimson.
"Oh, come on Marv, it can't be that bad. What's got you riled up?", Steve said. He wasn't sure what happened, but this had Marv absolutely panicked.
Marv stood up and in a single motion grabbed Steve by the sholder and got up close to his face. With a calm demeanor that was more panic than anything, Marv said, "I don't think you understand. A human that loses their companion will stop at nothing to ensure that the one that pulled the trigger is completely destroyed. And I don't mean just shot, I mean destroyed. We're talking limb from limb. This John Wick went through a personal war three times and killed hundreds of humans, just because someone shot his Korg. Promise me, pal-y, you get a hit for a target with a human companion, you always, and I mean ALWAYS shoot the human first. And make sure it's a killshot."
Suddenly Marv realized that he was squeezing Steve's shoulder a bit too hard and let go. Marv sat back down at his desk. Almost apologetically, Marv said, "Can you imagine what would happen, the bloodshed that would result if the target was something more humanoid?"
Steve sat back down in his chair and leaned back. "Ok, Marv, I get it. Kill the human, kill the target. Sheesh. Have you been to Medical recently? You really need to get your fluid pressure checked. One of these days, you're gonna collapse if you keep raging like that."
Marv said, "Steve, that wasn't rage. That was fear." | |
[WP] For years we've tracked the asteroid that will hit Earth. People ready to face a post-apocalyptic world have moved to the opposite side; anyone who'd rather go out with a bang has come to the impact area. But in the final days, it turns out the estimated impact time was wrong by 12 hours. | When Earth found out about the asteroid that was headed towards it, it responded in ways just as shitty and amazing as you might expect. Those with fortunes bought tickets to the safe side and those with airlines who could take thousands across every single day for free instead sold tickets to the highest bidder. On the other end of things though, there was a coordinated scientific effort that was truly unprecedented in human history. No scientific discipline was truly irrelevant - from the astronomers calculating the asteroid's entry point to the biologists trying to figure out which plants and animals would survive where once climates and environments had shifted.
Everyone chose their side, or had the choice made for them. The scientists that the new world wouldn't be able to live without, they were sent to the safe side. Those without masses of inherent value but with enough power and funds to buy their way across settled there too. Whilst flights were exorbitant for anyone not deemed to be of immediately vital value some managed to make the trip across using other means.
A much smaller exodus took place from the safe side to the not so safe side, but it still happened. Planes that brought people to safety still had to make the return trip after all and these tickets were not so expensive. As the meteorite would cause enough havoc that even the safe side of the globe would suffer some ill effects, some people left because they were afraid they'd be a liability to their families. Some left to be *with* their families, those with jobs that had them on the safe side but felt a few months with their families was better than a lifetime without. Finally, some people left because they didn't think they'd be able to cope with the new world and so instead decided to go out with a bang.
All of these decisions were made with some kind of sense to them - not a fair kind of sense, but a sense nonetheless. Until the initial prediction turned out to be wrong.
There was no reversing the decisions at that point. Our moon had been hit, which was expected, and the fragments from its surface had entered the atmosphere and caused conditions which made flight impossible, which was also expected. However, the angle and deceleration was all off - likely the result of the meteorite not being composed of exactly the substances scientists expected.
To say 'chaos ensued' would undersell the events in both magnitude and pointlessness. People tried to leave the now-unsafe side despite having been told again and again that it was futile. People who had given everything for their own safety suddenly didn't even have that. The scientific minds who were judged to be the most valuable were suddenly sending what information they could to their less valuable colleagues.
That was, of course, all on the previously-safe side.
On our side, a reaction of numb disbelief was as common as joy. Barely anyone here had wanted to die but a lot of us had come to terms with it. We hadn't planned for life. When I awoke one morning, the day before the asteroid had truly hit, the house was strangely quiet.
I walked downstairs and found my sister sat in the living room with her laptop. Like me, Emma had moved home so we could be with our family towards the end. She was scouring the internet for information that we might need once we had no power - scribbling some things in a notebook and printing others. Emma didn't seem happy about the news we weren't personally doomed exactly, but she seemed incredibly *focussed.*
"Where's Mum?" I asked.
Emma didn't even look up.
"At the bottom of the road."
As there wasn't really anything at the bottom of our road I didn't fully understand but I left Emma to it. I walked down to find Mum and sure enough, she was at the bottom of the road. There was a plot of land there that had no particular use and certainly didn't belong to us and there she was, digging away at the ground with clawed gardening gloves only intended for use with her indoor herb garden. She had at some point made a sign saying "Community Food Garden."
"What are you doing?" I asked her as she waved at me merrily.
"Planting." Mum told me and gestured to the plate of kitchen scraps next to her.
"I.. I don't know if this will work. I don't think that this is the best location and some vegetables have seeds that do nothing so they can sell more and-"
"I know that. I understand that this might fail." She said, putting one soil covered, clawed hand on my shoulder. "And I'm glad that you're trying to protect me from disappointment. But Amy, what if something might grow?"
The idea that some parts of our new life - *any* parts of our new life - might be okay hit me like a freight train and I found myself starting to cry. I'd been prepared for death and then for everything to be terrible but I hadn't been prepared for gardens or for my family to cope in strange, unexpected ways.
We planted seeds until darkness fell and my nails were black with dirt. | Sofia strolled down a side street in Dundalk, taking in the smell of the newly planted roses, the sun beaming off the windows, the sounds of a party that was well under way. It was going to be the best and last day of her life and it would be perfect. Or so she thought until she walked past a TV showing the news. Twelve hours earlier than expected?! That couldn’t be but she didn’t have the expertise to argue with the scientist on the TV. Every scientist in the world said it would be midnight not midday. Sofia’s mind raced. Daniel...The Wedding...None of it would happen. The asteroid would come too soon. Brilliant, she thought to herself. First her and her boyfriend get cancer then the asteroid is announced and now it doesn’t even have the common decency to destroy half the world on time! And now? Well now she was in a serious race against time. Daniel would be at the square, partying and she didn’t want to die alone.
She put her head down and bolted down the street, hopping over one unconscious man at her feet. The world became a blur, people, shops, cars. They were nothing. An image Daniel seemed permanently plastered to the front of her mind. She would need to get to him soon, tell him the news. That they would never get married, they would never get to make it to midnight. She was just thankful she decided to wear her flats that morning instead of the heels. She didn’t fancy running through the streets of Dundalk barefoot. The streets, ever since the announcement of the coming asteroid, had been littered with empty beer cans and abandoned needles.
Some party goers she saw wouldn’t make it to midday either as one homeless man was strung out and probably dead on the side of the street. Stopping for a moment to catch her breath, Sofia studied the man. Open, unblinking eyes, a pool of vomit next to where he lay. He was dead alright. The stench would have been unbearable if she hadn’t been forced to get used to it in the last couple of weeks. Finally her lungs stopped stinging and she continued moving between the different side streets of Dundalk.
As she made her way past the chapel, all too aware that the clock on its steeple said it was 11:30, she tripped and fell head over heels in a large pile of rubbish that was half neatly stacked. Her eyes were closed when she hit the rubbish but straight away a searing pain shot through her right hand right up to her shoulder. As slowly as she could manage she picked herself out of the pile of trash and with her came a used needle sticking out of her hand. She froze. Pictures of AIDs patients floated through her mind. Like skeletons, finding it hard to breathe, coughing until they died. Wait… What was she concerned about? What was dying in half an hour anyway! Without much care, she ripped the needle out of her hand, as straight as her shaking left hand would allow.
Her head was down again when she finally saw the large gathering of people at the square, one of them was Daniel. Pushing passed a few hammered old men, who stayed at her legs as she passed, she tried to make for the centre of the people. By he guess she’d only have twenty minutes left to spend with Daniel and that is if she found him right now. Should she tell these people the world was ending early? It didn’t matter, she supposed. She probably wouldn’t be able to get through to them anyway.
Around and around she went, glancing at every face, walking back when she thought she spotted him. Tear’s started to blind her as she shoved another drunk person out of her way when all of a sudden a large hand gripped her elbow and pulled her away.
“Sofia!” cried out Daniel ecstatically. “Where have you been? Is your hand alright?” It was only then did Sofia notice that her right hand had started to drip blood, little droplets falling to the ground, like a breadcrumb trail no one would ever follow.
“We only have twenty minutes to the asteroids.” she said. “And I need to spend it with you.” | |
[WP] Modern celebrities aren't real. They're folk characters, like Santa Claus or ancient gods. They rely on their fame to live; the less they're paid attention to, the weaker they get. | *Immortals do not die, but the fate in store for them is almost crueler than death. In time, when they have been forgotten, they all wind up here. The has-beens. The discarded. The forgotten.*
*This is Reliquary. Location-wise, it isn't anywhere in particular, at least nowhere that one can reach on foot, or by car or boat or plane. Reliquary seems like a small township of ragged tents and rubbish-nests, set in a crisscross of alleys that cut back and forth through a city of grimy, decrepit, once-grand temples and cathedrals. Here the sky is full of dark clouds streaked with veins of sunset red.*
*Immortals do not die. But Reliquary- destitution, senility, and senescence- is what awaits them at the end. It is what awaits the gods who have no worshipers left. The adoration of the masses was all that kept immortals from the bleakness of the Reliquary, and so they clung to it as best they could...*
\*\*\*
As far as anyone knew, Living Legends was a perfectly ordinary nonprofit charity, intended to provide adequate living conditions for retired champion racehorses. It was a cause that people cared about, broadly speaking, but didn't pay all that much attention to, so for the most part it existed as a means for celebrities to network and make public appearances. Some very famous people indeed worked in the company's upper echelons...
She used a different name nowadays, but she'd gotten used to the days when she went by Athene. As far as anyone knew, her family had come from humble origins, a gaggle of poor Greek immigrants who were slowly working their way up to a political dynasty to put the Kennedys to shame. Her father and two uncles had been men of power and influence; her siblings included an Olympic track star, a war hero, a JD/MD, a women's sports hero, and truthfully enough others to easily lose track of.
Athene herself, grey-eyed, with owlish hornrim glasses, attractive if she weren't so stern-looking, was heading a campaign to become the city's youngest district attorney, and was already attracting a surprising amount of attention from young voters.
And now, the current acting chairwoman for Living Legends, Athene cleared her throat. "Are we all ready?"
"Ho, ho. Well, I certainly am."
Klaus Meyer, round, cheerful, white-bearded, was one of the country's most beloved men. Everyone had grown up watching his famous science-edutainment show. He always showed so much delight in showing off the latest STEM research developments, which he, in his endearingly childlike manner, referred to as new toys. He too was present at the board meeting for Living Legends.
"I'm ready," said J-Dev, an underground rapper from New Jersey, kitted out as usual in horn-like eyebrow piercings and large batwing tattoos on his back.
"Me t'ree," said B'rer Rabbit, trickster hero of the American South turned internationally acclaimed cartoon character.
They went around the table. Everyone expected was present. The anonymous street-grafitti artist who had once been known throughout history variously as Loki, Rashid al-Din Sinan, Robin Hood and Jesse James. The women's WWE champ who in a past life had been Andraste, patron deity of the warrior chieftainess Boudicca. John Henry, the famous tech magnate. The chubby, drugged-up SNL star who had once been Comus, the god of festivity and excess. The famed Chinese Iron Chef winner and cooking show host who had once been Zhang Lang.
All the Living Legends were here, struggling to stay relevant, struggling to stay in the public eye, struggling to stay out of Reliquary.
\-----
*I will try to get back to this in due time... I will* ***try*** | Betty White is incredibly lucky. Fucking Morgan Freeman, too. These are the pinnacles of our modern world, and those two are so firmly stuck in the public consciousness that they'll probably *never* die.
Of course I'm bitter. I'm also wrong, because not one of us is so privileged enough to exist for more than a short while, when the force that sustains us is so capricious and fleeting. And the world mourns us, when we're gone in the prime of our lives, but . . . it's hard to explain. Alan Rickman, for example, was still working up until he died, and David Bowie gave us that *intense* finale, after all. We are, for all intents and purposes, *human* while we're here. We can get diseases. We can die. Our one -- shitty -- super power is that we *also* die of inattention, and you normal people don't. Our candles burn with too hot a flame sometimes, and we sputter out too early, most of the time.
I had a very short life, all things considered. Famous in my teens for writing one book that was so well-received that there was a big-budget feature film before I knew it, and then, the attention switched straight over to the director. I had a few interviews, book signings, even ended up in the tabloids a few times after the lead actor in the film adaptation of my book and I created a scandal by going on a date in a world that had no idea we were gay. After the messy breakup, the lacklustre second book, and the downright-terrible third book, I was toast.
Then, the diagnosis. Of course I'd get a statistically-improbable cancer. That's how this works, isn't it? Fucking Betty White living as long as she has - why couldn't she have . . . oh, who the hell am I kidding? That woman's a treasure and I know it. No, I deserve this. I had one hit, and now I'm done.
You normal people don't know how lucky you have it. You really don't. Sure, I had more money and more arse thrown at me over the last few years than you'll *ever* see in your bloody *life*, but you really don't understand just how little it means in the end. Would you trade all of privacy for being able to afford medical care of this calibre? Okay, perhaps you would. Better question -- would you want your personal opinions becoming newsworthy, if it also meant that you had this fame and then, without you really knowing why, just *faded* and died off in some horrible way?
Think about that. Give that the consideration it's due, because I honestly doubt that you would. You could be lucky like Betty White, of course. You could be Morgan Freeman, with his velvet voice. But you could also be another Hitler, in a bunker with a bullet in his brain because his fame was *infamy* more than fame, but you take my point, I hope. You could be sitting in a hospital bed, alone, with only your bank account balance to keep you company, writing a letter that you wish you could burn, just to be *me.*
Do you *really* want fame, if it turns you into this? | |
[removed] | [WP] You're a truck driver and thanks to whatever, you accidentally ran over a high schooler. In the aftermath of the incident, a representative from "another universe" shows up to thank you for "bringing their savior to them". | I was driving along the highway minding my own business when out from the bushes sprang a man -- a roadrunner -- my hand had barely reached the emergency brake and my foot on the brake pedal was barely pressed when I felt the impact as a little jolt, like the ones you get from speed breakers. Immediately my eyes searched the rearview mirror. I only saw the squashed human and asphalt. Light was fading and I had a delivery to make, so I did not stop and stepped on the gas to make it as far as possible before anybody found the body.
Sun went down and I rolled a window down to let the cool night air in. I had heard of these kind of accidents, meditated on them, called the driver an irresponsible bastard and thought of many righteous things to be done in such a tragic situation, but the moment it happened my mind blanked and once you start the run there's no stopping it. Now, it might sound hypocritical coming from me, but I did truly weep in my cabin then. It was such a tragedy. A young man with hopes and dreams now a part of the asphalt, what if he was young and had not seen life, what if his roadrunning was part of some clout chasing ruse? I wept, yes, I did, but I dried my eyes as best as possible and kept my eyes on the road. One tragedy was enough for a day.
Then suddenly the passenger door of the truck fell open and banged against the truck's body. I slowed down, reached over, and slammed the door shut. A buzz of static and then the entire passenger side door flickered. Out from the other side of the static a red human-looking creature with yellow eyes walked out and sat next to me.
"Yehovil sends his regards," the red creature said.
I slowed down further and glanced at its red face. The creature didn't have a mouth, or lips, or ears, or a nose. "Who?"
"Yehovil, the lord who shall rise again, the savior of the fallen. You have done a great service to our people. You have sent our savior to us."
"Savior? Sent to you? I don't even know you." I sized up the red creature. "I don't even know *what* you are."
A static screech filled the cabin and the red creature's yellow eyes turned into two convex curves. "Blessed are you who does good without the need for acknowledgment. I understand what you're trying to do, but Yehovil sends his offering of gratitude and it would reflect poorly on him should I fail to give it to you."
I sighed. The bastard was speaking gibberish in my ear and I had a delivery to complete, a hit-and-run to worry about, and I hadn't slept properly for a week. I contemplated hitting the creature, but decided against touching whatever red stuff it was made of.
"What do you want from me? Just tell me and I'll give it to you. Hell, I'd give you my wallet if you let me live in peace, man, I've got a lot to think about."
The red creature nodded. "*Man,*" it said slowly. Then the creature held its hands together in a diamond shape. The space between the creature's hands buzzed like static and out came a little box covered in red velvet. The creature opened the box.
"This here is an honorary pass. You can visit us anytime you want O deliverer of fate, messenger of God."
I looked at the open box. It contained a red locket on a silver chain.
"Thanks," I said. About time people compensated me for tolerating them.
Another buzz of static and from the roof a blue creature, much the same as the red one except the color difference, fell into the red creature's lap. The truck bounced a little. I parked it to the side of the highway figuring that I was well ahead of the hit-and-run site. Meanwhile, the two creatures growled and snarled and little sparks materialized in the truck's cabin.
"What are you doing here?" said the blue one to the red one.
"I am here to fulfill the orders of his highness Yehovil. What are *you* doing here?"
The blue one pointed at me. "I have come to finish what remains of the devil's deliverer, the destroyer of peace, the end of all things good and fair. I will turn that man into pieces of cross-dimensional dust!"
I was at that moment in the driver's seat. The truck was by the side of the road and I considered fleeing, but then the red creature threw itself between me and the blue creature.
"Over my dead body!" it said. Then inclining its head back, the creature said, "Quick, put the pendant on."
I grabbed the box, opened the door, and fled anyway. Then a buzz of static and the blue creature materialized in front of me.
"You sent that creature to our world. That insolent fool who thinks drinking beer and getting women to sleep with him is the way to save society. That insolent fool who is wrecking the great state of Glabir as we speak, turning its civilians into degenerates. You did all this, and you must pay for it!"
Now I didn't know what Gla- whatever was and what I had done or who the insolent fool was, but I had a pretty good idea what the creature was talking about. Then the red creature materialized in front of me.
"Do not fear these fools. They hold no power in Yehovil's state. You did the right thing. Now go on, hold the pendant in your hands, like I did."
You see, the world I was in was getting hairy to live in. There was a hit-and-run, a delivery which could not be made, the constant threat of ambush by the blue people. And I did what needed to be done, so I made a diamond sign with my hands and placed the pendant at the middle of the sign. A bright red light engulfed me.
Then I blinked once, twice, my eyes readjusted. The sky was yellow and the ground was red. A humanoid with horns walked up to me and introduced himself as Yehovil.
"And here's our savior," Yehovil said as he pointed to teenager in a Metallica shirt. His hair were dyed blue and he was chugging a can of beer.
"Am I dead?"
Yehovil shook his head.
"Am I dreaming?"
Yehovil slapped me. My cheek stung. The sky was yellow and the land was red. | I grew up hearing about truck-kun and how he brings people to another world, how he saves them from the mediocrity of their lives and brings them on a grand adventure. I read, heard and watched stories and I knew that truck-kun kills. I knew, and yet it didn’t matter, because the story wasn’t focused on it.
It focused on MC and their new adventure, the good and the bad of the new world. It rarely almost never explored the past world and what happened there. What happened on earth when someone was hit by truck kun.
I never really thought about it much, maybe a loose thought entered my focus or I read something about it on one forum or another. I never internalises it. I never did.
Until that just happened to me. No, not that. I was a truck-kun. I was the lorry driver. The truck driver that hit someone.
They just came out of nowhere, right in front of me. I swirled to the side, more with a jerk of instinct than a conscious moment. I stomped the brake.
It didn’t matter, or maybe it did. I drove into a wall and was rocked in my seat. I hit myself somewhere, I think. Was I bleeding?
It doesn't matter, I stumble for the door, needing to get out. Needing to save them. They can still be saved.
I tripped while getting out and almost fell onto my face. Still dizzy from the crash I looked behind me, where it happened. Where now a pool of blood lay.
With growing sickness in my stomach, I took heavy steps. One after another. None were easy, and my stomach just wanted to exit through my mouth.
The body was a mangled mess, I can’t even recognise a face.
I fell onto my knees into a pool of blood, my hands helpless by my side. I couldn’t look at them anymore, their bloody body, their school books and notes scattered all around. I turned away. I couldn’t stomach it. I am sorry, I couldn’t. I couldn’t watch anymore.
I was just about to collapse into the pool of blood, just like them. When a strange noise close by woke me from my thoughts.
It came from the body, from the corp- No. They were still alive. I fumbled closer to them, nothing knowing where to touch and where not to. Not knowing how to help and save them. I couldn’t do anything.
I started panicking looking around for anyone. Anyone at all. All that I saw were deserted streets and fog of my breathing.
Where, where, how?
Ambulance, I need to call an ambulance.
I don’t even remember anything that happened after, not the call, or calling, or even taking my phone out.
In the safety of my own mind, I can admit that I am not even sure that stuff before that call happened how I remember it. I fear that I made it up or created it from my imagination. I'm not even sure if my memories of that are real.
I am not sure that I am sane.
I killed someone.
Later, much later some guy came to thank me. What a troll. |
[WP] Every year, the richest person in America is declared the "Winner of Capitalism". They get a badge, and all of their wealth is donated to charity, so they have to start back up at $0. | Turns out that landing America in the hands of the extreme left required a set of very stupid mistakes, like allowing a president to old to survive to the end of his term to get elected, thinning your base by short term profiteering form a pandemic, allowing morons to become judges and so on. At some point it was like thinking of "the purge", we were like "fuck off, this is America, won't happen".
But it did, and it was a blood bath! The flamboyantly rich were first to go, some were smart enough to keep enough for a decent living but many were caught of gard and ended up in a dich with a "capitalist pig" necklace.
But we, the old guard, we knew better, we retreated and hid, some in the old countries, some in charities with some help of our old friends the church and organized crime. And then we started the painstaking long proces of taking it back.
Turns out that "no city can resist a mule loaded with gold" isn't just a saying. Many extreme leftists love money also or are just as clumsy or a bit more than the average man. Some ended up falling front face in a tipped over robotic lawn mower. Most were too dumb and their hypocrisy caught up with them and the furious mob did us a favor.
And we took it back, but we had to put a show for the mases. Hence this nonsense of "winner of capitalism".
"panem et circenses": we gave them a few crumbs like "universal healthcare" and "basic human rights" and made a show of punishing the richest man alive. They felt smart by "seeing" behind the "winner of capitalism" badge.
None was the wiser, no body realised that every year the winner was richer than the one a year ago. Because it was rigged, it was a convenient way of getting rid of the competition and redistributing their wealth, to us, not the mases. What did the government know about running a mining operation in Zimbabwe: nothing! They would end up running it in the ground or selling it to us, cents on a dolar. Either way, a win for us.
Except for the poor shmuck who got too ambitious, or pissed off the wrong group. Which brings me to my current predicament. Who knew that doge coin will make a spectacular comeback. That was supposed to be a bad bet to keep me behind but it turned out more lucrative than ever, and now I'm a few billions in front of the favorite and I don't have anywhere to dump it. Fuck!
Unfortunately it wasn't so simple as hiring a new butler for 2-3 bilion. There was only one solution: death. I had to die, and my estate had to be transferred to my heirs before the contest was over. My son will be the second richest man alive without the doge coin holdings that I would leave to my cat.
And I was soo close to perfecting the real prize: mind uploading, true immortality.
Bye! I'm out! | On a rainy dark night, a shadow was rushing on a street paved with wet raindrops.
It was a masked young man at around 25. Thin, tall with a pair of heavy frame glasses. On his right hand holds a shiny white revolver. The stainless steel body showed a shine as pale as the man's skin around the eyes, as the others are wrapped in black thick cloth. One the opposite hand was a badge, with a logo of multiple "$$$" stringed together.
It was "that day" today, that's why he decided to seek explanation for his dumbfoundedness; and if he found the answer unsatisfying, retribution with the weapon.
After arriving at the front door of a luxurious property, his stare at it for a while, and decide to land his foot right at the middle of the body, kick it right open. Partly because he decided to surprise the resident, and partly out of fury. He rushed into it, aim the gun around the space, and shouted "THOMAS, OUT THE FUCK NOW!"
What is displayed in his eyes was a tidied living room, with no one at sight.
Yet the lights were lit, as if someone already anticipated his hostility.
In front of him there was a stove, and above it was a tv screen. The young man remain alerted for a while and keep scouting for clues, until the screen brighten up, frighten him a bit.
"Thomas...out now.", the young man spoke out at the old man on the display, the brashness disappeared. Thomas looked into the eyes of the young man with calmness, and reply "You know I can't do that, Mike."
"Bullshit, you boomer! The president has declared the date of this year where all people like you give your fair share back to us and start from scratch. That day is today, and the badge of that humiliation was supposed to mail to your post!".
He rosed his hand with the badge to the same level as his pointed gun, tightly gripping the piece of leather. "Yet it was given to me. What the fuck happend!?". Mike's blood and courage filled the arteries of his face.
"Oh. So you know how the whole system works? I don't recall the president ever explain on the screen that day the badge would be mailed.",
Thomas words backed down those arteries' blood on Mike's face a bit, and completely blunt him back to paleness with his next speech:
"Nor do i ever recall I was deemed the "winner of capitalism", the person with most amount of real wealth, that is. Unless someone know my data in and out, don't you think, xXXR1pp3rXx."
"How the hell did you know my...",
"because you like to waste time, Mike", The old man cut him off.
"You like to spend time on forums complaining about your superior in the middle of the work, you like to put video games in the system's hard drive. And you done all these withput covering up the trace."
"...it doesn't matter, you boomer. You stole people's money, MY MONEY; you pay little to no taxes, WHILE I DO. You assfucked the whole system, so it's time YOUR ANAL gets a taste!", Mike threw the badge onto the ground, so he could use the spare hand to support his shivering aiming.
"Mike, do you think becoming rich and STAY RICH is all about money? It's more about patience, time management, and most importantly, social skill. You have genius coding and none of the above I just mentioned, especially the last perk."
Thomas authoritative voice raised, but no anger in sight.
"You belittle your colleagues on zoom meetings; you threaten to jump to another place while never showing any loyalty. And now, you decided to go for shortcut."
"Shortcut?" Mike looked confused.
"By implanting a virus into our government contracted defense system, killing the president, and played a deep fake video of him declaring this whole nonsense, Mike. You think I wouldn't know?".
Thomas rolled his eyes, while Mike's grew as big as possible, shocked.
"Let's be real, young man. You never really fight for the people. You are wealthier than 80% of your peers. You want to drag me down, and took all my hard earned stuff in my bank account at Singapore, and becoming a king yourself. Because you thought since I'm not a software engineering major, I couldn't tell your obvious human intention."
"So here's one last lesson before I leave you to my men. Life has no shortcut, including competing for thrones; if you want to jump your way up to the mountain top, you will end up slipping and hitting the rock bot-"
"BANG!", Mike pulled the trigger and the reolver let out a loud roar, destroying the screen. He was unable to control his temper, as always.
Suddenly, he heard a group of footsteps rushing from his back. He turned around in fear, a squadron of men in black gas masks point their suppressed AR15s at him.
"pew", one of the rifles let out a whisper. | |
[WP] Every year, the richest person in America is declared the "Winner of Capitalism". They get a badge, and all of their wealth is donated to charity, so they have to start back up at $0. | "Mr. President, this may be the stupidest decision you've ever made."
"What do you mean, my dear Amber?"
"My name is Arnold, and I mean that this "Winner of Capitalism" idea has caused the country to unite... against you. Navy Vets have seised several museum ships, most notably USS Wisconsin in Norfolk and USS Iowa in San Francisco, and are threatening to bombard their respective cities. The South, Midwest, West, and Center are revolting; the only state not in open rebellion is Rhode Island, and that's because they joined Massachusetts at the beginning of the whole thing. Honestly, Mr. President, it's really bad out the-"
"Send in the military."
"What?"
"Send in the military."
"That's what I was about to get to, Sir. We have no military. They have all revolted."
"Then get out allies to help."
"Sir, our allies are currently too busy laughing at us and establishing diplomatic relations with the rebel's governments. Alaska - well, the Alaskan Confederation now - already has made a deal with Canada and Russia for both to guarantee it's independence in exchange for oil. Maine has joined Canada. Puerto Rico, Hawaii, and Guam have joined Britain."
"Ugh. Declare war on all of them."
"Sir, all of them?"
"DID I NOT JUST SAY THAT?"
"Y-yes, Sir, you did. I just don't think that's a very wise idea."
"Shut the fuck up and listen to me. Declare war on all of them."
"No."
"The fuck you say to me?"
"I said no, Sir. This is your fault. I will not be dragged further into this. I'm taking the next flight out of any airport in the Virginian Commonwealth or the Confederation of Maryland to Germany, where I plan to live from now on. The American People will deal with you. Good day, Mister President." | On a rainy dark night, a shadow was rushing on a street paved with wet raindrops.
It was a masked young man at around 25. Thin, tall with a pair of heavy frame glasses. On his right hand holds a shiny white revolver. The stainless steel body showed a shine as pale as the man's skin around the eyes, as the others are wrapped in black thick cloth. One the opposite hand was a badge, with a logo of multiple "$$$" stringed together.
It was "that day" today, that's why he decided to seek explanation for his dumbfoundedness; and if he found the answer unsatisfying, retribution with the weapon.
After arriving at the front door of a luxurious property, his stare at it for a while, and decide to land his foot right at the middle of the body, kick it right open. Partly because he decided to surprise the resident, and partly out of fury. He rushed into it, aim the gun around the space, and shouted "THOMAS, OUT THE FUCK NOW!"
What is displayed in his eyes was a tidied living room, with no one at sight.
Yet the lights were lit, as if someone already anticipated his hostility.
In front of him there was a stove, and above it was a tv screen. The young man remain alerted for a while and keep scouting for clues, until the screen brighten up, frighten him a bit.
"Thomas...out now.", the young man spoke out at the old man on the display, the brashness disappeared. Thomas looked into the eyes of the young man with calmness, and reply "You know I can't do that, Mike."
"Bullshit, you boomer! The president has declared the date of this year where all people like you give your fair share back to us and start from scratch. That day is today, and the badge of that humiliation was supposed to mail to your post!".
He rosed his hand with the badge to the same level as his pointed gun, tightly gripping the piece of leather. "Yet it was given to me. What the fuck happend!?". Mike's blood and courage filled the arteries of his face.
"Oh. So you know how the whole system works? I don't recall the president ever explain on the screen that day the badge would be mailed.",
Thomas words backed down those arteries' blood on Mike's face a bit, and completely blunt him back to paleness with his next speech:
"Nor do i ever recall I was deemed the "winner of capitalism", the person with most amount of real wealth, that is. Unless someone know my data in and out, don't you think, xXXR1pp3rXx."
"How the hell did you know my...",
"because you like to waste time, Mike", The old man cut him off.
"You like to spend time on forums complaining about your superior in the middle of the work, you like to put video games in the system's hard drive. And you done all these withput covering up the trace."
"...it doesn't matter, you boomer. You stole people's money, MY MONEY; you pay little to no taxes, WHILE I DO. You assfucked the whole system, so it's time YOUR ANAL gets a taste!", Mike threw the badge onto the ground, so he could use the spare hand to support his shivering aiming.
"Mike, do you think becoming rich and STAY RICH is all about money? It's more about patience, time management, and most importantly, social skill. You have genius coding and none of the above I just mentioned, especially the last perk."
Thomas authoritative voice raised, but no anger in sight.
"You belittle your colleagues on zoom meetings; you threaten to jump to another place while never showing any loyalty. And now, you decided to go for shortcut."
"Shortcut?" Mike looked confused.
"By implanting a virus into our government contracted defense system, killing the president, and played a deep fake video of him declaring this whole nonsense, Mike. You think I wouldn't know?".
Thomas rolled his eyes, while Mike's grew as big as possible, shocked.
"Let's be real, young man. You never really fight for the people. You are wealthier than 80% of your peers. You want to drag me down, and took all my hard earned stuff in my bank account at Singapore, and becoming a king yourself. Because you thought since I'm not a software engineering major, I couldn't tell your obvious human intention."
"So here's one last lesson before I leave you to my men. Life has no shortcut, including competing for thrones; if you want to jump your way up to the mountain top, you will end up slipping and hitting the rock bot-"
"BANG!", Mike pulled the trigger and the reolver let out a loud roar, destroying the screen. He was unable to control his temper, as always.
Suddenly, he heard a group of footsteps rushing from his back. He turned around in fear, a squadron of men in black gas masks point their suppressed AR15s at him.
"pew", one of the rifles let out a whisper. | |
[WP] Every year, the richest person in America is declared the "Winner of Capitalism". They get a badge, and all of their wealth is donated to charity, so they have to start back up at $0. | This produces a large incentive not to be the richest person. Most people like good food, comfortable living etc. The incentive here is much stronger than it would be if you just removed 99% of their wealth. (Most people really don't want to be homeless and desperate.)
People rushing to not be the richest. Sometimes by giving away money until they are the second richest. Sending money to other rich people. Hiding money in labyrinthine shell companies. Giving all their friends extravagant gifts (with the expectation of help back if they do get hit by this. ) Outright bribing the accountants tasked with calculating their wealth. | On a rainy dark night, a shadow was rushing on a street paved with wet raindrops.
It was a masked young man at around 25. Thin, tall with a pair of heavy frame glasses. On his right hand holds a shiny white revolver. The stainless steel body showed a shine as pale as the man's skin around the eyes, as the others are wrapped in black thick cloth. One the opposite hand was a badge, with a logo of multiple "$$$" stringed together.
It was "that day" today, that's why he decided to seek explanation for his dumbfoundedness; and if he found the answer unsatisfying, retribution with the weapon.
After arriving at the front door of a luxurious property, his stare at it for a while, and decide to land his foot right at the middle of the body, kick it right open. Partly because he decided to surprise the resident, and partly out of fury. He rushed into it, aim the gun around the space, and shouted "THOMAS, OUT THE FUCK NOW!"
What is displayed in his eyes was a tidied living room, with no one at sight.
Yet the lights were lit, as if someone already anticipated his hostility.
In front of him there was a stove, and above it was a tv screen. The young man remain alerted for a while and keep scouting for clues, until the screen brighten up, frighten him a bit.
"Thomas...out now.", the young man spoke out at the old man on the display, the brashness disappeared. Thomas looked into the eyes of the young man with calmness, and reply "You know I can't do that, Mike."
"Bullshit, you boomer! The president has declared the date of this year where all people like you give your fair share back to us and start from scratch. That day is today, and the badge of that humiliation was supposed to mail to your post!".
He rosed his hand with the badge to the same level as his pointed gun, tightly gripping the piece of leather. "Yet it was given to me. What the fuck happend!?". Mike's blood and courage filled the arteries of his face.
"Oh. So you know how the whole system works? I don't recall the president ever explain on the screen that day the badge would be mailed.",
Thomas words backed down those arteries' blood on Mike's face a bit, and completely blunt him back to paleness with his next speech:
"Nor do i ever recall I was deemed the "winner of capitalism", the person with most amount of real wealth, that is. Unless someone know my data in and out, don't you think, xXXR1pp3rXx."
"How the hell did you know my...",
"because you like to waste time, Mike", The old man cut him off.
"You like to spend time on forums complaining about your superior in the middle of the work, you like to put video games in the system's hard drive. And you done all these withput covering up the trace."
"...it doesn't matter, you boomer. You stole people's money, MY MONEY; you pay little to no taxes, WHILE I DO. You assfucked the whole system, so it's time YOUR ANAL gets a taste!", Mike threw the badge onto the ground, so he could use the spare hand to support his shivering aiming.
"Mike, do you think becoming rich and STAY RICH is all about money? It's more about patience, time management, and most importantly, social skill. You have genius coding and none of the above I just mentioned, especially the last perk."
Thomas authoritative voice raised, but no anger in sight.
"You belittle your colleagues on zoom meetings; you threaten to jump to another place while never showing any loyalty. And now, you decided to go for shortcut."
"Shortcut?" Mike looked confused.
"By implanting a virus into our government contracted defense system, killing the president, and played a deep fake video of him declaring this whole nonsense, Mike. You think I wouldn't know?".
Thomas rolled his eyes, while Mike's grew as big as possible, shocked.
"Let's be real, young man. You never really fight for the people. You are wealthier than 80% of your peers. You want to drag me down, and took all my hard earned stuff in my bank account at Singapore, and becoming a king yourself. Because you thought since I'm not a software engineering major, I couldn't tell your obvious human intention."
"So here's one last lesson before I leave you to my men. Life has no shortcut, including competing for thrones; if you want to jump your way up to the mountain top, you will end up slipping and hitting the rock bot-"
"BANG!", Mike pulled the trigger and the reolver let out a loud roar, destroying the screen. He was unable to control his temper, as always.
Suddenly, he heard a group of footsteps rushing from his back. He turned around in fear, a squadron of men in black gas masks point their suppressed AR15s at him.
"pew", one of the rifles let out a whisper. | |
[WP] Every year, the richest person in America is declared the "Winner of Capitalism". They get a badge, and all of their wealth is donated to charity, so they have to start back up at $0. | "Sir, this is a deadlock, why don't you simply send the funds elsewhere?"
Rory, fearful for his employment, asked his boss.
"Because Rory," Mansfield replied, "I want to see him go down. It's...a matter of humanity." He leaned back in his chair, the simultaneously first and second richest man on the planet, and hit the enter key. Flickering light off his liquid crystal display danced soulless upon the ice in his scotch. It was late, and nearing 00:00 GMT. The only other person in the enormous office at the top floor of his conglomerate's tower was Mansfield's assiduous secretary, Rory. Mansfield stared at Rory, sighed, loosened his tie, and sipped as the thousands of digits convulsed before his darkening eyes.
On his screen, funds were seen rushing into the coffers of the other, simultaneously first and second, richest man. Well, not DIRECTLY per se. Upon Mansfield's screen could be seen thousands of unique businesses all owned by the same person: his most hated and respected competitor, Scott Princess. At his touch, Mansfield expunged 95% of his multi-trillion dollar empire into every business, stock, or holding Princess owned. Intently, he watched the numbers click into place...and hold. Mansfield breathed a deep sigh, and smiled. Princess, likewise, thousands of miles distant, seriocomically attempted to return the favor.
Upon a pleasure yacht of such enormity and gormandizing it made pathetic the wildest dreams of gods long dead, Princess was submerged in orgy porgy. "Every-buuurp!-every-yes dear, I said burp HAHA!-yes! Every fucker in here quiet down. Shah! Sh! I said! Gol darling what a massive tit. Why isn't your other the same? Who cares, I love it! Everyone! Now sh!!!!" Princess steadied himself upon the poop. Not wholly difficult to accomplish, even for a drunkard, on a vessel that had recently beached itself upon the sands of a Pacific island. Literally shipwrecked, yet still connected to the outside world through satellite uplink, Princess spasmed in a paroxysm of ecstacy and irascible madness.
His sun burnt flesh, straw hat, ridiculous button up and tight fitting chubby shorts were a disarray befitting his mental state. Although he seemed quite zombified, he looked with astonishing intensity within the windows of his sand-faring ship, and pointed. "Look! *burp* Look neow, yesh look you damned gorgeous ho's!" Emphatically, he stupidly demanded the attention of the catatonic women piled about him towards an enormous television within the boat. None of the young, half naked, voluptuous women looked up from their alcohol and heroin induced stupors. Princess ambled forward and continued wagging his finger at the monitor, searching about for validation. Unnecessarily extravagent numbers upon the screen depicted the sum total of Princess's wealth. It doubled (almost) in size instantaneously. The numbers held, unchanging. Scott's dumb smile fell to a frown. "Fucker! Shit-pooping, cuntmuffin bastard! I love you, and I fucking hate you!" Yelled Princess. Spinning forward, he swigged something disgustingly expensive and thoroughly disgusting. The liquor drenched his burning skin and silk underwear. Stumbling forward, still drinking, he fell through an open hatch. A sickening crunch reverberated the empty hall. "Owww!" Princess groaned.
"Princess!" A womans voice shrieked. At the far end of the passageway, a middle aged woman in business attire came running towards a prone Scott Princess. A deckhand had been closer to the broken, fallen trillionaire, but hadn't made any move to assist the fellow. The crew were less than enthused at being intentionally run aground by the wealthy, whoring prodigy. "Scott! God damnit! The rescue aircraft is on it's way! Hopefully it gets here before you succeed in killing yourself. And at this momen!? Do you know what the fuck is happening!?" Dragging him up, the woman barely twisted away as Scott purged his stomach of drugs and drink.
"Bleerrrrggghhh!" Scott retched. The woman propped Scott against herself. "Ugh!" She exclaimed, "God damnit I'm gonna hurl too! What a shitty day Scott. God damnit! Why are you so fucking stupid!?" The woman dragged the wealthiest man in history into the nearest room and placed him upon a couch.
"St-Stacy?" moaned Princess.
"Scott, shut the fuck up! I'm trying to save your life and your finances and you keep sabotaging me at every turn! Just shut up, stay here, and don't fucking move!" Stacy was at her wits end. In frustration, she raced back down the hall to Scott's study. Within the room was an unassuming laptop resting on a table.
"Okay, okay," panted Stacy, "I can figure this out! It's just the password of a genius, playboy, ecstacy rattled mind of a fucking child. You can figure this out Stace!" Stacy stared dumbly at her bosses laptop as she wracked her brain for anything that would offer insight into the password of Princess's private computer.
Behind her, the news around the world was abuzz with the story. The richest men in history, in a duel over the future of their empires, was about to come to a dramatic finale.
"Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck!" Stacy pulled at her black hair as she looked around for any inspiration in Scott's study. About were books of nearly every subject. From Robinson Crusoe to Programming to the Kama Sutra and advanced Economics, hell even the Bhagavad Gita and Hank and Frank offered no conceivable pattern to her.
"Come on!" She yelled, "What the hell does this kid like!?" She had tried every banal password she believed a horny, hubristic, precocious young man might use. Even 5318008 hadn't made the mark. She vainly plied upon his sentimentalities and tried his ex girlfriends, mother, father, dog, cat, and even favorite superheroes; nothing!
Stacy took a deep breath. If she could just get into the laptop, she could transfer his funds somewhere. Anywhere! As long as Scott and Mansfield were locked within this petty, internecine struggle, no one would win! Most of the world's richest, and even poorest, individuals had been halfway smart and transferred to elsewhere their wealth in funds of their choosing to be reacquired later. Scott had to have some inconceivable vendetta against an equally obstinate old man, didn't he? And he HAD to use his programming skills to automatically transfer funds directly back to Mansfield's accounts, no matter what happened.
That's how Scott had become wealthy in the first place. He could program around any human being on the planet. He had found ingenious ways to produce AI capable of indefinitely obscuring the most audacious of financial transactions. How they determined who was the wealthiest individual in this day and age, with Princess's Tergiversation programs manipulating the paper trails, baffled even the most hardied conspiracy theorists. All one had to do was keep constantly transferring funds on the eve of Zero Day, and it would (probably) never be an issue for someone. Even the poorest individual was safe. The only people that were safer were those who kept their funds out of any digital source, buried deep underground. Which people did. Fucking everywhere.
Except-yep-Scott-fucking-Princess. Cryptocurrency my left tit! And Mansfield, presumably because he wasn't a fucking self-immolating twenty-four year old with an inferiority complex, had figured out a way to thwart the auto-transfers. As the clock ticked down from one minute, Stacy was on the verge of tears.
'All those days of putting up with his insanity, and for what!?' she thought. She slumped down. It was over. Her life was over. How many bridges had she burned in this industry, working for this kid? Sure, she had money, but she loved the work. She loved the power, and the thrill of conquering obstacles in her way. She might never get the chance to be on top again.
Stacy ruefully turned her head to the port window facing the bright blue sky. She sniffed, looked away from the blinding brightness, and glanced down. She gasped.
Frantically she jumped up and typed furiously. First try, no luck. Second, again no joy. Third...she was in! "Ahhhhh!!!" She screamed as she pulled up the finances window. As fast as she could she put all but .00001% of Scott's wealth into other competitor's hands, and reset the automatic function Scott had programmed to full dispersal. Even if everyone in the world would deposit their wealth into Scott's business at the very last possible moment, Scott's program would've turned it right back around.
"And that's it! The television announced, that's the end of the Zero Day! Everyone celebrate our wealthiest in America: Mrs. Sicilia Coronado! Congratulations madam, and we hope to see marvelous works done with her charity!"
Stacy breathed a sigh of relief. It was over! She thought. "Thank fucking god!" She lay back and saw out the window the passing overhead of a massive seaplane. Their rescue craft. She again looked down. Before he sight were the well-worn and yellowed pages of a novel that had fallen beside Scott's study couch. "Fucking child." Stacy breathed as she closed her eyes, "Fucking John Galt's motor? What a hypocrite, little shit." | On a rainy dark night, a shadow was rushing on a street paved with wet raindrops.
It was a masked young man at around 25. Thin, tall with a pair of heavy frame glasses. On his right hand holds a shiny white revolver. The stainless steel body showed a shine as pale as the man's skin around the eyes, as the others are wrapped in black thick cloth. One the opposite hand was a badge, with a logo of multiple "$$$" stringed together.
It was "that day" today, that's why he decided to seek explanation for his dumbfoundedness; and if he found the answer unsatisfying, retribution with the weapon.
After arriving at the front door of a luxurious property, his stare at it for a while, and decide to land his foot right at the middle of the body, kick it right open. Partly because he decided to surprise the resident, and partly out of fury. He rushed into it, aim the gun around the space, and shouted "THOMAS, OUT THE FUCK NOW!"
What is displayed in his eyes was a tidied living room, with no one at sight.
Yet the lights were lit, as if someone already anticipated his hostility.
In front of him there was a stove, and above it was a tv screen. The young man remain alerted for a while and keep scouting for clues, until the screen brighten up, frighten him a bit.
"Thomas...out now.", the young man spoke out at the old man on the display, the brashness disappeared. Thomas looked into the eyes of the young man with calmness, and reply "You know I can't do that, Mike."
"Bullshit, you boomer! The president has declared the date of this year where all people like you give your fair share back to us and start from scratch. That day is today, and the badge of that humiliation was supposed to mail to your post!".
He rosed his hand with the badge to the same level as his pointed gun, tightly gripping the piece of leather. "Yet it was given to me. What the fuck happend!?". Mike's blood and courage filled the arteries of his face.
"Oh. So you know how the whole system works? I don't recall the president ever explain on the screen that day the badge would be mailed.",
Thomas words backed down those arteries' blood on Mike's face a bit, and completely blunt him back to paleness with his next speech:
"Nor do i ever recall I was deemed the "winner of capitalism", the person with most amount of real wealth, that is. Unless someone know my data in and out, don't you think, xXXR1pp3rXx."
"How the hell did you know my...",
"because you like to waste time, Mike", The old man cut him off.
"You like to spend time on forums complaining about your superior in the middle of the work, you like to put video games in the system's hard drive. And you done all these withput covering up the trace."
"...it doesn't matter, you boomer. You stole people's money, MY MONEY; you pay little to no taxes, WHILE I DO. You assfucked the whole system, so it's time YOUR ANAL gets a taste!", Mike threw the badge onto the ground, so he could use the spare hand to support his shivering aiming.
"Mike, do you think becoming rich and STAY RICH is all about money? It's more about patience, time management, and most importantly, social skill. You have genius coding and none of the above I just mentioned, especially the last perk."
Thomas authoritative voice raised, but no anger in sight.
"You belittle your colleagues on zoom meetings; you threaten to jump to another place while never showing any loyalty. And now, you decided to go for shortcut."
"Shortcut?" Mike looked confused.
"By implanting a virus into our government contracted defense system, killing the president, and played a deep fake video of him declaring this whole nonsense, Mike. You think I wouldn't know?".
Thomas rolled his eyes, while Mike's grew as big as possible, shocked.
"Let's be real, young man. You never really fight for the people. You are wealthier than 80% of your peers. You want to drag me down, and took all my hard earned stuff in my bank account at Singapore, and becoming a king yourself. Because you thought since I'm not a software engineering major, I couldn't tell your obvious human intention."
"So here's one last lesson before I leave you to my men. Life has no shortcut, including competing for thrones; if you want to jump your way up to the mountain top, you will end up slipping and hitting the rock bot-"
"BANG!", Mike pulled the trigger and the reolver let out a loud roar, destroying the screen. He was unable to control his temper, as always.
Suddenly, he heard a group of footsteps rushing from his back. He turned around in fear, a squadron of men in black gas masks point their suppressed AR15s at him.
"pew", one of the rifles let out a whisper. | |
[WP] Every year, the richest person in America is declared the "Winner of Capitalism". They get a badge, and all of their wealth is donated to charity, so they have to start back up at $0. | Ted looked at the light peering out from underneath tall, red curtains. All he wanted was to not look too stupid, too dumbfounded. He’d seen previous winners, after all.
Staff busied about backstage, moving in dizzying swoops around him. They pulled at his hair, undoing knots baked into his scalp and massaging the scabs underneath with myriad scented bottles. De-licer, detangler, shampoo, conditioner, a moisturizer rubbed into his cracked skin and calloused hands.
Grasping fingers pulled at him, leaving Ted in his underclothes: a T-shirt – AC/DC, thrifted – and a pair of underwear that hung loosely off his hips. They pulled off his boots last. This was a shame, because they kept the water out and his toes warm, which is something Ted had grown to appreciate. He couldn’t quite find the right timing to ask if they’d be giving them back after.
Even as a new set of overclothes were applied to him – a new set of faceless bodies tugging and pulling and scrubbing – that new anxiety took hold of his mind. He couldn’t stop worrying about his boots. Well, that and looking dumb.
A strong push to the center of his back had Ted stumbling through the curtains. His hands grasped at the rich fabric, struggling to push through and catch himself from falling. When he’d finally steadied himself, Ted was blinded by lights. An endless sea of camera flashes, reflective lenses, and well-manicured hands eagerly bludgeoning him with microphones.
He knew how stupid he must look. Ted had tuned in to watch the Competition every year, before the recession.
Ted stared out over the crowd, over the spectacle that centered around him. He knew millions watching would delight in this show. They’d point out how silly the man looked, how obviously uncomfortable he was in his suit, how his mouth hung slack-jawed. Ted knew he looked like a fool. He looked stupid, dumbfounded.
A hand landed heavy and familiar Ted’s shoulder. He involuntarily cringed, contorting his body as if it might wholly disappear if he made himself small enough. Ted followed the hand up to a well-dressed, older man with powder-white hair and a charming smile.
The Presenter spoke then, but he didn’t look at Ted. His eyes were on the cameras. Only the cameras. Ted was just part of the spectacle.
“Well, Ted, it looks like you’re this year’s winner! How about you let the viewers at home know how you’re feeling right now?”
“I, I mean, uhh, wha–“
“Ha, ha, well that’s just great, Ted! Now, Our accountants back at Competition HQ-,“ here, he winked to the camera, “–have been working all year, meticulously tracking and compiling census data and financial accounts, running the numbers and ultimately deciding who our winner would be. They landed on you, Ted. *You* are the richest person in America.” The Presenter smiled wide. His teeth were too white.
“So. I’m sure everyone at home has got to be wondering, Ted. How rich, exactly, is America’s wealthiest person?”
“Well, I mean, I- I don’t think any of my old accounts are still open-"
(“Ha, ha!" the Presenter added. "They certainly are not, Ted!”)
“Well, I mean, right. Okay. Well, I uh– then I just have this.” Quite involuntarily, Ted pulled a crumpled bill from his pocket. He unfolded it slowly, carefully, as he straightened out its creases. It was all he had.
“Well, someone gave me $5 a couple of days ago.”
“And a smart someone, too! You don’t see them up on this stage right now, do you?” The crowd laughed. Ted couldn’t decide what, exactly, had changed. This all used to be funny. Had the Competition changed?
“Ha, ha! No, it’s just you, Ted."
The presenter continued, “But that really is quite amazing! Congratulations. Here’s your medal.” Ted looked down, ploddingly slow, to see a shiny badge being pinned to his chest, to clothes that weren’t his. Ted looked up to an outstretched hand. “Congratulations, Ted.”
The rest of the ceremony passed so very slowly it seemed to last forever. But afterwards, if a stranger were to ask him what had happened, Ted would be wholly unable to answer. Millions of viewers would tell you: The Presenter had taken Ted’s money. Celebrities and CEOs filled the room with conversation, some even coming over to greet the year’s lucky winner. Ted was trafficked around the room. He did not speak for the rest of the evening. Luckily, no one else seemed to mind.
The whole while Ted was thinking back to his boots. Ted understood the Competition. He wouldn’t be getting his $5 back. But, his boots would be nice. They only had the one hole in the bottom. It would take some effort replacing some his other clothes, but a good pair of boots were another matter entirely.
\---
Ted shifted his weight from foot to foot, feeling the wet asphalt beneath his soles. He rolled them over the ground, feeling the pebbles, the cracked pavement, the shard of glass not sharp enough to cut. His feet were already wrinkling in the cold and wet. They didn't let him keep the clothes, nor the medal. He decided then to try explaining things one last time.
“No, miss, I’m not asking for a handout. I don’t need any money. I just want my boots. I was inside earlier. I know I can’t keep any of the clothes, or the dress shoes. I just... I just want my old boots back.”
The woman at the door seemed uncomfortable. Ted was used to that. It didn’t make it less… well, Ted was still a person. After some internal conflict, the woman finally spoke. “Hey, I’m sorry. I really can’t help you man, I don’t have any money for you. Here, you have to move. You’re disturbing people.”
Ted nodded slowly, murmured his thanks, and walked away. | On a rainy dark night, a shadow was rushing on a street paved with wet raindrops.
It was a masked young man at around 25. Thin, tall with a pair of heavy frame glasses. On his right hand holds a shiny white revolver. The stainless steel body showed a shine as pale as the man's skin around the eyes, as the others are wrapped in black thick cloth. One the opposite hand was a badge, with a logo of multiple "$$$" stringed together.
It was "that day" today, that's why he decided to seek explanation for his dumbfoundedness; and if he found the answer unsatisfying, retribution with the weapon.
After arriving at the front door of a luxurious property, his stare at it for a while, and decide to land his foot right at the middle of the body, kick it right open. Partly because he decided to surprise the resident, and partly out of fury. He rushed into it, aim the gun around the space, and shouted "THOMAS, OUT THE FUCK NOW!"
What is displayed in his eyes was a tidied living room, with no one at sight.
Yet the lights were lit, as if someone already anticipated his hostility.
In front of him there was a stove, and above it was a tv screen. The young man remain alerted for a while and keep scouting for clues, until the screen brighten up, frighten him a bit.
"Thomas...out now.", the young man spoke out at the old man on the display, the brashness disappeared. Thomas looked into the eyes of the young man with calmness, and reply "You know I can't do that, Mike."
"Bullshit, you boomer! The president has declared the date of this year where all people like you give your fair share back to us and start from scratch. That day is today, and the badge of that humiliation was supposed to mail to your post!".
He rosed his hand with the badge to the same level as his pointed gun, tightly gripping the piece of leather. "Yet it was given to me. What the fuck happend!?". Mike's blood and courage filled the arteries of his face.
"Oh. So you know how the whole system works? I don't recall the president ever explain on the screen that day the badge would be mailed.",
Thomas words backed down those arteries' blood on Mike's face a bit, and completely blunt him back to paleness with his next speech:
"Nor do i ever recall I was deemed the "winner of capitalism", the person with most amount of real wealth, that is. Unless someone know my data in and out, don't you think, xXXR1pp3rXx."
"How the hell did you know my...",
"because you like to waste time, Mike", The old man cut him off.
"You like to spend time on forums complaining about your superior in the middle of the work, you like to put video games in the system's hard drive. And you done all these withput covering up the trace."
"...it doesn't matter, you boomer. You stole people's money, MY MONEY; you pay little to no taxes, WHILE I DO. You assfucked the whole system, so it's time YOUR ANAL gets a taste!", Mike threw the badge onto the ground, so he could use the spare hand to support his shivering aiming.
"Mike, do you think becoming rich and STAY RICH is all about money? It's more about patience, time management, and most importantly, social skill. You have genius coding and none of the above I just mentioned, especially the last perk."
Thomas authoritative voice raised, but no anger in sight.
"You belittle your colleagues on zoom meetings; you threaten to jump to another place while never showing any loyalty. And now, you decided to go for shortcut."
"Shortcut?" Mike looked confused.
"By implanting a virus into our government contracted defense system, killing the president, and played a deep fake video of him declaring this whole nonsense, Mike. You think I wouldn't know?".
Thomas rolled his eyes, while Mike's grew as big as possible, shocked.
"Let's be real, young man. You never really fight for the people. You are wealthier than 80% of your peers. You want to drag me down, and took all my hard earned stuff in my bank account at Singapore, and becoming a king yourself. Because you thought since I'm not a software engineering major, I couldn't tell your obvious human intention."
"So here's one last lesson before I leave you to my men. Life has no shortcut, including competing for thrones; if you want to jump your way up to the mountain top, you will end up slipping and hitting the rock bot-"
"BANG!", Mike pulled the trigger and the reolver let out a loud roar, destroying the screen. He was unable to control his temper, as always.
Suddenly, he heard a group of footsteps rushing from his back. He turned around in fear, a squadron of men in black gas masks point their suppressed AR15s at him.
"pew", one of the rifles let out a whisper. | |
[WP] Every year, the richest person in America is declared the "Winner of Capitalism". They get a badge, and all of their wealth is donated to charity, so they have to start back up at $0. | Excerpt from “The Long Winter: a Memoir of the US during the Zero Day years”
And thus began the races, every year in December billions of dollars would be spill into overseas corporations. At least those held in trust by foreign persons alleged to exist. The only reason it wasn’t hundreds of billions is that the US single handedly sabotaged it’s own hegemony. Most of the country’s industrialists simply left for more business friendly countries after the Zero Day law was implemented.
Zero Day was a law passed by the more progressive faction of the Blues. It was quite popular at the time, so the moderates went with it. It stated that on the tax due date, every year, whoever had the most reported wealth would have their assets liquid and illiquid seized by the government and donated to various charities. Corporations were not exempt.
But when it became law it was like an economic bomb went off. Overnight corporations and anyone with money to lose packed up and left, taking their money with them. The feds tried to stop the banks from hemorrhaging money but it was too late, most of it had left weeks and months before as the money men and women had started siphoning funds into everywhere outside the US’s borders. The economic collapse was not pretty. My dad lost the family aviation maintenance business and my job went with it. No folks rich enough to fly private planes were dumb enough to stay in the states.
When the first Zero Day arrived and some poor sucker in Spokane failed to dump all their assets and wealth, he hung himself before they could track him down through the tax filings to try and stop them from seizing his assets. The 300 acre farm that had been willed to his kids was appropriated by the government and donated to charity. There was a revolt in Texas because of that, riots all over the South, Houston burned for a week before the national guard was able to quell the fighting. The legislators who wrote the Zero Day bill went into hiding, one of them actually managed to get away though so the mobs went after their kin.
Folk adapted though, as they always do. They figured out they could sell their homes to foreign companies who let them lease the land, usually for a premium. Most folk live in government housing now since jobs became an endangered species. The military suffered from a massive surplus of recruits. Getting into the military became an honor as a result (they upped the requirements by a lot), if you got in you were set for life, granted that life was property of the US government to use, abuse, and throw away as it saw fit but that sure as hell beat being outside it. Every year was a race to the bottom, to have less than the poor sucker next to you.
To say those were dark days is an understatement. They were dark years. | On a rainy dark night, a shadow was rushing on a street paved with wet raindrops.
It was a masked young man at around 25. Thin, tall with a pair of heavy frame glasses. On his right hand holds a shiny white revolver. The stainless steel body showed a shine as pale as the man's skin around the eyes, as the others are wrapped in black thick cloth. One the opposite hand was a badge, with a logo of multiple "$$$" stringed together.
It was "that day" today, that's why he decided to seek explanation for his dumbfoundedness; and if he found the answer unsatisfying, retribution with the weapon.
After arriving at the front door of a luxurious property, his stare at it for a while, and decide to land his foot right at the middle of the body, kick it right open. Partly because he decided to surprise the resident, and partly out of fury. He rushed into it, aim the gun around the space, and shouted "THOMAS, OUT THE FUCK NOW!"
What is displayed in his eyes was a tidied living room, with no one at sight.
Yet the lights were lit, as if someone already anticipated his hostility.
In front of him there was a stove, and above it was a tv screen. The young man remain alerted for a while and keep scouting for clues, until the screen brighten up, frighten him a bit.
"Thomas...out now.", the young man spoke out at the old man on the display, the brashness disappeared. Thomas looked into the eyes of the young man with calmness, and reply "You know I can't do that, Mike."
"Bullshit, you boomer! The president has declared the date of this year where all people like you give your fair share back to us and start from scratch. That day is today, and the badge of that humiliation was supposed to mail to your post!".
He rosed his hand with the badge to the same level as his pointed gun, tightly gripping the piece of leather. "Yet it was given to me. What the fuck happend!?". Mike's blood and courage filled the arteries of his face.
"Oh. So you know how the whole system works? I don't recall the president ever explain on the screen that day the badge would be mailed.",
Thomas words backed down those arteries' blood on Mike's face a bit, and completely blunt him back to paleness with his next speech:
"Nor do i ever recall I was deemed the "winner of capitalism", the person with most amount of real wealth, that is. Unless someone know my data in and out, don't you think, xXXR1pp3rXx."
"How the hell did you know my...",
"because you like to waste time, Mike", The old man cut him off.
"You like to spend time on forums complaining about your superior in the middle of the work, you like to put video games in the system's hard drive. And you done all these withput covering up the trace."
"...it doesn't matter, you boomer. You stole people's money, MY MONEY; you pay little to no taxes, WHILE I DO. You assfucked the whole system, so it's time YOUR ANAL gets a taste!", Mike threw the badge onto the ground, so he could use the spare hand to support his shivering aiming.
"Mike, do you think becoming rich and STAY RICH is all about money? It's more about patience, time management, and most importantly, social skill. You have genius coding and none of the above I just mentioned, especially the last perk."
Thomas authoritative voice raised, but no anger in sight.
"You belittle your colleagues on zoom meetings; you threaten to jump to another place while never showing any loyalty. And now, you decided to go for shortcut."
"Shortcut?" Mike looked confused.
"By implanting a virus into our government contracted defense system, killing the president, and played a deep fake video of him declaring this whole nonsense, Mike. You think I wouldn't know?".
Thomas rolled his eyes, while Mike's grew as big as possible, shocked.
"Let's be real, young man. You never really fight for the people. You are wealthier than 80% of your peers. You want to drag me down, and took all my hard earned stuff in my bank account at Singapore, and becoming a king yourself. Because you thought since I'm not a software engineering major, I couldn't tell your obvious human intention."
"So here's one last lesson before I leave you to my men. Life has no shortcut, including competing for thrones; if you want to jump your way up to the mountain top, you will end up slipping and hitting the rock bot-"
"BANG!", Mike pulled the trigger and the reolver let out a loud roar, destroying the screen. He was unable to control his temper, as always.
Suddenly, he heard a group of footsteps rushing from his back. He turned around in fear, a squadron of men in black gas masks point their suppressed AR15s at him.
"pew", one of the rifles let out a whisper. | |
[WP] Every year, the richest person in America is declared the "Winner of Capitalism". They get a badge, and all of their wealth is donated to charity, so they have to start back up at $0. | A drop of sweat rolled down Gunther's temple.
Tuning into the annual Capitalist Awards, he sat alone in his office late into the evening. Mallmart had a good fiscal year, a little too good. In the past few years, the company had always coasted steadily into upper echelons of the Fortune 500, but they were far and away from challenging the big guns.
Ever since the awards started, it was natural for the top brass in Wall Street to rotate out. Fiscal responsibility is a bitch like that, not to mention the unwritten pact that seemed to bind many of the world's richest to this curse of an award. The people behind this award were shrouded in mystery and had an almost magical way of avoiding being snooped on. All that was known was that their wealth statistics were absolute, and they had the means of enforcing their awards by any means necessary. The early years saw naive CEOs resign or openly make moves to sabotage their company, and those decisions ended up costing them a lot more than their wealth.
Clapping subsided from the "Most Promising Capitalist" award victor's speech as another masked figure began walking towards the podium. Gunther shifted uneasily in his seat.
Although it wasn't set in stone, Gunther knew he was certainly in the running this year. As much as he tried to blockade Mallmart's after his advisors had warned him of his precipitous rise, it was too little, too late. The PR scandals and price hikes, all as carefully as not to attract the attention of the Awards. He had given as much of his personal wealth to charity as he possibly could, mostly off the record to avoid the press. Gunther had even considered a hefty supply chain disruption, but he knew something of that magnitude would get noticed by the Awards and dealt with swiftly. There was just too much money being made that he could deal with.
Silence resonated on stage as the man pulled out a letter from his breast pocket. He began to recite a fairly generic and grandiose speech celebrating capitalism, only barely different from the monologue given at last year's awards. When they called Gunther's name, the camera panned to a group of Mallmart representatives who were there to pick up the award in his place. The vast majority of nominees for the Winner badge had stopped going to the awards after the first couple of years, mostly in protest or out of stress.
But the badge would always make its way to its rightful owner. As the nominee announcements came to an end, the man opened the envelope to reveal a half-folded piece of off-white paper, with a navy blue seal characteristic of the Capitalist Awards neatly printed in the center.
"And the winner.. of this year's Winner of Capitalism award goes to..."
Gunther closed his eyes. Gunther could hear his heart beating out of his chest as the sound of the drum roll became dampened and distant. He felt his muscles relax, resigning himself to punishment.
"Joyce Franklin of Tempest Industries!"
The crowd erupted into applause and shouts as the camera shifted to where Joyce would have sat, capturing the visibly distraught faces of Tempest employees. One by one, a few of them slowly stood up from their table and shuffled to the stage.
Gunther went from motionless for a few seconds to screaming at the top of his lungs, cheering like he had never done in his life. He had somehow found his way out of fate's grasp this year. Breathing heavily, Gunther sat back down and contemplated what the next year would bring. He knew at the current rate, he was living on borrowed time. His mind quickly shifted to strategies he could take to curtail Mallmart's global presence.
He reached for his phone and dialed for his assistant. There was a lot of work to do. | On a rainy dark night, a shadow was rushing on a street paved with wet raindrops.
It was a masked young man at around 25. Thin, tall with a pair of heavy frame glasses. On his right hand holds a shiny white revolver. The stainless steel body showed a shine as pale as the man's skin around the eyes, as the others are wrapped in black thick cloth. One the opposite hand was a badge, with a logo of multiple "$$$" stringed together.
It was "that day" today, that's why he decided to seek explanation for his dumbfoundedness; and if he found the answer unsatisfying, retribution with the weapon.
After arriving at the front door of a luxurious property, his stare at it for a while, and decide to land his foot right at the middle of the body, kick it right open. Partly because he decided to surprise the resident, and partly out of fury. He rushed into it, aim the gun around the space, and shouted "THOMAS, OUT THE FUCK NOW!"
What is displayed in his eyes was a tidied living room, with no one at sight.
Yet the lights were lit, as if someone already anticipated his hostility.
In front of him there was a stove, and above it was a tv screen. The young man remain alerted for a while and keep scouting for clues, until the screen brighten up, frighten him a bit.
"Thomas...out now.", the young man spoke out at the old man on the display, the brashness disappeared. Thomas looked into the eyes of the young man with calmness, and reply "You know I can't do that, Mike."
"Bullshit, you boomer! The president has declared the date of this year where all people like you give your fair share back to us and start from scratch. That day is today, and the badge of that humiliation was supposed to mail to your post!".
He rosed his hand with the badge to the same level as his pointed gun, tightly gripping the piece of leather. "Yet it was given to me. What the fuck happend!?". Mike's blood and courage filled the arteries of his face.
"Oh. So you know how the whole system works? I don't recall the president ever explain on the screen that day the badge would be mailed.",
Thomas words backed down those arteries' blood on Mike's face a bit, and completely blunt him back to paleness with his next speech:
"Nor do i ever recall I was deemed the "winner of capitalism", the person with most amount of real wealth, that is. Unless someone know my data in and out, don't you think, xXXR1pp3rXx."
"How the hell did you know my...",
"because you like to waste time, Mike", The old man cut him off.
"You like to spend time on forums complaining about your superior in the middle of the work, you like to put video games in the system's hard drive. And you done all these withput covering up the trace."
"...it doesn't matter, you boomer. You stole people's money, MY MONEY; you pay little to no taxes, WHILE I DO. You assfucked the whole system, so it's time YOUR ANAL gets a taste!", Mike threw the badge onto the ground, so he could use the spare hand to support his shivering aiming.
"Mike, do you think becoming rich and STAY RICH is all about money? It's more about patience, time management, and most importantly, social skill. You have genius coding and none of the above I just mentioned, especially the last perk."
Thomas authoritative voice raised, but no anger in sight.
"You belittle your colleagues on zoom meetings; you threaten to jump to another place while never showing any loyalty. And now, you decided to go for shortcut."
"Shortcut?" Mike looked confused.
"By implanting a virus into our government contracted defense system, killing the president, and played a deep fake video of him declaring this whole nonsense, Mike. You think I wouldn't know?".
Thomas rolled his eyes, while Mike's grew as big as possible, shocked.
"Let's be real, young man. You never really fight for the people. You are wealthier than 80% of your peers. You want to drag me down, and took all my hard earned stuff in my bank account at Singapore, and becoming a king yourself. Because you thought since I'm not a software engineering major, I couldn't tell your obvious human intention."
"So here's one last lesson before I leave you to my men. Life has no shortcut, including competing for thrones; if you want to jump your way up to the mountain top, you will end up slipping and hitting the rock bot-"
"BANG!", Mike pulled the trigger and the reolver let out a loud roar, destroying the screen. He was unable to control his temper, as always.
Suddenly, he heard a group of footsteps rushing from his back. He turned around in fear, a squadron of men in black gas masks point their suppressed AR15s at him.
"pew", one of the rifles let out a whisper. | |
[WP] Every year, the richest person in America is declared the "Winner of Capitalism". They get a badge, and all of their wealth is donated to charity, so they have to start back up at $0. | This produces a large incentive not to be the richest person. Most people like good food, comfortable living etc. The incentive here is much stronger than it would be if you just removed 99% of their wealth. (Most people really don't want to be homeless and desperate.)
People rushing to not be the richest. Sometimes by giving away money until they are the second richest. Sending money to other rich people. Hiding money in labyrinthine shell companies. Giving all their friends extravagant gifts (with the expectation of help back if they do get hit by this. ) Outright bribing the accountants tasked with calculating their wealth. | Turns out that landing America in the hands of the extreme left required a set of very stupid mistakes, like allowing a president to old to survive to the end of his term to get elected, thinning your base by short term profiteering form a pandemic, allowing morons to become judges and so on. At some point it was like thinking of "the purge", we were like "fuck off, this is America, won't happen".
But it did, and it was a blood bath! The flamboyantly rich were first to go, some were smart enough to keep enough for a decent living but many were caught of gard and ended up in a dich with a "capitalist pig" necklace.
But we, the old guard, we knew better, we retreated and hid, some in the old countries, some in charities with some help of our old friends the church and organized crime. And then we started the painstaking long proces of taking it back.
Turns out that "no city can resist a mule loaded with gold" isn't just a saying. Many extreme leftists love money also or are just as clumsy or a bit more than the average man. Some ended up falling front face in a tipped over robotic lawn mower. Most were too dumb and their hypocrisy caught up with them and the furious mob did us a favor.
And we took it back, but we had to put a show for the mases. Hence this nonsense of "winner of capitalism".
"panem et circenses": we gave them a few crumbs like "universal healthcare" and "basic human rights" and made a show of punishing the richest man alive. They felt smart by "seeing" behind the "winner of capitalism" badge.
None was the wiser, no body realised that every year the winner was richer than the one a year ago. Because it was rigged, it was a convenient way of getting rid of the competition and redistributing their wealth, to us, not the mases. What did the government know about running a mining operation in Zimbabwe: nothing! They would end up running it in the ground or selling it to us, cents on a dolar. Either way, a win for us.
Except for the poor shmuck who got too ambitious, or pissed off the wrong group. Which brings me to my current predicament. Who knew that doge coin will make a spectacular comeback. That was supposed to be a bad bet to keep me behind but it turned out more lucrative than ever, and now I'm a few billions in front of the favorite and I don't have anywhere to dump it. Fuck!
Unfortunately it wasn't so simple as hiring a new butler for 2-3 bilion. There was only one solution: death. I had to die, and my estate had to be transferred to my heirs before the contest was over. My son will be the second richest man alive without the doge coin holdings that I would leave to my cat.
And I was soo close to perfecting the real prize: mind uploading, true immortality.
Bye! I'm out! | |
[WP] Every year, the richest person in America is declared the "Winner of Capitalism". They get a badge, and all of their wealth is donated to charity, so they have to start back up at $0. | "Sir, this is a deadlock, why don't you simply send the funds elsewhere?"
Rory, fearful for his employment, asked his boss.
"Because Rory," Mansfield replied, "I want to see him go down. It's...a matter of humanity." He leaned back in his chair, the simultaneously first and second richest man on the planet, and hit the enter key. Flickering light off his liquid crystal display danced soulless upon the ice in his scotch. It was late, and nearing 00:00 GMT. The only other person in the enormous office at the top floor of his conglomerate's tower was Mansfield's assiduous secretary, Rory. Mansfield stared at Rory, sighed, loosened his tie, and sipped as the thousands of digits convulsed before his darkening eyes.
On his screen, funds were seen rushing into the coffers of the other, simultaneously first and second, richest man. Well, not DIRECTLY per se. Upon Mansfield's screen could be seen thousands of unique businesses all owned by the same person: his most hated and respected competitor, Scott Princess. At his touch, Mansfield expunged 95% of his multi-trillion dollar empire into every business, stock, or holding Princess owned. Intently, he watched the numbers click into place...and hold. Mansfield breathed a deep sigh, and smiled. Princess, likewise, thousands of miles distant, seriocomically attempted to return the favor.
Upon a pleasure yacht of such enormity and gormandizing it made pathetic the wildest dreams of gods long dead, Princess was submerged in orgy porgy. "Every-buuurp!-every-yes dear, I said burp HAHA!-yes! Every fucker in here quiet down. Shah! Sh! I said! Gol darling what a massive tit. Why isn't your other the same? Who cares, I love it! Everyone! Now sh!!!!" Princess steadied himself upon the poop. Not wholly difficult to accomplish, even for a drunkard, on a vessel that had recently beached itself upon the sands of a Pacific island. Literally shipwrecked, yet still connected to the outside world through satellite uplink, Princess spasmed in a paroxysm of ecstacy and irascible madness.
His sun burnt flesh, straw hat, ridiculous button up and tight fitting chubby shorts were a disarray befitting his mental state. Although he seemed quite zombified, he looked with astonishing intensity within the windows of his sand-faring ship, and pointed. "Look! *burp* Look neow, yesh look you damned gorgeous ho's!" Emphatically, he stupidly demanded the attention of the catatonic women piled about him towards an enormous television within the boat. None of the young, half naked, voluptuous women looked up from their alcohol and heroin induced stupors. Princess ambled forward and continued wagging his finger at the monitor, searching about for validation. Unnecessarily extravagent numbers upon the screen depicted the sum total of Princess's wealth. It doubled (almost) in size instantaneously. The numbers held, unchanging. Scott's dumb smile fell to a frown. "Fucker! Shit-pooping, cuntmuffin bastard! I love you, and I fucking hate you!" Yelled Princess. Spinning forward, he swigged something disgustingly expensive and thoroughly disgusting. The liquor drenched his burning skin and silk underwear. Stumbling forward, still drinking, he fell through an open hatch. A sickening crunch reverberated the empty hall. "Owww!" Princess groaned.
"Princess!" A womans voice shrieked. At the far end of the passageway, a middle aged woman in business attire came running towards a prone Scott Princess. A deckhand had been closer to the broken, fallen trillionaire, but hadn't made any move to assist the fellow. The crew were less than enthused at being intentionally run aground by the wealthy, whoring prodigy. "Scott! God damnit! The rescue aircraft is on it's way! Hopefully it gets here before you succeed in killing yourself. And at this momen!? Do you know what the fuck is happening!?" Dragging him up, the woman barely twisted away as Scott purged his stomach of drugs and drink.
"Bleerrrrggghhh!" Scott retched. The woman propped Scott against herself. "Ugh!" She exclaimed, "God damnit I'm gonna hurl too! What a shitty day Scott. God damnit! Why are you so fucking stupid!?" The woman dragged the wealthiest man in history into the nearest room and placed him upon a couch.
"St-Stacy?" moaned Princess.
"Scott, shut the fuck up! I'm trying to save your life and your finances and you keep sabotaging me at every turn! Just shut up, stay here, and don't fucking move!" Stacy was at her wits end. In frustration, she raced back down the hall to Scott's study. Within the room was an unassuming laptop resting on a table.
"Okay, okay," panted Stacy, "I can figure this out! It's just the password of a genius, playboy, ecstacy rattled mind of a fucking child. You can figure this out Stace!" Stacy stared dumbly at her bosses laptop as she wracked her brain for anything that would offer insight into the password of Princess's private computer.
Behind her, the news around the world was abuzz with the story. The richest men in history, in a duel over the future of their empires, was about to come to a dramatic finale.
"Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck!" Stacy pulled at her black hair as she looked around for any inspiration in Scott's study. About were books of nearly every subject. From Robinson Crusoe to Programming to the Kama Sutra and advanced Economics, hell even the Bhagavad Gita and Hank and Frank offered no conceivable pattern to her.
"Come on!" She yelled, "What the hell does this kid like!?" She had tried every banal password she believed a horny, hubristic, precocious young man might use. Even 5318008 hadn't made the mark. She vainly plied upon his sentimentalities and tried his ex girlfriends, mother, father, dog, cat, and even favorite superheroes; nothing!
Stacy took a deep breath. If she could just get into the laptop, she could transfer his funds somewhere. Anywhere! As long as Scott and Mansfield were locked within this petty, internecine struggle, no one would win! Most of the world's richest, and even poorest, individuals had been halfway smart and transferred to elsewhere their wealth in funds of their choosing to be reacquired later. Scott had to have some inconceivable vendetta against an equally obstinate old man, didn't he? And he HAD to use his programming skills to automatically transfer funds directly back to Mansfield's accounts, no matter what happened.
That's how Scott had become wealthy in the first place. He could program around any human being on the planet. He had found ingenious ways to produce AI capable of indefinitely obscuring the most audacious of financial transactions. How they determined who was the wealthiest individual in this day and age, with Princess's Tergiversation programs manipulating the paper trails, baffled even the most hardied conspiracy theorists. All one had to do was keep constantly transferring funds on the eve of Zero Day, and it would (probably) never be an issue for someone. Even the poorest individual was safe. The only people that were safer were those who kept their funds out of any digital source, buried deep underground. Which people did. Fucking everywhere.
Except-yep-Scott-fucking-Princess. Cryptocurrency my left tit! And Mansfield, presumably because he wasn't a fucking self-immolating twenty-four year old with an inferiority complex, had figured out a way to thwart the auto-transfers. As the clock ticked down from one minute, Stacy was on the verge of tears.
'All those days of putting up with his insanity, and for what!?' she thought. She slumped down. It was over. Her life was over. How many bridges had she burned in this industry, working for this kid? Sure, she had money, but she loved the work. She loved the power, and the thrill of conquering obstacles in her way. She might never get the chance to be on top again.
Stacy ruefully turned her head to the port window facing the bright blue sky. She sniffed, looked away from the blinding brightness, and glanced down. She gasped.
Frantically she jumped up and typed furiously. First try, no luck. Second, again no joy. Third...she was in! "Ahhhhh!!!" She screamed as she pulled up the finances window. As fast as she could she put all but .00001% of Scott's wealth into other competitor's hands, and reset the automatic function Scott had programmed to full dispersal. Even if everyone in the world would deposit their wealth into Scott's business at the very last possible moment, Scott's program would've turned it right back around.
"And that's it! The television announced, that's the end of the Zero Day! Everyone celebrate our wealthiest in America: Mrs. Sicilia Coronado! Congratulations madam, and we hope to see marvelous works done with her charity!"
Stacy breathed a sigh of relief. It was over! She thought. "Thank fucking god!" She lay back and saw out the window the passing overhead of a massive seaplane. Their rescue craft. She again looked down. Before he sight were the well-worn and yellowed pages of a novel that had fallen beside Scott's study couch. "Fucking child." Stacy breathed as she closed her eyes, "Fucking John Galt's motor? What a hypocrite, little shit." | Dear Long-Lost Cousin,
Well...Where do I start?
My name is Xavier Grandmull, I'm 27, and I am the world's shortest-lived Trillionaire.
Now you're probably saying to yourself; '*Wow that's a lot of money!*' or '*Shortest lived? what did he spend it all?!*'
Well no no no, I didn't spend it, I gave it all to charity!
Now before you think of me like some grand hero who gave away everything in search of god or some shit like that, au contraire. It was a Saturday morning when I learned that I was the richest man in America, I was so happy that I jumped out of bed and walked around Ass-naked (BECAUSE I DESERVED IT!) and as I dance very nudely to some old jazz CD I found in my car the other day, The government very nicely kicked down my door, slapped a metal on my neck, called me the winner of capitalism, and Kicked me out of my Mega mansion (while still naked), and gave a tour to the brand new occupants who were a bunch of homeless guys, and a charity worker who all looked like they smoked more weed then the entire west coast combined.
Believe it or not, the same cop who kicked me out decided to throw me in jail for public indecency, just in case my day wasn't already bad enough.
I have to start all over, from rock bottom, no aid, no nothing. This sucks, this sucks bad! The police station gave me some clothes, but I have nothing! I know you don't know me well, but I remembered your information from when I contacted you after that twenty-three and me results showed that we were related. Look i'm not asking for much, but if I could crash on your couch for one or two days...months....years....that would be really helpful.
I've been sitting here for days, I begged and managed to get enough to get a phone with a few minutes on it, and everything I need to send this letter. I have to get off the ground cause lord knows this life style ain't for me. I watched two crackheads staring blankly at a wall the other day saying it was a television.
Please get me out this place I'm gonna die out here.
I should of booked it to mars with Musk, and Bezos when I had the damn chance!
Sincerely,
Your long lost cousin , Xavier
P.S. Also can i borrow like....100k I promise i'll give it back to you UWU | |
[WP] Every year, the richest person in America is declared the "Winner of Capitalism". They get a badge, and all of their wealth is donated to charity, so they have to start back up at $0. | Ted looked at the light peering out from underneath tall, red curtains. All he wanted was to not look too stupid, too dumbfounded. He’d seen previous winners, after all.
Staff busied about backstage, moving in dizzying swoops around him. They pulled at his hair, undoing knots baked into his scalp and massaging the scabs underneath with myriad scented bottles. De-licer, detangler, shampoo, conditioner, a moisturizer rubbed into his cracked skin and calloused hands.
Grasping fingers pulled at him, leaving Ted in his underclothes: a T-shirt – AC/DC, thrifted – and a pair of underwear that hung loosely off his hips. They pulled off his boots last. This was a shame, because they kept the water out and his toes warm, which is something Ted had grown to appreciate. He couldn’t quite find the right timing to ask if they’d be giving them back after.
Even as a new set of overclothes were applied to him – a new set of faceless bodies tugging and pulling and scrubbing – that new anxiety took hold of his mind. He couldn’t stop worrying about his boots. Well, that and looking dumb.
A strong push to the center of his back had Ted stumbling through the curtains. His hands grasped at the rich fabric, struggling to push through and catch himself from falling. When he’d finally steadied himself, Ted was blinded by lights. An endless sea of camera flashes, reflective lenses, and well-manicured hands eagerly bludgeoning him with microphones.
He knew how stupid he must look. Ted had tuned in to watch the Competition every year, before the recession.
Ted stared out over the crowd, over the spectacle that centered around him. He knew millions watching would delight in this show. They’d point out how silly the man looked, how obviously uncomfortable he was in his suit, how his mouth hung slack-jawed. Ted knew he looked like a fool. He looked stupid, dumbfounded.
A hand landed heavy and familiar Ted’s shoulder. He involuntarily cringed, contorting his body as if it might wholly disappear if he made himself small enough. Ted followed the hand up to a well-dressed, older man with powder-white hair and a charming smile.
The Presenter spoke then, but he didn’t look at Ted. His eyes were on the cameras. Only the cameras. Ted was just part of the spectacle.
“Well, Ted, it looks like you’re this year’s winner! How about you let the viewers at home know how you’re feeling right now?”
“I, I mean, uhh, wha–“
“Ha, ha, well that’s just great, Ted! Now, Our accountants back at Competition HQ-,“ here, he winked to the camera, “–have been working all year, meticulously tracking and compiling census data and financial accounts, running the numbers and ultimately deciding who our winner would be. They landed on you, Ted. *You* are the richest person in America.” The Presenter smiled wide. His teeth were too white.
“So. I’m sure everyone at home has got to be wondering, Ted. How rich, exactly, is America’s wealthiest person?”
“Well, I mean, I- I don’t think any of my old accounts are still open-"
(“Ha, ha!" the Presenter added. "They certainly are not, Ted!”)
“Well, I mean, right. Okay. Well, I uh– then I just have this.” Quite involuntarily, Ted pulled a crumpled bill from his pocket. He unfolded it slowly, carefully, as he straightened out its creases. It was all he had.
“Well, someone gave me $5 a couple of days ago.”
“And a smart someone, too! You don’t see them up on this stage right now, do you?” The crowd laughed. Ted couldn’t decide what, exactly, had changed. This all used to be funny. Had the Competition changed?
“Ha, ha! No, it’s just you, Ted."
The presenter continued, “But that really is quite amazing! Congratulations. Here’s your medal.” Ted looked down, ploddingly slow, to see a shiny badge being pinned to his chest, to clothes that weren’t his. Ted looked up to an outstretched hand. “Congratulations, Ted.”
The rest of the ceremony passed so very slowly it seemed to last forever. But afterwards, if a stranger were to ask him what had happened, Ted would be wholly unable to answer. Millions of viewers would tell you: The Presenter had taken Ted’s money. Celebrities and CEOs filled the room with conversation, some even coming over to greet the year’s lucky winner. Ted was trafficked around the room. He did not speak for the rest of the evening. Luckily, no one else seemed to mind.
The whole while Ted was thinking back to his boots. Ted understood the Competition. He wouldn’t be getting his $5 back. But, his boots would be nice. They only had the one hole in the bottom. It would take some effort replacing some his other clothes, but a good pair of boots were another matter entirely.
\---
Ted shifted his weight from foot to foot, feeling the wet asphalt beneath his soles. He rolled them over the ground, feeling the pebbles, the cracked pavement, the shard of glass not sharp enough to cut. His feet were already wrinkling in the cold and wet. They didn't let him keep the clothes, nor the medal. He decided then to try explaining things one last time.
“No, miss, I’m not asking for a handout. I don’t need any money. I just want my boots. I was inside earlier. I know I can’t keep any of the clothes, or the dress shoes. I just... I just want my old boots back.”
The woman at the door seemed uncomfortable. Ted was used to that. It didn’t make it less… well, Ted was still a person. After some internal conflict, the woman finally spoke. “Hey, I’m sorry. I really can’t help you man, I don’t have any money for you. Here, you have to move. You’re disturbing people.”
Ted nodded slowly, murmured his thanks, and walked away. | Dear Long-Lost Cousin,
Well...Where do I start?
My name is Xavier Grandmull, I'm 27, and I am the world's shortest-lived Trillionaire.
Now you're probably saying to yourself; '*Wow that's a lot of money!*' or '*Shortest lived? what did he spend it all?!*'
Well no no no, I didn't spend it, I gave it all to charity!
Now before you think of me like some grand hero who gave away everything in search of god or some shit like that, au contraire. It was a Saturday morning when I learned that I was the richest man in America, I was so happy that I jumped out of bed and walked around Ass-naked (BECAUSE I DESERVED IT!) and as I dance very nudely to some old jazz CD I found in my car the other day, The government very nicely kicked down my door, slapped a metal on my neck, called me the winner of capitalism, and Kicked me out of my Mega mansion (while still naked), and gave a tour to the brand new occupants who were a bunch of homeless guys, and a charity worker who all looked like they smoked more weed then the entire west coast combined.
Believe it or not, the same cop who kicked me out decided to throw me in jail for public indecency, just in case my day wasn't already bad enough.
I have to start all over, from rock bottom, no aid, no nothing. This sucks, this sucks bad! The police station gave me some clothes, but I have nothing! I know you don't know me well, but I remembered your information from when I contacted you after that twenty-three and me results showed that we were related. Look i'm not asking for much, but if I could crash on your couch for one or two days...months....years....that would be really helpful.
I've been sitting here for days, I begged and managed to get enough to get a phone with a few minutes on it, and everything I need to send this letter. I have to get off the ground cause lord knows this life style ain't for me. I watched two crackheads staring blankly at a wall the other day saying it was a television.
Please get me out this place I'm gonna die out here.
I should of booked it to mars with Musk, and Bezos when I had the damn chance!
Sincerely,
Your long lost cousin , Xavier
P.S. Also can i borrow like....100k I promise i'll give it back to you UWU | |
[WP] Every year, the richest person in America is declared the "Winner of Capitalism". They get a badge, and all of their wealth is donated to charity, so they have to start back up at $0. | Excerpt from “The Long Winter: a Memoir of the US during the Zero Day years”
And thus began the races, every year in December billions of dollars would be spill into overseas corporations. At least those held in trust by foreign persons alleged to exist. The only reason it wasn’t hundreds of billions is that the US single handedly sabotaged it’s own hegemony. Most of the country’s industrialists simply left for more business friendly countries after the Zero Day law was implemented.
Zero Day was a law passed by the more progressive faction of the Blues. It was quite popular at the time, so the moderates went with it. It stated that on the tax due date, every year, whoever had the most reported wealth would have their assets liquid and illiquid seized by the government and donated to various charities. Corporations were not exempt.
But when it became law it was like an economic bomb went off. Overnight corporations and anyone with money to lose packed up and left, taking their money with them. The feds tried to stop the banks from hemorrhaging money but it was too late, most of it had left weeks and months before as the money men and women had started siphoning funds into everywhere outside the US’s borders. The economic collapse was not pretty. My dad lost the family aviation maintenance business and my job went with it. No folks rich enough to fly private planes were dumb enough to stay in the states.
When the first Zero Day arrived and some poor sucker in Spokane failed to dump all their assets and wealth, he hung himself before they could track him down through the tax filings to try and stop them from seizing his assets. The 300 acre farm that had been willed to his kids was appropriated by the government and donated to charity. There was a revolt in Texas because of that, riots all over the South, Houston burned for a week before the national guard was able to quell the fighting. The legislators who wrote the Zero Day bill went into hiding, one of them actually managed to get away though so the mobs went after their kin.
Folk adapted though, as they always do. They figured out they could sell their homes to foreign companies who let them lease the land, usually for a premium. Most folk live in government housing now since jobs became an endangered species. The military suffered from a massive surplus of recruits. Getting into the military became an honor as a result (they upped the requirements by a lot), if you got in you were set for life, granted that life was property of the US government to use, abuse, and throw away as it saw fit but that sure as hell beat being outside it. Every year was a race to the bottom, to have less than the poor sucker next to you.
To say those were dark days is an understatement. They were dark years. | Dear Long-Lost Cousin,
Well...Where do I start?
My name is Xavier Grandmull, I'm 27, and I am the world's shortest-lived Trillionaire.
Now you're probably saying to yourself; '*Wow that's a lot of money!*' or '*Shortest lived? what did he spend it all?!*'
Well no no no, I didn't spend it, I gave it all to charity!
Now before you think of me like some grand hero who gave away everything in search of god or some shit like that, au contraire. It was a Saturday morning when I learned that I was the richest man in America, I was so happy that I jumped out of bed and walked around Ass-naked (BECAUSE I DESERVED IT!) and as I dance very nudely to some old jazz CD I found in my car the other day, The government very nicely kicked down my door, slapped a metal on my neck, called me the winner of capitalism, and Kicked me out of my Mega mansion (while still naked), and gave a tour to the brand new occupants who were a bunch of homeless guys, and a charity worker who all looked like they smoked more weed then the entire west coast combined.
Believe it or not, the same cop who kicked me out decided to throw me in jail for public indecency, just in case my day wasn't already bad enough.
I have to start all over, from rock bottom, no aid, no nothing. This sucks, this sucks bad! The police station gave me some clothes, but I have nothing! I know you don't know me well, but I remembered your information from when I contacted you after that twenty-three and me results showed that we were related. Look i'm not asking for much, but if I could crash on your couch for one or two days...months....years....that would be really helpful.
I've been sitting here for days, I begged and managed to get enough to get a phone with a few minutes on it, and everything I need to send this letter. I have to get off the ground cause lord knows this life style ain't for me. I watched two crackheads staring blankly at a wall the other day saying it was a television.
Please get me out this place I'm gonna die out here.
I should of booked it to mars with Musk, and Bezos when I had the damn chance!
Sincerely,
Your long lost cousin , Xavier
P.S. Also can i borrow like....100k I promise i'll give it back to you UWU | |
[WP] Every year, the richest person in America is declared the "Winner of Capitalism". They get a badge, and all of their wealth is donated to charity, so they have to start back up at $0. | A drop of sweat rolled down Gunther's temple.
Tuning into the annual Capitalist Awards, he sat alone in his office late into the evening. Mallmart had a good fiscal year, a little too good. In the past few years, the company had always coasted steadily into upper echelons of the Fortune 500, but they were far and away from challenging the big guns.
Ever since the awards started, it was natural for the top brass in Wall Street to rotate out. Fiscal responsibility is a bitch like that, not to mention the unwritten pact that seemed to bind many of the world's richest to this curse of an award. The people behind this award were shrouded in mystery and had an almost magical way of avoiding being snooped on. All that was known was that their wealth statistics were absolute, and they had the means of enforcing their awards by any means necessary. The early years saw naive CEOs resign or openly make moves to sabotage their company, and those decisions ended up costing them a lot more than their wealth.
Clapping subsided from the "Most Promising Capitalist" award victor's speech as another masked figure began walking towards the podium. Gunther shifted uneasily in his seat.
Although it wasn't set in stone, Gunther knew he was certainly in the running this year. As much as he tried to blockade Mallmart's after his advisors had warned him of his precipitous rise, it was too little, too late. The PR scandals and price hikes, all as carefully as not to attract the attention of the Awards. He had given as much of his personal wealth to charity as he possibly could, mostly off the record to avoid the press. Gunther had even considered a hefty supply chain disruption, but he knew something of that magnitude would get noticed by the Awards and dealt with swiftly. There was just too much money being made that he could deal with.
Silence resonated on stage as the man pulled out a letter from his breast pocket. He began to recite a fairly generic and grandiose speech celebrating capitalism, only barely different from the monologue given at last year's awards. When they called Gunther's name, the camera panned to a group of Mallmart representatives who were there to pick up the award in his place. The vast majority of nominees for the Winner badge had stopped going to the awards after the first couple of years, mostly in protest or out of stress.
But the badge would always make its way to its rightful owner. As the nominee announcements came to an end, the man opened the envelope to reveal a half-folded piece of off-white paper, with a navy blue seal characteristic of the Capitalist Awards neatly printed in the center.
"And the winner.. of this year's Winner of Capitalism award goes to..."
Gunther closed his eyes. Gunther could hear his heart beating out of his chest as the sound of the drum roll became dampened and distant. He felt his muscles relax, resigning himself to punishment.
"Joyce Franklin of Tempest Industries!"
The crowd erupted into applause and shouts as the camera shifted to where Joyce would have sat, capturing the visibly distraught faces of Tempest employees. One by one, a few of them slowly stood up from their table and shuffled to the stage.
Gunther went from motionless for a few seconds to screaming at the top of his lungs, cheering like he had never done in his life. He had somehow found his way out of fate's grasp this year. Breathing heavily, Gunther sat back down and contemplated what the next year would bring. He knew at the current rate, he was living on borrowed time. His mind quickly shifted to strategies he could take to curtail Mallmart's global presence.
He reached for his phone and dialed for his assistant. There was a lot of work to do. | Dear Long-Lost Cousin,
Well...Where do I start?
My name is Xavier Grandmull, I'm 27, and I am the world's shortest-lived Trillionaire.
Now you're probably saying to yourself; '*Wow that's a lot of money!*' or '*Shortest lived? what did he spend it all?!*'
Well no no no, I didn't spend it, I gave it all to charity!
Now before you think of me like some grand hero who gave away everything in search of god or some shit like that, au contraire. It was a Saturday morning when I learned that I was the richest man in America, I was so happy that I jumped out of bed and walked around Ass-naked (BECAUSE I DESERVED IT!) and as I dance very nudely to some old jazz CD I found in my car the other day, The government very nicely kicked down my door, slapped a metal on my neck, called me the winner of capitalism, and Kicked me out of my Mega mansion (while still naked), and gave a tour to the brand new occupants who were a bunch of homeless guys, and a charity worker who all looked like they smoked more weed then the entire west coast combined.
Believe it or not, the same cop who kicked me out decided to throw me in jail for public indecency, just in case my day wasn't already bad enough.
I have to start all over, from rock bottom, no aid, no nothing. This sucks, this sucks bad! The police station gave me some clothes, but I have nothing! I know you don't know me well, but I remembered your information from when I contacted you after that twenty-three and me results showed that we were related. Look i'm not asking for much, but if I could crash on your couch for one or two days...months....years....that would be really helpful.
I've been sitting here for days, I begged and managed to get enough to get a phone with a few minutes on it, and everything I need to send this letter. I have to get off the ground cause lord knows this life style ain't for me. I watched two crackheads staring blankly at a wall the other day saying it was a television.
Please get me out this place I'm gonna die out here.
I should of booked it to mars with Musk, and Bezos when I had the damn chance!
Sincerely,
Your long lost cousin , Xavier
P.S. Also can i borrow like....100k I promise i'll give it back to you UWU | |
[WP] Every year, the richest person in America is declared the "Winner of Capitalism". They get a badge, and all of their wealth is donated to charity, so they have to start back up at $0. | Excerpt from “The Long Winter: a Memoir of the US during the Zero Day years”
And thus began the races, every year in December billions of dollars would be spill into overseas corporations. At least those held in trust by foreign persons alleged to exist. The only reason it wasn’t hundreds of billions is that the US single handedly sabotaged it’s own hegemony. Most of the country’s industrialists simply left for more business friendly countries after the Zero Day law was implemented.
Zero Day was a law passed by the more progressive faction of the Blues. It was quite popular at the time, so the moderates went with it. It stated that on the tax due date, every year, whoever had the most reported wealth would have their assets liquid and illiquid seized by the government and donated to various charities. Corporations were not exempt.
But when it became law it was like an economic bomb went off. Overnight corporations and anyone with money to lose packed up and left, taking their money with them. The feds tried to stop the banks from hemorrhaging money but it was too late, most of it had left weeks and months before as the money men and women had started siphoning funds into everywhere outside the US’s borders. The economic collapse was not pretty. My dad lost the family aviation maintenance business and my job went with it. No folks rich enough to fly private planes were dumb enough to stay in the states.
When the first Zero Day arrived and some poor sucker in Spokane failed to dump all their assets and wealth, he hung himself before they could track him down through the tax filings to try and stop them from seizing his assets. The 300 acre farm that had been willed to his kids was appropriated by the government and donated to charity. There was a revolt in Texas because of that, riots all over the South, Houston burned for a week before the national guard was able to quell the fighting. The legislators who wrote the Zero Day bill went into hiding, one of them actually managed to get away though so the mobs went after their kin.
Folk adapted though, as they always do. They figured out they could sell their homes to foreign companies who let them lease the land, usually for a premium. Most folk live in government housing now since jobs became an endangered species. The military suffered from a massive surplus of recruits. Getting into the military became an honor as a result (they upped the requirements by a lot), if you got in you were set for life, granted that life was property of the US government to use, abuse, and throw away as it saw fit but that sure as hell beat being outside it. Every year was a race to the bottom, to have less than the poor sucker next to you.
To say those were dark days is an understatement. They were dark years. | It was only the second week of philanthropic bidding. But Phillip had already burned through the allotted 20% that his accountant set aside in this “race to the bottom” that America’s wealthiest absolutely must play, once a year, or risk absolute destitution.
Phillip Stone, owner and current CEO of Americawide Insurance, had finally reached the top. It had taken many years to accrue this pile in his coffers. And now that he was here, at the top, only now did he realize just how insane this law was. It felt absolutely unfair. In his own eyes, Phillip’s amassing of wealth was done through pure, honest work.
But many Americans did not feel the same. Do you love the company whom you owe money to? No, Phillip thought, it would be impossible to curry any favor with the public. He had tried before, and he had failed.
It was a game of inches. Simply put, it was somewhat of a game of luck. But Phillip was drawn to it. | |
[WP] Every year, the richest person in America is declared the "Winner of Capitalism". They get a badge, and all of their wealth is donated to charity, so they have to start back up at $0. | A drop of sweat rolled down Gunther's temple.
Tuning into the annual Capitalist Awards, he sat alone in his office late into the evening. Mallmart had a good fiscal year, a little too good. In the past few years, the company had always coasted steadily into upper echelons of the Fortune 500, but they were far and away from challenging the big guns.
Ever since the awards started, it was natural for the top brass in Wall Street to rotate out. Fiscal responsibility is a bitch like that, not to mention the unwritten pact that seemed to bind many of the world's richest to this curse of an award. The people behind this award were shrouded in mystery and had an almost magical way of avoiding being snooped on. All that was known was that their wealth statistics were absolute, and they had the means of enforcing their awards by any means necessary. The early years saw naive CEOs resign or openly make moves to sabotage their company, and those decisions ended up costing them a lot more than their wealth.
Clapping subsided from the "Most Promising Capitalist" award victor's speech as another masked figure began walking towards the podium. Gunther shifted uneasily in his seat.
Although it wasn't set in stone, Gunther knew he was certainly in the running this year. As much as he tried to blockade Mallmart's after his advisors had warned him of his precipitous rise, it was too little, too late. The PR scandals and price hikes, all as carefully as not to attract the attention of the Awards. He had given as much of his personal wealth to charity as he possibly could, mostly off the record to avoid the press. Gunther had even considered a hefty supply chain disruption, but he knew something of that magnitude would get noticed by the Awards and dealt with swiftly. There was just too much money being made that he could deal with.
Silence resonated on stage as the man pulled out a letter from his breast pocket. He began to recite a fairly generic and grandiose speech celebrating capitalism, only barely different from the monologue given at last year's awards. When they called Gunther's name, the camera panned to a group of Mallmart representatives who were there to pick up the award in his place. The vast majority of nominees for the Winner badge had stopped going to the awards after the first couple of years, mostly in protest or out of stress.
But the badge would always make its way to its rightful owner. As the nominee announcements came to an end, the man opened the envelope to reveal a half-folded piece of off-white paper, with a navy blue seal characteristic of the Capitalist Awards neatly printed in the center.
"And the winner.. of this year's Winner of Capitalism award goes to..."
Gunther closed his eyes. Gunther could hear his heart beating out of his chest as the sound of the drum roll became dampened and distant. He felt his muscles relax, resigning himself to punishment.
"Joyce Franklin of Tempest Industries!"
The crowd erupted into applause and shouts as the camera shifted to where Joyce would have sat, capturing the visibly distraught faces of Tempest employees. One by one, a few of them slowly stood up from their table and shuffled to the stage.
Gunther went from motionless for a few seconds to screaming at the top of his lungs, cheering like he had never done in his life. He had somehow found his way out of fate's grasp this year. Breathing heavily, Gunther sat back down and contemplated what the next year would bring. He knew at the current rate, he was living on borrowed time. His mind quickly shifted to strategies he could take to curtail Mallmart's global presence.
He reached for his phone and dialed for his assistant. There was a lot of work to do. | It was only the second week of philanthropic bidding. But Phillip had already burned through the allotted 20% that his accountant set aside in this “race to the bottom” that America’s wealthiest absolutely must play, once a year, or risk absolute destitution.
Phillip Stone, owner and current CEO of Americawide Insurance, had finally reached the top. It had taken many years to accrue this pile in his coffers. And now that he was here, at the top, only now did he realize just how insane this law was. It felt absolutely unfair. In his own eyes, Phillip’s amassing of wealth was done through pure, honest work.
But many Americans did not feel the same. Do you love the company whom you owe money to? No, Phillip thought, it would be impossible to curry any favor with the public. He had tried before, and he had failed.
It was a game of inches. Simply put, it was somewhat of a game of luck. But Phillip was drawn to it. | |
[WP] Every year, the richest person in America is declared the "Winner of Capitalism". They get a badge, and all of their wealth is donated to charity, so they have to start back up at $0. | A drop of sweat rolled down Gunther's temple.
Tuning into the annual Capitalist Awards, he sat alone in his office late into the evening. Mallmart had a good fiscal year, a little too good. In the past few years, the company had always coasted steadily into upper echelons of the Fortune 500, but they were far and away from challenging the big guns.
Ever since the awards started, it was natural for the top brass in Wall Street to rotate out. Fiscal responsibility is a bitch like that, not to mention the unwritten pact that seemed to bind many of the world's richest to this curse of an award. The people behind this award were shrouded in mystery and had an almost magical way of avoiding being snooped on. All that was known was that their wealth statistics were absolute, and they had the means of enforcing their awards by any means necessary. The early years saw naive CEOs resign or openly make moves to sabotage their company, and those decisions ended up costing them a lot more than their wealth.
Clapping subsided from the "Most Promising Capitalist" award victor's speech as another masked figure began walking towards the podium. Gunther shifted uneasily in his seat.
Although it wasn't set in stone, Gunther knew he was certainly in the running this year. As much as he tried to blockade Mallmart's after his advisors had warned him of his precipitous rise, it was too little, too late. The PR scandals and price hikes, all as carefully as not to attract the attention of the Awards. He had given as much of his personal wealth to charity as he possibly could, mostly off the record to avoid the press. Gunther had even considered a hefty supply chain disruption, but he knew something of that magnitude would get noticed by the Awards and dealt with swiftly. There was just too much money being made that he could deal with.
Silence resonated on stage as the man pulled out a letter from his breast pocket. He began to recite a fairly generic and grandiose speech celebrating capitalism, only barely different from the monologue given at last year's awards. When they called Gunther's name, the camera panned to a group of Mallmart representatives who were there to pick up the award in his place. The vast majority of nominees for the Winner badge had stopped going to the awards after the first couple of years, mostly in protest or out of stress.
But the badge would always make its way to its rightful owner. As the nominee announcements came to an end, the man opened the envelope to reveal a half-folded piece of off-white paper, with a navy blue seal characteristic of the Capitalist Awards neatly printed in the center.
"And the winner.. of this year's Winner of Capitalism award goes to..."
Gunther closed his eyes. Gunther could hear his heart beating out of his chest as the sound of the drum roll became dampened and distant. He felt his muscles relax, resigning himself to punishment.
"Joyce Franklin of Tempest Industries!"
The crowd erupted into applause and shouts as the camera shifted to where Joyce would have sat, capturing the visibly distraught faces of Tempest employees. One by one, a few of them slowly stood up from their table and shuffled to the stage.
Gunther went from motionless for a few seconds to screaming at the top of his lungs, cheering like he had never done in his life. He had somehow found his way out of fate's grasp this year. Breathing heavily, Gunther sat back down and contemplated what the next year would bring. He knew at the current rate, he was living on borrowed time. His mind quickly shifted to strategies he could take to curtail Mallmart's global presence.
He reached for his phone and dialed for his assistant. There was a lot of work to do. | Excerpt from “The Long Winter: a Memoir of the US during the Zero Day years”
And thus began the races, every year in December billions of dollars would be spill into overseas corporations. At least those held in trust by foreign persons alleged to exist. The only reason it wasn’t hundreds of billions is that the US single handedly sabotaged it’s own hegemony. Most of the country’s industrialists simply left for more business friendly countries after the Zero Day law was implemented.
Zero Day was a law passed by the more progressive faction of the Blues. It was quite popular at the time, so the moderates went with it. It stated that on the tax due date, every year, whoever had the most reported wealth would have their assets liquid and illiquid seized by the government and donated to various charities. Corporations were not exempt.
But when it became law it was like an economic bomb went off. Overnight corporations and anyone with money to lose packed up and left, taking their money with them. The feds tried to stop the banks from hemorrhaging money but it was too late, most of it had left weeks and months before as the money men and women had started siphoning funds into everywhere outside the US’s borders. The economic collapse was not pretty. My dad lost the family aviation maintenance business and my job went with it. No folks rich enough to fly private planes were dumb enough to stay in the states.
When the first Zero Day arrived and some poor sucker in Spokane failed to dump all their assets and wealth, he hung himself before they could track him down through the tax filings to try and stop them from seizing his assets. The 300 acre farm that had been willed to his kids was appropriated by the government and donated to charity. There was a revolt in Texas because of that, riots all over the South, Houston burned for a week before the national guard was able to quell the fighting. The legislators who wrote the Zero Day bill went into hiding, one of them actually managed to get away though so the mobs went after their kin.
Folk adapted though, as they always do. They figured out they could sell their homes to foreign companies who let them lease the land, usually for a premium. Most folk live in government housing now since jobs became an endangered species. The military suffered from a massive surplus of recruits. Getting into the military became an honor as a result (they upped the requirements by a lot), if you got in you were set for life, granted that life was property of the US government to use, abuse, and throw away as it saw fit but that sure as hell beat being outside it. Every year was a race to the bottom, to have less than the poor sucker next to you.
To say those were dark days is an understatement. They were dark years. | |
[WP] Every year, the richest person in America is declared the "Winner of Capitalism". They get a badge, and all of their wealth is donated to charity, so they have to start back up at $0. | A drop of sweat rolled down Gunther's temple.
Tuning into the annual Capitalist Awards, he sat alone in his office late into the evening. Mallmart had a good fiscal year, a little too good. In the past few years, the company had always coasted steadily into upper echelons of the Fortune 500, but they were far and away from challenging the big guns.
Ever since the awards started, it was natural for the top brass in Wall Street to rotate out. Fiscal responsibility is a bitch like that, not to mention the unwritten pact that seemed to bind many of the world's richest to this curse of an award. The people behind this award were shrouded in mystery and had an almost magical way of avoiding being snooped on. All that was known was that their wealth statistics were absolute, and they had the means of enforcing their awards by any means necessary. The early years saw naive CEOs resign or openly make moves to sabotage their company, and those decisions ended up costing them a lot more than their wealth.
Clapping subsided from the "Most Promising Capitalist" award victor's speech as another masked figure began walking towards the podium. Gunther shifted uneasily in his seat.
Although it wasn't set in stone, Gunther knew he was certainly in the running this year. As much as he tried to blockade Mallmart's after his advisors had warned him of his precipitous rise, it was too little, too late. The PR scandals and price hikes, all as carefully as not to attract the attention of the Awards. He had given as much of his personal wealth to charity as he possibly could, mostly off the record to avoid the press. Gunther had even considered a hefty supply chain disruption, but he knew something of that magnitude would get noticed by the Awards and dealt with swiftly. There was just too much money being made that he could deal with.
Silence resonated on stage as the man pulled out a letter from his breast pocket. He began to recite a fairly generic and grandiose speech celebrating capitalism, only barely different from the monologue given at last year's awards. When they called Gunther's name, the camera panned to a group of Mallmart representatives who were there to pick up the award in his place. The vast majority of nominees for the Winner badge had stopped going to the awards after the first couple of years, mostly in protest or out of stress.
But the badge would always make its way to its rightful owner. As the nominee announcements came to an end, the man opened the envelope to reveal a half-folded piece of off-white paper, with a navy blue seal characteristic of the Capitalist Awards neatly printed in the center.
"And the winner.. of this year's Winner of Capitalism award goes to..."
Gunther closed his eyes. Gunther could hear his heart beating out of his chest as the sound of the drum roll became dampened and distant. He felt his muscles relax, resigning himself to punishment.
"Joyce Franklin of Tempest Industries!"
The crowd erupted into applause and shouts as the camera shifted to where Joyce would have sat, capturing the visibly distraught faces of Tempest employees. One by one, a few of them slowly stood up from their table and shuffled to the stage.
Gunther went from motionless for a few seconds to screaming at the top of his lungs, cheering like he had never done in his life. He had somehow found his way out of fate's grasp this year. Breathing heavily, Gunther sat back down and contemplated what the next year would bring. He knew at the current rate, he was living on borrowed time. His mind quickly shifted to strategies he could take to curtail Mallmart's global presence.
He reached for his phone and dialed for his assistant. There was a lot of work to do. | “I started my business with 0 dollars to my name and have rebuilt this empire by the sweat of my brows”Jeremy said.
The audience had clapped in awe as they cheered his genius as he was awarded the best businessman of the year award. The night had been one filled with accolades, champagne and pats on the back. With promises of new business ventures and associates. Opportunities everywhere.
The morning had started well enough, with a shower in his marbled bathroom, surrounded by gilded mirrors as he changed into his favourite new suit. All custom made of course.
But it went down hill very quickly after breakfast. You see Jeremy had learned from the past to never look at any of his vast array of devices before breakfast.
And oh boy was he glad he didn’t deviate from that today. So as he entered his home office, Jake was looking very nervous, Anxious even. “Good morning sir, have you seen the papers?”Jake had asked him.
“You know I don’t look at them or anything else for that matter, before breakfast. So whats up. What has you so jumpy?”
“Its…. Well its the speech you gave last night. There has been some backlash….. Well see for yourself.”
“What in godsname are you on about my boy. Read it out, please”Jeremy sighed.
“In his speech at the prestigious Ritz- Carlton the former richest man in the USA claimed he built this business from nothing. Several of his former staff have come forward and revealed his most powerful asset was not the money he made or needed. Ot was the contacts he had made. He received several million dollars in loans within the first year of starting his renowned company Sahara…, theres more of the same. Outrage of people claiming you didn’t follow the rules etc. Do you want to hear it?”
“No this is enough. Lets get our strategy set up. Call a meeting of the board of directors and have a press conference first thing tomorrow morning. Oh and get me a list of all my investors, I want to speak to them myself”. | |
[WP] Every year, the richest person in America is declared the "Winner of Capitalism". They get a badge, and all of their wealth is donated to charity, so they have to start back up at $0. | Roederick Douglass. Asuka Sato. Carla Sanchez. Phillip Reed. Janine Taylor - Douglass.
The top five in the field- until this year, I hope, when I'll be on top of that list. I know I'll never be one of the richest Americans, but goddamnit if I won't be pretty darn rich- and as long as I nail it on my first go, I'll be set for life.
When he hired me, Musk said "Sato holds the record- she made Bezos second-richest by only eight bucks in 2025. I want you to do better."
If my algorithm works correctly, Musk will be second-richest this year by pennies. Bring that Professional Spending Consultant bonus on. | “I started my business with 0 dollars to my name and have rebuilt this empire by the sweat of my brows”Jeremy said.
The audience had clapped in awe as they cheered his genius as he was awarded the best businessman of the year award. The night had been one filled with accolades, champagne and pats on the back. With promises of new business ventures and associates. Opportunities everywhere.
The morning had started well enough, with a shower in his marbled bathroom, surrounded by gilded mirrors as he changed into his favourite new suit. All custom made of course.
But it went down hill very quickly after breakfast. You see Jeremy had learned from the past to never look at any of his vast array of devices before breakfast.
And oh boy was he glad he didn’t deviate from that today. So as he entered his home office, Jake was looking very nervous, Anxious even. “Good morning sir, have you seen the papers?”Jake had asked him.
“You know I don’t look at them or anything else for that matter, before breakfast. So whats up. What has you so jumpy?”
“Its…. Well its the speech you gave last night. There has been some backlash….. Well see for yourself.”
“What in godsname are you on about my boy. Read it out, please”Jeremy sighed.
“In his speech at the prestigious Ritz- Carlton the former richest man in the USA claimed he built this business from nothing. Several of his former staff have come forward and revealed his most powerful asset was not the money he made or needed. Ot was the contacts he had made. He received several million dollars in loans within the first year of starting his renowned company Sahara…, theres more of the same. Outrage of people claiming you didn’t follow the rules etc. Do you want to hear it?”
“No this is enough. Lets get our strategy set up. Call a meeting of the board of directors and have a press conference first thing tomorrow morning. Oh and get me a list of all my investors, I want to speak to them myself”. | |
[WP] Every year, the richest person in America is declared the "Winner of Capitalism". They get a badge, and all of their wealth is donated to charity, so they have to start back up at $0. | Warren Buffett sat on the stage.
Today was a bittersweet day. It always was.
His back was killing him and some asshole was five minutes over time; talking about what a brilliant businessman he was. He didn't feel brilliant right then.
He felt like a fucking pig waiting to be slaughtered.
His mind ran through the last eight years. The shortest period for anyone to ever do the run from zero to "winner" of capitalism (well, if you didn't count that bitcoin jackass nobody could seem to track down). They were good years. He hoped his successor at Berk-5 would be able to keep it running this time. He thought he'd found a good man with Ajit, but after Sokol had wiped out Berk-3 in the Lubrizol affair...his faith in his ability to find honest men had been permanently eroded.
The speaker finished up, and another replaced him at the lectern. His first wife.
At least she was always kind.
He'd finally sold the house where he'd lived with his third wife for five years. They had divorced a couple years back. It was rational, even though it hurt at the time.
No sense in taking them both out just because he would win. Again.
He'd rent this time. A house was a temporary possession anyway, and it was a drag on building any *real* wealth. He'd have to get a loan to furnish the place, but hell, if a five time winner of capitalism couldn't get a personal on a promise who could?
Though...last time B of A rejected him. He put everything he had on the line, bailing them out during the housing collapse. A year before they rejected him he had *owned* half the company. Now it was run by some asshole who's main talent was being nephew to a boardmember of the charitable foundation run #4 had gone to. His bailout of B of A was cited as the reason they couldn't bail him out. He found it funny now, he'd tell the story at a burn-party if he could ever get himself to go to one again.
Everyone was looking at him.
Goddammit it was his turn to speak.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
After the speech he wandered down the busy streets of DC, wearing the towel he'd been given (his first new possession!) like some Greek philosopher in a toga. He'd be able to go pick up his five winner's badges tomorrow. He always got to keep those, they weren't worth anything.
He briefly considered going to one of the parties being held around DC. After all, they were supposedly in his honor. The real reason of course was to burn through enough cash so that none of the hosts would have the "honor" next year.
Enough wine and food would be wasted tonight to make the Romans blush.
He'd had more enthusiasm for it in his forties. Then he watched someone jump out of Van Gogh's original *Starry Night* as an entrance gag and it soured him on the whole premise.
The man had called it performance art when Buffett confronted him. Warren was never a spendthrift, but that night he became so tight-fisted that he...
...well, that he'd become "winner of capitalism" five times.
He found a promising looking alleyway next to the offices of the Washington Post. In the morning he'd try to get a job as a paperboy. Hell, maybe he'd just stay one this time.
He bedded down, anticipation for tomorrow was going to make it hard to sleep. There was something stoic about sleeping on the ground one night every decade or so. Starting over was hard, but it was honest.
The revelry on the streets was quieter here. They'd perfected bread and circuses in a way the romans couldn't hope to match.
Out of the corner of his eye Warren caught a flash. A man with a switchblade walked towards him, "Your money or your life!"
Warren raised his head to look at him, "I'm afraid your a few hours too late, friend."
"This isn't a joke old man. Give me everything!"
Warren laughed. | “I started my business with 0 dollars to my name and have rebuilt this empire by the sweat of my brows”Jeremy said.
The audience had clapped in awe as they cheered his genius as he was awarded the best businessman of the year award. The night had been one filled with accolades, champagne and pats on the back. With promises of new business ventures and associates. Opportunities everywhere.
The morning had started well enough, with a shower in his marbled bathroom, surrounded by gilded mirrors as he changed into his favourite new suit. All custom made of course.
But it went down hill very quickly after breakfast. You see Jeremy had learned from the past to never look at any of his vast array of devices before breakfast.
And oh boy was he glad he didn’t deviate from that today. So as he entered his home office, Jake was looking very nervous, Anxious even. “Good morning sir, have you seen the papers?”Jake had asked him.
“You know I don’t look at them or anything else for that matter, before breakfast. So whats up. What has you so jumpy?”
“Its…. Well its the speech you gave last night. There has been some backlash….. Well see for yourself.”
“What in godsname are you on about my boy. Read it out, please”Jeremy sighed.
“In his speech at the prestigious Ritz- Carlton the former richest man in the USA claimed he built this business from nothing. Several of his former staff have come forward and revealed his most powerful asset was not the money he made or needed. Ot was the contacts he had made. He received several million dollars in loans within the first year of starting his renowned company Sahara…, theres more of the same. Outrage of people claiming you didn’t follow the rules etc. Do you want to hear it?”
“No this is enough. Lets get our strategy set up. Call a meeting of the board of directors and have a press conference first thing tomorrow morning. Oh and get me a list of all my investors, I want to speak to them myself”. | |
[WP] Every year, the richest person in America is declared the "Winner of Capitalism". They get a badge, and all of their wealth is donated to charity, so they have to start back up at $0. | Roederick Douglass. Asuka Sato. Carla Sanchez. Phillip Reed. Janine Taylor - Douglass.
The top five in the field- until this year, I hope, when I'll be on top of that list. I know I'll never be one of the richest Americans, but goddamnit if I won't be pretty darn rich- and as long as I nail it on my first go, I'll be set for life.
When he hired me, Musk said "Sato holds the record- she made Bezos second-richest by only eight bucks in 2025. I want you to do better."
If my algorithm works correctly, Musk will be second-richest this year by pennies. Bring that Professional Spending Consultant bonus on. | The CEO sat in his office. It had a deep red for a carpet, and quite a few coffee stains. The walls were painted a beautiful white, with his desk and the cabinets made out of a wood with a rich brown. He himself wore a gray suit, with a red tie and a white undershirt. He preferred a sweater and sweatpants, but today was an important meeting.
He quickly logged onto his laptop. It was a slim device, painted in yellow and filled with the most compact electronics money could buy. He logged onto a zoom meeting, and his investors quickly joined the meeting. They were meeting about the company's stocks in relation to the Winner of Capitalism award.
He quickly shushed their concerns, and said "It's okay. Even if I am declared the winner of capitalism, my business has a separate bank account from me. The business will stay the same, even if my bank account is emptied."
One of the investors piped up, saying "But what if the business is declared the Winner of Capitalism?"
The CEO replied with "It can't due to legal loopholes. Due to how the law is phrased, only people can be declared the Winner of Capitalism."
The Investors quickly quieted down, and the CEO continued "If you continue your investment in us, we could grow our business by 50% over the next 5 years."
The Investors were convinced eventually, and the CEO logged off his yellow laptop. He changed into his preferred outfit of sweatpants and a sweater and began his usual business. | |
[WP] Every year, the richest person in America is declared the "Winner of Capitalism". They get a badge, and all of their wealth is donated to charity, so they have to start back up at $0. | Warren Buffett sat on the stage.
Today was a bittersweet day. It always was.
His back was killing him and some asshole was five minutes over time; talking about what a brilliant businessman he was. He didn't feel brilliant right then.
He felt like a fucking pig waiting to be slaughtered.
His mind ran through the last eight years. The shortest period for anyone to ever do the run from zero to "winner" of capitalism (well, if you didn't count that bitcoin jackass nobody could seem to track down). They were good years. He hoped his successor at Berk-5 would be able to keep it running this time. He thought he'd found a good man with Ajit, but after Sokol had wiped out Berk-3 in the Lubrizol affair...his faith in his ability to find honest men had been permanently eroded.
The speaker finished up, and another replaced him at the lectern. His first wife.
At least she was always kind.
He'd finally sold the house where he'd lived with his third wife for five years. They had divorced a couple years back. It was rational, even though it hurt at the time.
No sense in taking them both out just because he would win. Again.
He'd rent this time. A house was a temporary possession anyway, and it was a drag on building any *real* wealth. He'd have to get a loan to furnish the place, but hell, if a five time winner of capitalism couldn't get a personal on a promise who could?
Though...last time B of A rejected him. He put everything he had on the line, bailing them out during the housing collapse. A year before they rejected him he had *owned* half the company. Now it was run by some asshole who's main talent was being nephew to a boardmember of the charitable foundation run #4 had gone to. His bailout of B of A was cited as the reason they couldn't bail him out. He found it funny now, he'd tell the story at a burn-party if he could ever get himself to go to one again.
Everyone was looking at him.
Goddammit it was his turn to speak.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
After the speech he wandered down the busy streets of DC, wearing the towel he'd been given (his first new possession!) like some Greek philosopher in a toga. He'd be able to go pick up his five winner's badges tomorrow. He always got to keep those, they weren't worth anything.
He briefly considered going to one of the parties being held around DC. After all, they were supposedly in his honor. The real reason of course was to burn through enough cash so that none of the hosts would have the "honor" next year.
Enough wine and food would be wasted tonight to make the Romans blush.
He'd had more enthusiasm for it in his forties. Then he watched someone jump out of Van Gogh's original *Starry Night* as an entrance gag and it soured him on the whole premise.
The man had called it performance art when Buffett confronted him. Warren was never a spendthrift, but that night he became so tight-fisted that he...
...well, that he'd become "winner of capitalism" five times.
He found a promising looking alleyway next to the offices of the Washington Post. In the morning he'd try to get a job as a paperboy. Hell, maybe he'd just stay one this time.
He bedded down, anticipation for tomorrow was going to make it hard to sleep. There was something stoic about sleeping on the ground one night every decade or so. Starting over was hard, but it was honest.
The revelry on the streets was quieter here. They'd perfected bread and circuses in a way the romans couldn't hope to match.
Out of the corner of his eye Warren caught a flash. A man with a switchblade walked towards him, "Your money or your life!"
Warren raised his head to look at him, "I'm afraid your a few hours too late, friend."
"This isn't a joke old man. Give me everything!"
Warren laughed. | The CEO sat in his office. It had a deep red for a carpet, and quite a few coffee stains. The walls were painted a beautiful white, with his desk and the cabinets made out of a wood with a rich brown. He himself wore a gray suit, with a red tie and a white undershirt. He preferred a sweater and sweatpants, but today was an important meeting.
He quickly logged onto his laptop. It was a slim device, painted in yellow and filled with the most compact electronics money could buy. He logged onto a zoom meeting, and his investors quickly joined the meeting. They were meeting about the company's stocks in relation to the Winner of Capitalism award.
He quickly shushed their concerns, and said "It's okay. Even if I am declared the winner of capitalism, my business has a separate bank account from me. The business will stay the same, even if my bank account is emptied."
One of the investors piped up, saying "But what if the business is declared the Winner of Capitalism?"
The CEO replied with "It can't due to legal loopholes. Due to how the law is phrased, only people can be declared the Winner of Capitalism."
The Investors quickly quieted down, and the CEO continued "If you continue your investment in us, we could grow our business by 50% over the next 5 years."
The Investors were convinced eventually, and the CEO logged off his yellow laptop. He changed into his preferred outfit of sweatpants and a sweater and began his usual business. | |
[WP] When someone dies, they're able to create a small gem containing their skills. This gem allows someone carrying it to perform that skill at the same level - With one catch. While using a gem, the wielder does not improve their own ability, but instead improves the gem. | Jira held the green gem loosely in her palm. She shook it gently to feel it rock softly on her skin, hoping to get a flash of memory from Grandfather. The gems didn’t work that way, she knew, but still she hoped,perhaps, for the wonder of the first time she had held it.
She had been so eager that day!
Father and Uncle Lin had declined to take up Grandfather’s gem, saying that they were already competent enough at the potter’s wheel to continue the family business. Having a new master would help with the work, so the next generation should take the gem.
Jira, her brother, Jord, and three of their cousins were each given a chance to create one perfect bowl using the gem. Uncle,being the elder brother, would decide who would carry Grandfather’s gem.
After all the time she had spent learning at her grandfather’s knee, Jira was sure she would be chosen for the honor. She loved the time she spent learning from Grandfather, far more than the others. True, her cousins spent time with Uncle Lin or Father, but she was the one who knew Grandfather best. Surely, they would see that she was most deserving.
Her cousins each produced bowls that were nearly identical,save the color choices. They were Grandfather’s signature style and it made Jira’s heart ache with grief to see the perfect reproductions of his work. Jord, the ever reluctant student, had found something deep inside the gem that allowed him to produce an enormous soup bowl in Great grandfather’s strongly geometric style.
Jira and Grandfather had been experimenting with a new, finer clay in the months before his death. This, she decided, was what she would make her bowl from. With grandfather’s gem guiding her hands, Jira shaped a finer bowl than any of the others. But it, and the bowls she attempted afterwards, shattered in the kiln.
Her father had kindly sent her upriver to search for fresh clay while the family held the ceremony where Uncle Lin formally passed the gem to Jord. Jira cried enough to fill the river on that trip. All of the jealousy and shame poured out of her into the indifferent waters. The day she found afresh deposit of the fine clay that had betrayed her, Jira spent pounding and shaping the earth at the water’s edge until all of her anger faded away and was replaced by a vengeful determination to bend the clay to her will.
When she returned, her cousin Tan was using her wheel, the one closest to Grandfather’s place in the shop. Jira’s heart stopped for a moment. The fear that she had shown herself to be so poor a potter, even with a Gem to help her, that they were shunning her washed over her. But, no, they had given her Grandfather’s place, Grandfather’s wheel. She took it for the apology that no one would ever speak and went to work.
Business was steady as Jord grew into his place as the new master potter. He enjoyed the running of the business, perhaps more than the work of shaping the clay, and the family prospered for many years. Grandfather’s Gem twinkled greenly at his throat, always forming a wall between him and Jira.
Perhaps out of guilt, or some inherited wisdom, Jord never discouraged Jira from continuing to experiment with the new clay. His joy was genuine the day that she figured out the firing process and produced her first batch of thin walled teacups.
In the years that followed, the business changed. Father and Uncle Lin and Jord continued to make the old style cups and bowls. Their heavy jars stayed popular, but more and more people came to the shop for Jira’s fine cups.
Tan was the first cousin she taught her technique, as he patiently worked beside her. Soon enough, their other cousins were learning from her as well. The shop’s output shifted, and by the time first Father, then Uncle Lin retired, they found that there was no need to replace them with potters from the younger generation. Jord alone was able to provide all the old style pots they needed.
She didn’t notice it at first, the swelling in her palate. She did notice the nostalgic looks that Father and Uncle Lin exchanged when she was describing some of the subtleties of working the clay to the younger children during family meal times. But it was Tan’s young daughter, Wini, who told Jira that she talked funny. Everyone agreed that she was beginning to sound like Grandfather, whose Gem had grown to fill enough of his palate that he had slurred when he spoke too quickly.
Jira wasn’t sure that she was a master. She still had so much to learn and pass on. But the Gem kept growing and she had to admit that she did sound like Grandfather now.
“Are you sure, Brother?” Jira shook the Gem in her hand again.
“Yes, I’m going to enjoy my retirement,” he smiled broadly at the thought of the warm room his son and daughter-in-law had prepared for him in their home. “You’re the oldest still working; it’s your burden now.”
Jira frowned. Shaping the clay didn’t feel like a burden to her. The Gem didn’t either. The first time she held it, it was like being glazed in a vat of wisdom, but now? Now she wasn’t sure she could feel a change inside her.
“ We shall have a contest among the youngsters,” she decided,“to see who should carry it next.” | “That doesn’t seem like much of a catch.”
The gem was polished to a bluish luster. It wasn’t reflective per say, but I could certainly see myself in its surface. I twirled an unknown dance, though in reality, I was completely motionless.
“You’re missing the point.”
I doubted it. If I improved the gem, would I not experience the improvement?
This skillset belonged to a certain “Jesse,” renowned chef from the city. He died, and his culinary skills were now in my hands.
The only “downside” was that I had to contribute my own.
Which wasn’t a downside at all.
“The famed jewel not only transfers skill. It also transfers intent.”
Hm. That would explain some things.
I felt… veracious, as if I had not lived a life of theft and treason before this. I longed to turn myself in, but that was stupid.
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why does it transfer intent as well? I’ve never read this in the texts.”
He bit his cheek, frowning, as if he had just opened a can of surströmming. Rotten dish, that one.
“You feel it, don’t you?”
I see. He was going to dodge the question.
I nodded reluctantly.
“How do you think it transfers skill? Or intent, for that matter.”
“It…” This took me a moment, “transfers the mind, yes?”
The rustle and bustle of the spring trees gave no impression it heard our shady dealing. Suddenly, I wanted it to, because I felt very, very alone.
“The mind in its entirety, truly.”
The masked hooligan sauntered in circles around me. The wind made no move to still my beating heart. Funny, I didn’t feel it pulsing.
I gasped for air which would never reach me.
“It transfers skill, yes. The very essence of the soul, indeed.”
The man knelt as a knight before his king—only he was no knight and I was no king. The slightest breeze toppled me over, and I fell on the ground of the patio.
“Your body no longer thinks it is alive. Your soul may realize, but your body does not. There is a conflict of interest.”
My fingertips grew numb. Feet rigid and stiff, as if in chains.
“And now, you are preparing for rigor mortis.”
That’s not how it works, you fucking idiot.
I tried grinding my teeth, to no avail. I tried screaming, to no avail. Still, in my hand, I twirled an unknown dance, even as I laid completely motionless.
He choked a laugh, wiping sweat from his brow.
“How pitiful.”
This fucker.
“You stole something.”
I did?
I… don’t remember stealing anything.
“You’re merely paying me compensation.”
Fuck.
“That is all.”
The hooligan fished out a glove from his pocket, taking careful measure to pick up the gem without physical contact.
“It was a pleasure doing business with you.” | |
[WP] When someone dies, they're able to create a small gem containing their skills. This gem allows someone carrying it to perform that skill at the same level - With one catch. While using a gem, the wielder does not improve their own ability, but instead improves the gem. | When I was ten, my grandma died. She was a sweet old lady, but she had a mysterious side. She wore a purple gem around her neck at all times and never let me touch it. She said it was a special family heirloom. I didn't much believe her; it was just a necklace.
Anyways, when my grandma died, the necklace was passed on to my mom. It made sense. Mom was the oldest by four years. When Mom put on the necklace, a faint smile appeared on her face. She was happy for the first time since the funeral.
My mom never knew how to cook. Her food was disgusting, and I refused to eat it. When she put on the necklace, that changed. She was able to fix holes in my clothes, cook, paint, and dance. She took me dancing just like my granny did.
Whenever Mom did these things, the necklace glowed. It wanted to be shown off. It wanted to be wanted. My mom died in a car accident when I was nineteen. I mourned her loss, but she gave me the necklace.
That special family heirloom that my grandma cared about so much was finally mine.
I was able to sew, cook, and paint. I already knew how to dance. The necklace was my special thing. I was perfect with it. It's the reason I got my boyfriend. It's the reason I got my job.
It was awful when I lost it. I had been at the beach with Caleb, my boyfriend, and we were playing in the water. I was stupid and kept it on. Then, it was gone.
If I couldn't paint, I couldn't work. If I couldn't cook, I couldn't have Caleb. I was a fraud. Everyone would hate me.
Two days after the loss, Caleb came by. He gave me the necklace and told me we had to break things off. He called me a witch and said that my gem was the only reason I had anything good. He told me not to be so dependent on it.
I didn't say anything. I just kicked him out. My depression had spiraled out of control in the two days the necklace was gone, but now, I would be ok. I had the necklace, and that was all I needed. | “That doesn’t seem like much of a catch.”
The gem was polished to a bluish luster. It wasn’t reflective per say, but I could certainly see myself in its surface. I twirled an unknown dance, though in reality, I was completely motionless.
“You’re missing the point.”
I doubted it. If I improved the gem, would I not experience the improvement?
This skillset belonged to a certain “Jesse,” renowned chef from the city. He died, and his culinary skills were now in my hands.
The only “downside” was that I had to contribute my own.
Which wasn’t a downside at all.
“The famed jewel not only transfers skill. It also transfers intent.”
Hm. That would explain some things.
I felt… veracious, as if I had not lived a life of theft and treason before this. I longed to turn myself in, but that was stupid.
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why does it transfer intent as well? I’ve never read this in the texts.”
He bit his cheek, frowning, as if he had just opened a can of surströmming. Rotten dish, that one.
“You feel it, don’t you?”
I see. He was going to dodge the question.
I nodded reluctantly.
“How do you think it transfers skill? Or intent, for that matter.”
“It…” This took me a moment, “transfers the mind, yes?”
The rustle and bustle of the spring trees gave no impression it heard our shady dealing. Suddenly, I wanted it to, because I felt very, very alone.
“The mind in its entirety, truly.”
The masked hooligan sauntered in circles around me. The wind made no move to still my beating heart. Funny, I didn’t feel it pulsing.
I gasped for air which would never reach me.
“It transfers skill, yes. The very essence of the soul, indeed.”
The man knelt as a knight before his king—only he was no knight and I was no king. The slightest breeze toppled me over, and I fell on the ground of the patio.
“Your body no longer thinks it is alive. Your soul may realize, but your body does not. There is a conflict of interest.”
My fingertips grew numb. Feet rigid and stiff, as if in chains.
“And now, you are preparing for rigor mortis.”
That’s not how it works, you fucking idiot.
I tried grinding my teeth, to no avail. I tried screaming, to no avail. Still, in my hand, I twirled an unknown dance, even as I laid completely motionless.
He choked a laugh, wiping sweat from his brow.
“How pitiful.”
This fucker.
“You stole something.”
I did?
I… don’t remember stealing anything.
“You’re merely paying me compensation.”
Fuck.
“That is all.”
The hooligan fished out a glove from his pocket, taking careful measure to pick up the gem without physical contact.
“It was a pleasure doing business with you.” | |
[WP] When someone dies, they're able to create a small gem containing their skills. This gem allows someone carrying it to perform that skill at the same level - With one catch. While using a gem, the wielder does not improve their own ability, but instead improves the gem. | Jira held the green gem loosely in her palm. She shook it gently to feel it rock softly on her skin, hoping to get a flash of memory from Grandfather. The gems didn’t work that way, she knew, but still she hoped,perhaps, for the wonder of the first time she had held it.
She had been so eager that day!
Father and Uncle Lin had declined to take up Grandfather’s gem, saying that they were already competent enough at the potter’s wheel to continue the family business. Having a new master would help with the work, so the next generation should take the gem.
Jira, her brother, Jord, and three of their cousins were each given a chance to create one perfect bowl using the gem. Uncle,being the elder brother, would decide who would carry Grandfather’s gem.
After all the time she had spent learning at her grandfather’s knee, Jira was sure she would be chosen for the honor. She loved the time she spent learning from Grandfather, far more than the others. True, her cousins spent time with Uncle Lin or Father, but she was the one who knew Grandfather best. Surely, they would see that she was most deserving.
Her cousins each produced bowls that were nearly identical,save the color choices. They were Grandfather’s signature style and it made Jira’s heart ache with grief to see the perfect reproductions of his work. Jord, the ever reluctant student, had found something deep inside the gem that allowed him to produce an enormous soup bowl in Great grandfather’s strongly geometric style.
Jira and Grandfather had been experimenting with a new, finer clay in the months before his death. This, she decided, was what she would make her bowl from. With grandfather’s gem guiding her hands, Jira shaped a finer bowl than any of the others. But it, and the bowls she attempted afterwards, shattered in the kiln.
Her father had kindly sent her upriver to search for fresh clay while the family held the ceremony where Uncle Lin formally passed the gem to Jord. Jira cried enough to fill the river on that trip. All of the jealousy and shame poured out of her into the indifferent waters. The day she found afresh deposit of the fine clay that had betrayed her, Jira spent pounding and shaping the earth at the water’s edge until all of her anger faded away and was replaced by a vengeful determination to bend the clay to her will.
When she returned, her cousin Tan was using her wheel, the one closest to Grandfather’s place in the shop. Jira’s heart stopped for a moment. The fear that she had shown herself to be so poor a potter, even with a Gem to help her, that they were shunning her washed over her. But, no, they had given her Grandfather’s place, Grandfather’s wheel. She took it for the apology that no one would ever speak and went to work.
Business was steady as Jord grew into his place as the new master potter. He enjoyed the running of the business, perhaps more than the work of shaping the clay, and the family prospered for many years. Grandfather’s Gem twinkled greenly at his throat, always forming a wall between him and Jira.
Perhaps out of guilt, or some inherited wisdom, Jord never discouraged Jira from continuing to experiment with the new clay. His joy was genuine the day that she figured out the firing process and produced her first batch of thin walled teacups.
In the years that followed, the business changed. Father and Uncle Lin and Jord continued to make the old style cups and bowls. Their heavy jars stayed popular, but more and more people came to the shop for Jira’s fine cups.
Tan was the first cousin she taught her technique, as he patiently worked beside her. Soon enough, their other cousins were learning from her as well. The shop’s output shifted, and by the time first Father, then Uncle Lin retired, they found that there was no need to replace them with potters from the younger generation. Jord alone was able to provide all the old style pots they needed.
She didn’t notice it at first, the swelling in her palate. She did notice the nostalgic looks that Father and Uncle Lin exchanged when she was describing some of the subtleties of working the clay to the younger children during family meal times. But it was Tan’s young daughter, Wini, who told Jira that she talked funny. Everyone agreed that she was beginning to sound like Grandfather, whose Gem had grown to fill enough of his palate that he had slurred when he spoke too quickly.
Jira wasn’t sure that she was a master. She still had so much to learn and pass on. But the Gem kept growing and she had to admit that she did sound like Grandfather now.
“Are you sure, Brother?” Jira shook the Gem in her hand again.
“Yes, I’m going to enjoy my retirement,” he smiled broadly at the thought of the warm room his son and daughter-in-law had prepared for him in their home. “You’re the oldest still working; it’s your burden now.”
Jira frowned. Shaping the clay didn’t feel like a burden to her. The Gem didn’t either. The first time she held it, it was like being glazed in a vat of wisdom, but now? Now she wasn’t sure she could feel a change inside her.
“ We shall have a contest among the youngsters,” she decided,“to see who should carry it next.” | I woke up on sandy beach, confused. I was on a ship yesterday, hungry. In a brig, with a piece of cloth on my back. Yes, I am a criminal. The ship supposed to send me and dozens more to somewhere. I didn't pay attention where. I no longer care. The weather was bad, as if the sea wanted to swallow us whole. And it did.
I look around and saw lot oc corpses washed up on the shore. Then I heard a voice. A survivor? Like me? Guess the sea spit us out again. I walked up to him, trying to make sense what he say but it was gibberish to me at the moment, still groggy.
Suddenly, "Warrrghh.." a corpse nearby rise up and it shambled towards me. It look angry. Hungry. Hangry. I look around, looking for a weapon or something. A driftwood! Better than nothing. I grabbed the wood and swing it to the walking corpse. Thwaack! It fell. I hit it a couple more for good measure. Need to make sure dead thing stay dead.
I look back to my fellow survivor. Well, poor chap didn't make it. I examined the corpse of the..corpse? Aha, a gem! This is not your ordinary gem. This is a skill gem. I never have one but I seen people using this kind of gem. I don't know how but rumours say this gem sometimes formed when a creature dies. Their blood would crystallised and grant the user a great power. Fire, lightning, cold, superhuman strength. They all random. But this one let me shoot fireball. Another corpse. I channeled the power and fyooom! Poor guy is roasted. Smells like roasted boar. The smells makes me hungry but that was walking corpse. I don't want to get infected.
But there is a tradeoff. It draw energy from your willpower or 'mana'. This 'mana' exist in everyone and the gem act like a key to unlock the 'mana' reservoir in you. Magic users usually have big pool of mana. Of course, I'm no magic user. I am just a big guy whole like to settle any dispute with my fists. My fists kept me alive all this while but this time, on this strange land, I need to rely both on my strength and on this magic fireball.
This is my story as an exile. | |
[WP] When someone dies, they're able to create a small gem containing their skills. This gem allows someone carrying it to perform that skill at the same level - With one catch. While using a gem, the wielder does not improve their own ability, but instead improves the gem. | When I was ten, my grandma died. She was a sweet old lady, but she had a mysterious side. She wore a purple gem around her neck at all times and never let me touch it. She said it was a special family heirloom. I didn't much believe her; it was just a necklace.
Anyways, when my grandma died, the necklace was passed on to my mom. It made sense. Mom was the oldest by four years. When Mom put on the necklace, a faint smile appeared on her face. She was happy for the first time since the funeral.
My mom never knew how to cook. Her food was disgusting, and I refused to eat it. When she put on the necklace, that changed. She was able to fix holes in my clothes, cook, paint, and dance. She took me dancing just like my granny did.
Whenever Mom did these things, the necklace glowed. It wanted to be shown off. It wanted to be wanted. My mom died in a car accident when I was nineteen. I mourned her loss, but she gave me the necklace.
That special family heirloom that my grandma cared about so much was finally mine.
I was able to sew, cook, and paint. I already knew how to dance. The necklace was my special thing. I was perfect with it. It's the reason I got my boyfriend. It's the reason I got my job.
It was awful when I lost it. I had been at the beach with Caleb, my boyfriend, and we were playing in the water. I was stupid and kept it on. Then, it was gone.
If I couldn't paint, I couldn't work. If I couldn't cook, I couldn't have Caleb. I was a fraud. Everyone would hate me.
Two days after the loss, Caleb came by. He gave me the necklace and told me we had to break things off. He called me a witch and said that my gem was the only reason I had anything good. He told me not to be so dependent on it.
I didn't say anything. I just kicked him out. My depression had spiraled out of control in the two days the necklace was gone, but now, I would be ok. I had the necklace, and that was all I needed. | I woke up on sandy beach, confused. I was on a ship yesterday, hungry. In a brig, with a piece of cloth on my back. Yes, I am a criminal. The ship supposed to send me and dozens more to somewhere. I didn't pay attention where. I no longer care. The weather was bad, as if the sea wanted to swallow us whole. And it did.
I look around and saw lot oc corpses washed up on the shore. Then I heard a voice. A survivor? Like me? Guess the sea spit us out again. I walked up to him, trying to make sense what he say but it was gibberish to me at the moment, still groggy.
Suddenly, "Warrrghh.." a corpse nearby rise up and it shambled towards me. It look angry. Hungry. Hangry. I look around, looking for a weapon or something. A driftwood! Better than nothing. I grabbed the wood and swing it to the walking corpse. Thwaack! It fell. I hit it a couple more for good measure. Need to make sure dead thing stay dead.
I look back to my fellow survivor. Well, poor chap didn't make it. I examined the corpse of the..corpse? Aha, a gem! This is not your ordinary gem. This is a skill gem. I never have one but I seen people using this kind of gem. I don't know how but rumours say this gem sometimes formed when a creature dies. Their blood would crystallised and grant the user a great power. Fire, lightning, cold, superhuman strength. They all random. But this one let me shoot fireball. Another corpse. I channeled the power and fyooom! Poor guy is roasted. Smells like roasted boar. The smells makes me hungry but that was walking corpse. I don't want to get infected.
But there is a tradeoff. It draw energy from your willpower or 'mana'. This 'mana' exist in everyone and the gem act like a key to unlock the 'mana' reservoir in you. Magic users usually have big pool of mana. Of course, I'm no magic user. I am just a big guy whole like to settle any dispute with my fists. My fists kept me alive all this while but this time, on this strange land, I need to rely both on my strength and on this magic fireball.
This is my story as an exile. | |
[WP] When someone dies, they're able to create a small gem containing their skills. This gem allows someone carrying it to perform that skill at the same level - With one catch. While using a gem, the wielder does not improve their own ability, but instead improves the gem. | Chapter 1: |The Mirror Stone|----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Lightning flashed across the clouded heavens as the horses galloped through the puddles and made their way towards The Fortress. The heavy iron gates swung open from the top and fell with a bang even as The Gate Guardians appeared at the edges and allowed the soldiers to march in.
'Be quick,' one of them shouted, 'the beheading is about to take place.'
The soldiers kicked their horses and cantered towards the stables not intending to be the sole reason behind the delay.
\*
The entire courtyard was quiet, though it was filled with about a ten dozen people. They were all still and stood silently, their eyes moving from The Princess, The Heart Hunteress Sofia, who was in iron shackles and kneeling in front of a wooden log, to Lord Daemon, who had summoned all of them at this hour. With closed eyes, he was waiting patiently for the soldiers to join the gathering, and even as they came, he glanced at them all with his calculating eyes and let out a cold smile. Then he said:
'Behold. Your beloved lady- all bound in shackles and shivering like a slave. Behold The Fire Hope of The Citadel. Let this be the day when all foolish folks remember that I and only I am in charge. Let this be the day when you find your hopes shriveling up inside your black hearts. Let -'
'You think that you can taint the mind of these folks with your poisoned words? Fool. Matter not how many of us you kill and how ruthless you grow in your dominion. You shall never conquer our hearts.'
Lord Daemon let out a small sneer. Then he looked at the gathered public and smashed the princess's face with his boots. A spurt of blood erupted from her mouth and two teeth were knocked off as they went flying away from her badly beaten face.
"Bitch,' he continued, 'You speak when you are spoken to. Have you not learned to be at your place? Shall I still stomp your pretty face into a bloody mush? Stay quiet and utter not one syllable -'
'Fuck you.'
The Lord let out another set of heavy kicks on her face and when he was done, her face was so badly beaten that the onlookers had almost broken into tears and were ready to turn away. But they had all be commanded here by The Royal Soldiers and even The Queen had come, though she was seated at the balcony up there, where usually couples were married off. To her, all this seemed to be a silly show.
When The Princesse's mouth was stuffed with rags, then The Lord continued: 'The She Bitch had crossed many a barrier and many hearts had she butchered indeed. All of this was alright with us. She was not in our domain. But the day she decided to come here and finger in our business, the bitch signed her death warrant. No one meddles in our affairs. No one has the right to question our methods. And those, who do futter with our business... Well'
He gave the signal and the Chief Headsman lifted his mighty Steel Axe and swung it with a terrible force. There were some screams in the crowd and crows flew away even as the sturdy neck of the fabled princess snapped apart and her head rolled away on the ground.
But before anything could be done, a a terrible fire erupted from the heart of the corpse and its flames were glowing with a glorious hue of orange. The fire licked her dead body and it arose in mid air, surrounded by the brilliant glow of those dazzling flames and right in front of their eye's, The Heart Huntress vanished into the flames of that fire. A sickening crunchy pop erupted in the night and with that everything vanished: The Fire and The Body. Nothing remained but the dumbfounded citizens and a very shocked and scared Lord who couldn't find the wind of his chest upon seeing that apparition.
The crowd found a humming unison as they all began to chant the old song of The Warriors but The Lord regained his composure and glared at them all and in one single moment, terrible as wrath, they all shut their mouths. Then he signalled the soldiers and they began to direct the crowd back to their houses as he himself departed from the scene, his black cape billowing behind him as he walked quickly towards the balcony.
\*
'My Lady...' he croaked, and his voice was hoarse and had none of its strength that it had some few moments before the execution.
'Speak not even one word,' she said and her stunning necklace gleamed on her chest as the light of the gold glowed around her beautiful skin, 'Time after time you reveal your incompetence in carrying out these simple but necessary tasks. Had I not warned you about her apparition powers before? Had I not -
'Pardon me my lady, for my intrusion, but she did die. She definitely died. Her very head rolled in front -
'Yes. I saw. I am not blind. Fool. It was not her death that I really desired. It was The Mirror Stone -The Warrior Gem, which she so strongly protected, that I desired. It was always about The Mirror Stone. Where is that Mirror now? Do you have it? Did we not slay her only to retrieve that Mirror for ourselves? But where is that Mirror now? Fool. It's lost once again. And Heaven only knows where it will manifest this time. Another Cycle you have created for us you stupid dead mind fool. Leave now and fix this before I decide to get myself another husband. Depart now.'
The Lord cowered and quickly left the Queen, who sat their quietly in the moon light and even as The Lord left, a cloud covered the glowing moon and the face of The Queen was covered in a shadow.
/*to be continued.../* | I’ve held it for so long.
A small pitter-patter of rain continues outside as I struggle to find meaning without. I twist the small thing in my hand: unsurprisingly, the gem’s faded to an unsaturated blue. It’s usually like that, but now even more since staying in my hospital bed.
It’s a tradition, to pass down these things, these little things. Like gifting someone a token before they pass, a penny for your thoughts. I see no difference from, people usually lose sight of the meaning, the gift lost or unrecognizable for the next generation.
This one, this one however… it’s still it’s blue, it’s still kicking, unlike those before. I wrap it in a soft cloth, swaddled like a baby, and prepared my son for surgery; these precious little things, these tiny little things, we don’t want them falling out now do we?
My son cries, I hold him; hours pass, and I think of him, crying. The burden has finally caught up to me, not having my precious little thing, swaddled for my own protection; but no, strength needs to be fostered, for my son. I stay alone, pitter-patters drowning out the noises coming from my throat.
And another hour’s passed, my son swaddled in a blanket, a gem instilled into the crease of his neck. He’s quiet, faint and protected. Like he should be. | |
[WP] As a soldier fighting in the trenches of what will later be called WWI, your company suffered a devastating gas attack leaving you the lone survivor. The trauma of watching your brothers die in front of you has awakened latent magical ability. You are a necromancer. | I remember the day I first unlocked my abilities. I was stationed at Osowiec Fortress, my regiment and I defending the fortress against the threat of the Germans. I remember August 6, when the attack finally came.
I remember the gas, how the chlorine gas swept into fortress, how I watched more than 800 men die. Those were truly great men, men who had risked and paid with their lives for our nation, our homeland. They were friends and comrades, yet all I could do was sit and watch them die, only hoping that I didn't suffer the same fate. I watched as men started coughing up their own lungs, spitting out blood and dying one by one. Yet, unlike them, I didn't fall.
The final one to succumb to the gas was Misha. He and I had grown up together, had fought together. Our families had been friends ever since we had grown up, and we planned to keep that going once we got home. We knew that the chance of both of us making it back was slim to none, but it was a promise that kept us going, that gave us hope in that god-forsaken war. There was too much death, too much blood, too much darkness, so we made that promise something to look forward to, to survive for. Those Germans were the reason he broke our promise.
When he took his final breath, I felt something in me snap. I could feel a rush of darkness, of power. Eldritch darkness began to spread out of my body in tendrils, attaching itself to the corpses that surrounded me, binding and fusing with them. Then, the dead began to rise, standing, giving off an incredibly...unnatural feeling. I stared in both fascination and horror as these 800 men rose from the ground, forming an undead horde in front of me. Something instinctively told me, in the back of my head, that they were MINE, that they would serve me without question and were merely awaiting an order. With a grim determination tempered by the tragedy surrounding me, I gave a singular order. "Destroy them."
Attack of the dead men, it was later called. Oh how funny that name is, considering that they didn't know the truth. That those men didn't merely look dead or were soon to be dead, but that those men truly were dead. We fought for 12 days, 12 days holding off the Germans from taking the fortress. It was only on August 18th that we retreated, holding strong until a German threat of encirclement forced a withdrawal. | I saw things. many things. things which no man wants to see, things which would drive a man mad. mortars lighting up the battlefeild, leaving pockmarked surfaces across the stretch of no man's land. A raven, beady eyes staring at me with the rotten blood of a soldier smeared across its beak. Some distance away, just down the trenches from me, I saw Gustavio take off his boot, layers of skin coming off with it. He didn't have time to comment on it before a shell landed just beyond our trenches, shaking the ground and sending debris clattering across our helmets. his eyes met mine, as hollow as everyone else's, mouth open as if to remark on the noise. I didn't hear him, couldn't. My ears had been ringing incessantly since the beginning of my time in this hell.
The shelling grew silent, and we waited. Something was happening, and if we had possessed more men, more energy, more time, we might have charged. instead we waited. Across the dim lighting I saw the sickly yellow cloud, and I knew we were doomed.
"GAS!" I bellowed, though I'm sure they didn't hear me. It didn't matter, they'd seen it too. They knew what it meant. There was nothing for us to do, we had no masks. Leaving the trench meant death, staying in it meant death. Some of the solders tried to make their own masks, others prayed. I waited. Death would take me, and God would finally take mercy on me.
And as I saw my brothers in arms choke on the fumes, watched my men die with their skin blistering and faces in agony, I awaited my own death. I felt the pain as the gas burned in my chest, and the only emotion was a sadness-tinged relief. It was finally over.
When I awoke, I found that it was not. Men lay dead around me, and as I walked the trench painfully, I found that not one had survived. Only I.
God had rejected me. He had refused to take me from this place, condemning me to this hell forever. God had rejected me, and so now I shall reject God's order.
Something inside of me knew what to do do. I raised my hand, and a man rose with it. Eyes blank and clouded, face the palor of death, he climbed over the trench and advanced. More joined him. Slowly, one by one, my brothers rose again, here with me.
If I was to be condemned to this hell, to a half-life of misery, so too would they. | |
[WP] As a soldier fighting in the trenches of what will later be called WWI, your company suffered a devastating gas attack leaving you the lone survivor. The trauma of watching your brothers die in front of you has awakened latent magical ability. You are a necromancer. | "Get up dammit, get up!"
I can't explain the terror behind those words. Looking at them on paper, they're the screams of an idiot child. Maybe that wasn't too far from the truth.
When I'd joined up two years before, I barely had whiskers. I saw war as exciting. Basil did, too. We spoke to one another of medals and parades and how the girls would invite us into their beds at the sight of our uniforms. We thought war would be an adventure, not despair. Not continuous terror. Not seeing the face of your best mate melt into human sludge.
Bloody fools, we were.
The war had been going for barely a year. Most of my service had been marching, digging, trying to sleep in mud. Basil kept me sane. We continued to hypothesize our hero's welcome back in Yorkshire. We'd not seen real combat, only fired a few rounds at a few people far away. We were lucky.
"It's you that brought us luck," he'd say.
What luck did I have? Youngest son, six brothers ahead of me, no prospects. The farm went to the eldest, James. Irving became a tailor. Percy was a drunk. Mark, Jack, and George all found work in factories. My only hope was to make a life in the military, not that I thought it'd be much.
On that morning, I'd smelled it before it hit. You never forget that smell. I'd heard the shells land, but just thought it standard artillery. Then something hit me like garlic and rotten eggs. I got my mask on, but Basil... poor Basil. He'd panicked and just started shooting into the clouds of green and yellow, like he could kill the chemicals himself with bullets.
By the time I'd yelled at him to run, it was too late. He fell where he stood. And I stood over him like a fool, yelling for him to get up.
I heard the boots, then. Jerry was coming up through the mists. My heart sank. My blood thundered in my ears. I said it again, half-mad myself: "Get up!"
And then the strangest thing. Basil obeyed.
And Clive.
And Norman.
And my other brothers in arms, all of how had died choking not ten minutes before.
The Germans came into view and my former comrades began to fire. Nothing precise, just muscles going through the memory until the pins fell on empty chambers. Then they lumbered forward, flesh sloughing off bone, with bayonets fixed.
Something in me rose, a sense of command. I climbed up the dirt and cried, "Cut through them lads!"
It was so bizarre to see German eyes go from cruel to pants-shitting terrified in a blink. I watched as chemical burned arms ran Jerry through, crushed helmets with buts, and simply choked the life out of them.
I called to each one and told them what to do. They obeyed. My voice was like that of a terrible god of old, and underworld general with my army of the unliving.
We ran through them like an arrow through a melon.
When we came to the other side, I kept marching us up that damned hill, that useless hump of land that was so precious we needed to die for it. I heard the groans and screams behind me of men on both sides going to meet their maker.
I found a spot in the woods, looked at the bakers dozen of shambling dead around me. I pulled off my mask and said, "Guard me, lads."
I fell asleep then with dead backs to me and malice still burning in my heart.
A man in a Colonel's uniform woke me, offering me a flask. It smelled of the good stuff. I took it and filled my mouth with fire. Then I saw his rank and stood up, hand raised to brow in salute.
He said, "As you were, soldier."
He grabbed a stick... no a staff, topped with crystal. He stood up stock straight, looked me in the eye.
He said, "Nice work."
It all seemed like a dream, a nightmare, in that moment.
"I'm not sure what you mean, sir."
He looked around. My mates, my dead mates, still stood watch.
He then turned to me and asked, "What's your last name?"
"Beechum, sir."
"Beechum. Hmm. How would like to wear one of these?"
He pointed to a patch on his arm in the shape of a wide brimmed, pointed hat.
I looked at him and said, "I... I don't know sir."
He just smiled under his big mustache and said, "Well then lets sort you out. Welcome to the Warlock Brigade." | The air is quite still, calm, and quiet on this chilly Fall morning. It feels like the proverbial calm before the storm. However, Corporal Edward “Eddie” Greenly of the Coldstream Guards, of the British Expeditionary Force (BEF) knows this feeling all too well. His stomach is in knots, he was unable to eat his morning ration of tinned bully-beef, but they say that it is better to not eat before a battle anyway, lest you receive a stomach wound and it gets infected. He jots down the last few words of the letter to be mailed home, next time the Battalion Postman comes by collection personal letters. He always tells his parents, and his girlfriend about the boys, and how things are bad, but he is making a go of it. He does not of course tell her how horrible the past several months has been fighting on this godforsaken hellscape in France. All of the killing, dying, and maiming. Living in a deep muddy trenches and underground earthen bunkers like some ancient Troglodyte. Eating cold tinned rations of bully-beef or oxtail, with a side of hard stale yet moldy hardtack, that are sometimes supplemented with horse meat if a calvary unit has taken a very hard thrashing. How, everyone screams for their mums when mortally wounded. No, Greenly, does not tell her these things.
A cigarette, or known at the time as a *fag*, is being passed around by some of Eddie’s platoon-mates. Eddie takes a quick long one puff drag, and then passes the fag to the man on his right, Private Jack Fordham. He glances over towards the Company Sergeant Major who is conferring with the Company Commander, a new replacement Captain. The Captain looks baby-faced, and is shaking like a leaf; he earned his captain epilates in the rear, working at Brigade HQ, but so many officers have been cut down, they just transferred this former staff officer to the front. His revolver is limply hanging from his hand, not dropping to the ground only because of the lanyard it is dangling from is slung over the captain’s shoulder. Eddie has no confidence in his new Company Commander, but he does have confidence at least in his stone-faced mustachioed Scotch Sergeant Major. The Sergeant glances towards Corporal Greenly, who is essentially acting as the platoon sergeant for first platoon, and motions that the attack will commence in five minutes. Get his men ready.
Eddie gets up. He quietly motions for the platoon to get ready. He was briefed earlier that the higher echelons thought that this morning’s over-the-top attack towards the Hun’s line would be best achieved without any preemptory artillery barrages, or mortar stonks, but instead quietly, and with the element of surprise. Of course, his unit has tried this tactic a few times before, and makes it about halfway through the couple hundred-meter no-mans-land before the Germans fire a very light (flare), illuminating the scene, and then let loose with machineguns, mortars, grenades, and artillery, cutting his guys in to ribbons. No, Eddie knows today is going to be a bad day, and his company is going to suffer heavy casualties. He knows it. He feels it in the pit of his stomach. At least with a creeping artillery barrage it keeps the Huns’ heads down, and gives us a better chance of getting in to the enemy’s forward positions. But he has resigned himself long ago to the fact that he has zero say in how the battles are fought, nor how to fight them. He only feels responsible for his men. He has also resigned himself to the fact that he will die. Not a matter of if, but rather when, and how. He is hoping if it does happen, it is a bullet between the eyes. Lights out, see you again next time. But he wants to minimize the casualty rate among the men in his platoon (platoon in name only, more like an over-bloated squad, not a full blown platoon after the last assault), about twenty in all. He tells the new replacements to follow his lead, and tells the old salts that they know what to do, but to stick to him too.
The entire company is now standing, rifles at the ready, bayonets fixed, soup bowl helmets caked in mud squarely fastened on their heads. The Company Sergeant stands ready near the Company Commander, looking at his army issued watch. Motioning one minute. One minute until this company of at most eighty men, and several companies, battalions, brigades etc… like it, go over the top towards the heavily fortified dug in German lines. Then the sound of a single artillery shell being shot pierces the air. Only this one has more of a popping, rather than roaring sound. Two more similar shots are fired within a couple seconds of the first.
Everyone hits the deck, except for the captain who is frozen in terror. The Sergeant Major screams “Lads, GAS! Put on yer friggen masks! GAS!” as he pulls the shellshocked captain down to the ground with him.
The men of the company scramble to unpack their gasmasks as their trench fills with a ghostly greenish yellow vapor. Corporal Greenly manages to get his mask over his face. He did inhale a breath or two of smoke, and his lungs are on fire. But he cannot take the mask off to cough it out, nor to breath in fresh air. There is no fresh air to be breathed. He is doing ok though, besides the burning. He sees many of the new replacements struggling to get their masks on as quickly as he did, and sees some of them writhing on the ground in pain, gasping for breath, coughing, and with foaming bloody mouths. Most of the men however managed to get their masks on in time, but several did not. The men who are slowly suffocating to death, are helped by their comrades. Their masks are thrown over them and secured. Better late than never, but these men will not be able to return to the front, and most will have breathing issues for the rest of their short lives. He asks Private Fordham to lead the handful of men to the rear. As Fordham and a couple other mostly ok guys are leading the gassed men to the rear all Hell breaks loose.
The ground around Corporal Greenly trembles all around him, like a violent earthquake. Geysers of mud, dirt, debris, and human limbs erupt twenty feet or so in the air. He then hears the sounds of further artillery shells. They always say it is the ones that you don’t hear are the ones you have to watch out for. It looks like the Huns were not just contented with gassing them but were shelling them now as well. The gas was settling down but still lingered at the bottom of the trench. A piece of shrapnel tore through Greenly’s gas mask. His lungs began to fill with smoke. He started to claw his way in to his earthen dugout, where he passed out, as his lungs felt like they were on fire and about to explode.
While Corporal Greenly was passed out, and dying on the shattered wooden floor of the earthen bunker, he dreamed he was approached by black shadowy figure, death he presumed. However, this figure, telepathically told Greenly that he had a proposition for him. This entity told Greenly that he would live, and see his friends again, and be able to seek his vengeance on the Germans. However, there was a catch. A major catch. He would be working for Death and helping him amass his Army. Corporal Greenly would be able to summon the dead, but only to seek his own vengeance, and to bring about more death and destruction to add to the Army of the Dead, or Death’s Army. He will avenge the deaths of his friends and brothers in arms, but, he will serve Death until Death feels like Greenly can be free of his obligation. Greenly asked “Well, what if I refuse, or do not accept?”, Death shrugged, and said, he will find someone else, and you will just join the faces of the damned and dead anyway. So you either will help lead this, as a living person, seek out your revenge, or you will die here and now, and join this army. Then death said “You will see your friends again. They will be walking again! Sure, they may still be dead, but at least, they can have some meaning, instead of dying at the bottom of a trench for nothing.” Greenly felt he was between a rock and a hard place. He needed time to think about a way out of this deal, but he could not do that if he was dead. He begrudgingly and tepidly accepted.
To be continued… if you all want! | |
[WP] Every once in a while, someone is born with maximum points in one stat. Max strength is feared and respected, max intelligence praised… but everyone underestimates max willpower. | *Clink.*
*Clink.*
*Clink.*
Vilmer had several thoughts running through his head at any given time. But he always only had one goal. And right now, the goal was to break through
Vilmer was now had a tunnel that bore several dozen feet into the side of Mt. Fortress, as apt a name for a mountain as they came.
He knew why he was digging through this stone colossus. But he hadn’t thought about that reason since he started this little project. It didn’t matter right now; what was important were the endless strikes of his pickax against the stone. And when the tool began to wear down, what mattered then was to maintain or replace it. When his muscles protested against the constant beating, he rested. When his stomach growled, he ate. When his eyes drooped, he slept. When his bowels and kidneys acted up, he shat and pissed. When supplies ran low, he visited the nearest town to replenish them. When the tunnel risked collapse, he reinforced it.
And sometimes, though you will never catch him doing it yourself, he would sing.
This had been Vilmer's life for two years.
*Clink.*
*Clink.*
*Clink.*
*Clink.*
*Clink.*
*Clink.*
Perhaps, when his mind was swallowed by the rhythm of his work, Vilmer still thought a bit as to the circumstances that brought him here.
Maybe he could still remember the faces of Katcher the Wise, and Borter the Brutal.
They were among the Highest, those rare lucky few born with absolute supremacy in one aspect of humanity. Katcher was marked with intelligence and cunning, Borter with strength and brutality. They were among the elite of adventurers in the world.
Vilmer was Highest too; he was marked by the strength of will and sheer determination. He held less prestige than other Highest, which made him rather inexpensive to hire.
The quest was, in concept, simple; penetrate the legendary stronghold of the Ancients, the name of which had been lost with their civilization. Locals called the place Mt. Fortress, as it was indeed but a mountain hollowed out from the inside. Rumors and legends of what slept within changed like the seasons; precious treasure, vicious monsters, the secret to immortality, endless traps, a portal to another world. Maybe some combination of those, or something else entirely. But nobody believed that there was nothing.
In theory, the team was unstoppable; Borter could kill any monster, Katcher could solve any puzzle, and as support, Vilmer would at least be guaranteed to not run away. If there was treasure, then it would be split equally between them.
However, the theory would remain untested. Katcher had assumed that he would find whatever secret entrance the Ancients used to enter and exit Mt. Fortress. As it turned out, there was no secret entrance. It was simply a sheer, smooth mountain, without doors or caves or crevasses of any sort.
After a week of searching for some solution, Katcher and Borter decided to abandon the quest, offering Vilmer a generous supplemental to his pay for the inconvenience. He had asked instead for some food, Borter’s pickax, and for Katcher to write down everything he knew about excavation.
*Clink.*
*Clink.*
*Clink.*
*Clink.*
*Clink.*
*Clink.*
*Clink.*
*Clink.*
*Clink.*
*Clink.*
***Crack.***
The tip of the pickax slipped through the stone. Wiggling the handle, Vilmer realized that there was some degree of open space just beyond his current position, though how much it was impossible to determine.
It took two full days of careful digging and debris removal, but eventually Vilmer was able to carve out an entrance just big enough for him to slip into.
He entered a stone chamber, which connected to a hallway that led deeper into Mt. Fortress.
Two years of his life, and he had accomplished his goal Vilmer allowed several minutes of solace. Then it was time to move onto the next step.
There was still work to be done yet. He would rest for a few days to allow his body to recover and resupply at the town before he would begin exploring in earnest.
Perhaps Vilmer would acquire some adventurers to accompany him. It would be a prudent course of action. Though, perhaps, not a necessary one. | They are the lucky ones, astounding good looks and unmeasured strength, marching through life like it was their destiny and right to have it served on a silver platter to them. They are the celebrities, they are the athletes, they are the scientist and they are the professors. They are everything that you and me are not. They are the shining star that reveals in the dark night of humanity, that life is in fact inherently unfair.
Scientist now say that they were born with "max stats" and that the only thing we can do is respect this fact and carry one. That's funny, coming from those born with max int.
What are we to do? You and me? Joe Smoes who have to live under the tyrannical boot of those that life deemed to be of greater preference than us. If we are to accept those words told to us by them, well it would to be just lie down and roll over. Live life like a medium dice roll, as it were, accept your factual mundacity and do not wail at your below-average stats.
This is bullshit.
See, I've come to discover something, in this new science that was born on life's built-in stats, it seems that something was glossed over. They break down the stats as such: Strength, Intelligence, Charisma, Beauty, Luck, Dexterity, and Perception. The recipes to your life, so they'd have you believe. They say that these things are you, they say that those are the shackles that tie you to this mortal ground and stop you from flying above legal airspace. But they forgot about something, they forgot about willpower.
They forgot about it because it is not a physical stat, it is not something that you can put under a microscope and analyze the genome of. It is you, it is me, it is *really* what we are. So, with absolutely no respect intended for those max-staters who have the boot on you, fuck them, and fuck the system that they created. They want to have maxed out stats, fine, let them have their beauty and strength, we'll max out our willpower and move the mountain of guilt that they have put upon us. We will max out our willpower and release the shackles of mundacity that they wrongly formed around you and led you to believe was nature. We will max out our willpower and build the foundations for a world not surrounded on the idea of a hidden, mechanical luck of life, but on the courageous heart of the human spirit.
So, let us move this rock up the hill in deft defiance and viral will. With this new-found "stat" we will create a new world for us to live upon. One where you can be happy with what life has allotted you, and one where you will know, with absolute certainty, that this life given to you is exactly that: It is yours.
\- Intro to the "Willpower Stat Manifesto."
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If you enjoyed check out my subreddit! r/mrsharks202 | |
[WP]It’s the 2000th Annual Vampire Convention, this year held New Orleans,Louisiana! An ancient vampire from the Colonial Era and a recently turned Day-walker from Detroit are placed in the same hotel room together. What do their interactions look like? | "So, your transformation consensual? That's great news. Back in my day, you would be luck if your turning wasn't getting shoved into a wall and getting bitten, the having a bloodied wrist ahoven in your mouth. I'm Edward Kirk by the way." he said that to me, unpacking.
Edward was a blond guy with a sidecut and the curly hair on top almost falling into his electric blue eyes. Probably lenses to fit in with the humans. I used them myself, my eyes still dark red for being transformed only 6 months ago back in my city, Detroit.
"Yeah, it was my neighbor. I would 'donate' blood to him. One day he said he was moving, so he asked me to get my memories changed by a witch since he was leaving. I asked if he could turn me and we could leave. I just had lost my job, and being a nomadic vampire was more fun than being an accountant. He is the one who actually told me about this convention. I'm kind of looking for a nomad flock." We talked for a few hours about his past flocks, hunting deers with werewolves, (highly recommend) and a bunch of stuff. It was 10 am and we went down for the first meetings of the day-walkers, vampires with amulets that protect them in the middle of the day, but when we got to the lobby, there was a ruckus. When Edward asked what, one person pointed to the big TV there. It was on Good Morning America, and was the dude that turned me going on about how vampires are real. Fuck. | Decaying manor houses. Coffins that wouldn't stay buried. Just enough drunks and dopefiends wandering around after dark that nobody would miss a few.
The Big Easy. No wonder the children of the night flocked here.
If you were present very late that night at the Dark Oaks at Lion's Court- a prestigious address, having once been a plantation manor- you would see a procession of formally dressed people who might have looked odd in ways you couldn't quite put your finger on. They varied as people do- some tall, some short, some thin, some stout, some balding and gangly, some youthful and ruddy. But there was something common to all of them- some quality of confidence, maybe- something that held fascination for others.
"Checking in. Fallon of the Moonblooms, from Bakunda."
"Ah, Sir Webb," said Seneschal. "So good of you to come all this way. Your room key; there is to be a reception dinner-"
"Dr. Armand Tesla, of Timisoara and the Wolf-Brothers."
"Doctor, lovely to see you again. We heard of your work with Tobel in London. Your room key, and be sure to attend the reception-"
"*Buenos noches,* Seneschal. Don Drago Roblés-"
"Tandra of the Diaboli Sponsas-"
"Karnstein of Vasaria-"
The Seneschal of Dark Oaks greeted each new guest impeccably. A solemn looking man of szekely heritage, his family had served the night-children for generations, never forgetting old debts and old agreements. The Castellan, who managed Dark Oaks, watched patiently and calmly from his lounge, greeting personally those of greatest importance. Butlers and housekeepers and even porters in tattered straightjackets bustled back and forth, or stood still awaiting any instruction, each wearing an ornate mask carved by a skilled local *mascerasi*.
Each guest received a key and an ornate mask of their own, for the festivities that evening, and was bundled off to their rooms to prepare for the reception, hoping to be finished and abed before dusk. By 2 AM, each mingled in the great hall wearing sober finery and their mask.
\*\*\*
America had been good to many of those present. Many had gotten their start in some old country, and many still missed the crumbling old castles there, but the night-children's ways were too well known there for any to remain. It did not do to remain in one place too long, drain a place too dry.
And so little by little they had made their way to west, to places like London and then here. There were no old ways, here, for peasants to remember. Here people thought they had drowned the dark of night out with their city lights, clung to the protection they thought their faith in fame and beauty and luxury would afford them.
Here they could feed unbothered. There were a few elders across New England, a smattering on the West Coast, and, of course, some in New Orleans. They tended not to stay in one place. It was more and more difficult for them to pretend that they were the descendant of some identical grandfather.
Each waited patiently, calling over servants who would offer a wrist calmly if a guest grew thirsty. The chief officers of the Court would arrive here soon...
\------------
*To be finished later... (sorry, it's bedtime)* | |
give internet points pls | [WP] - Humans and dragons were both wiped out while they were allied against Orcs, Elves, & Dwarves, who feared their for their dragon-taming abilities. At least, they were thought to be wiped out until a massive dragon-riding human was seen, and boy are they ANGRY. | "Yes professor", said Allithun
I looked closely at the inscription, trying, through all my years of knowledge, to interpret it.
Luna asks, "what does it say professor?"
I responded "from what I can decipher, it loosely translates to, when all seem lost, bring your last hopes"
I scratched my horns, while following the creases of what I knew to be a door
Allithun asks "shake we open it?"
"Yes, I think we should" I responded
We all grabbed our bars, thankfully I brought along my friend and an eager student to help with the hard work. We each drove our bars into a crease, pulled, and with aloud creak, the doors gave way to a wide open dark room.
"Here professor, take this lantern" said Luna
I grasped the lantern and carefully lead my companions into the room. Inside the room, there sat a human sized sarcophagus and a bright green egg resting on a stand closely behind it.
In a quite wisper, Allithum asks "Is that what I think it is?"
.............. | Humanity scourge of the realms and the winged demons they called kin are dead, they have been for a long time. A thousand years have passed. They are naught but myths, but I couldn’t overlook the sight in front of my lantern. Five statues line the stone cavern, depicting the five races around a central plinth. Each clad in sculpted weaponry and armor from the time of myths.
I set my old lantern onto the central rotunda, marveling at the statues in the throes of conflict. On one side great allies were short, tall, and strong, carrying long pikes sporting ruined heraldry on tattered white cloth. And the other a deadly duo of dragon and man bearing down on the hapless heroes. With a berserk visage just visible under the rider’s stone helm, “Incredible.”
The soft word echoes throughout the lit cavern as the light falls upon a titanic archway carved into the far wall. Hundreds if not thousands of dwarven ruins litter surface as I cast my attention back to the rest of the expedition. My fellow sturdy companion Luna and the damn knife ear gawking at the sight. “Aye, it is. I’ve seen nothing like it even at the Camelot excavation site, Mr. StoneBlood!”
“Don’t get too excited Luna. We’re here to do a job same is true for you Allithun. We’re just here to inspect the gate, isn’t that right?”
.
*Timeline fracture detected, secondary story created*
I return my attention to the tall Elven figure absent-running their dirty fingers over the runes lining the archway. Before putting another note on the mental checklist of why I hate the knife ears. That’s why it stung just that little more that our leaf-eating tag along was an expert in ancient dwarfish. “Yes, Dwarf, do me a favor and help me with this, would you?”
I do the dwarf custom of tugging myself away from the statues with my lamp in hand. Noting the way each stone figure’s eyes followed my quick jaunt to the wood lover. tripping on a loose brick of masonry before catching my footing. “What might you need help with? It isn’t like you to ask for help?”
Before I even know it, I find a bar of iron being shoved into my hand and leveraged into a small slit in the archway. Nestled between a depiction of a dragon and its rider falling from the heavens and an illustration of a ballista. “I think it’s some type of tomb or memorial. Judging from the inscription, do me a favor and help me pry it open.”
“I thought desiccating graves was above ya, Allithun?”
“It is now help me open this bloody thing.”
.
A single trace of faint light appears in the darkness, as the gate grinds open one small push after the next. Exposing a dark cavern carved away from the limestone interior, littered with bones. And sparkling fragments of metal and bleached green cloth clinging to two skeletal figures nestled In a far corner.
One a towering nightmare and the other a knight in rusted armor somehow still holding together despite the lack of muscles or supporting structure.
The subtle twitch of the skeletal knight’s head moving unnoticed as the party ventures into the tomb. |
[WP]You are a young bookworm with the power to transport yourself into any book you want. Unfortunately, you’ve already read (and traveled through) every book in the library and in your house. In search of something new, you turn to your school’s creative writing club. | "He's a bit hard to talk to," I offered.
The entire club - all six of them - stared at me. We'd been critiquing Salima's first few chapters, specifically her main character.
"Um... what do you mean?" Salima asked.
I winced. I didn't normally speak up during meetings, but Salima was my friend. I thought she would like to know.
"I mean, he's just a bit stiff. The uh... dialogue could use some work."
*How do I explain to her that he talks like an Oblivion NPC?*
I nearly harassed the Chosen One in question, Zakaria, with my attempts and he could barely hold a conversation. He had a Tragic Backstory™ that didn't effect him nearly as much as it should, and yet at the same time seemed like the only thing he could talk about. Zakaria was also a perfect and morally upright good guy who was the absolute life of the party. This was apparent to everyone except me, because I couldn't get a single interesting word out of him.
"I thought the dialogue was excellent," Wilbur, a slightly senior member, said with a smile towards Salima. He then shot me a hard stare. I guessed he was telling me to shut up; he seemed like the type to want to keep the peace.
And he was right, after all; Zakaria had lovely interactions with everyone in the context of the book. But characters have a voice outside of the one their readers think they have. Some (my favorites, I must admit, though they tend to be the most dangerous) even hide information from their creators. Zakaria wasn't one of these, though, he was just poorly written. Despite the fact that his dialogue was so dynamic in her actual writing, outside of the scripted responses his interactions simply fell flat.
I had taken the perspective of a side character when I entered the world and chased him down almost immediately. I wished I could just enter a book as myself, but that might cause unnecessary problems- like what was a pale American girl doing in an Arabic-inspired fantasy novel? No, better to be safe and borrow a secondary character's faculties for a little while.
I didn't add anything else to the discussion, and the meeting swiftly resumed in spite of my interruption.
Salima pulled me aside afterwards. "Do you really not like him?" she asked.
"No, no! I mean… yes? I do like him. And your dialogue is good. I'm just… getting weird vibes, I guess. But when you've got a few more chapters and fleshed him out more I'm sure he'll be great."
She nodded hesitantly and flashed a nervous smile.
I decided to go back into the book that evening.
I reopened the document and was whisked off into another world.
I hunted, formless, for a new host- and settled on Zakaria's mentor character.
I settled into his body, feeling his brain churn, measuring the weight of his steps, and blinking his vision into my mind.
There stood Zakaria, leaning on a balcony that overlooked the grand city. I walked up behind him and leaned next to him.
"Nice night, isn't it?" I asked, enjoying the breeze as it tickled the long strands of his (my?) beard.
Zakaria nodded in response. In the book he would have said something, anything. But here he simply nodded.
"Tell me again, Zakaria, what happened to your father?"
This was a trick question on my part. Salima hadn't written about his father yet, only the tragic death of his mother in a flashback. If he was a fully fleshed out character, he would know. If not, he'd make up some excuse, which he was probably about to do.
"Tell me again, Jalal, why you wish to know?" He said.
It took me a moment to register Jalal's name as mine, and a moment further to recognize Zakaria's challenge.
"I… I am just curious," I stammered.
"We have had this conversation before," Zakaria said, still gazing at the crescent moon.
"We have? Oh, I am an old fool then. Forgive me my forgetful brain, I-"
"No," Zakaria said, turning to face me. His hands clasped behind his back. "*We* have had this conversation before."
"I don't know what you mean." I took a step back, and he a step forward.
"Yesterday, you questioned me mercilessly as Faiza, for whom such a level of familiarity would be appalling. Today you take the form of Jalal."
I shrank backward, tripping over myself in an effort to get away. I forgot whose body I was in. This muscular 60-something year old body cowered like a frail highschool girl being bullied in the hall.
He loomed over me, hands on his hips, a suspiciously familiar grin on his face.
"So," he said, "how long have you been able to enter books?" | I turned to Jillian, my best friend, and sighed. The look on her face made it clear she knew why. It was nice having a friend that knew my secret and understood.
"When was the last time you read something good?" she queried.
I just shrugged, rotating in my chair to get a better view of the people walking past the little cafe table with the cute umbrella where we sat. Normal people. Mundane people. Boring and bored people.
"You know, my cousin Harold teaches English. I bet I could get my hands on some creative writing stories for you." Jillian exclaimed brightly; "They may not be the best, but I bet you'll find something to keep yourself entertained!"
Looking back, I have 2 regrets. The first being that I had not explained to Jillian about how, once I start to read, I cannot stop until I finish the book. The other being.. well, that will be clear in a moment.
I kicked back in my favorite chair, cup of chamomile tea in one hand and some typed and stapled manuscripts in the other. The lights were low, casting shadows in the corners, but my reading light directly behind my shoulder was perfect. I clicked the remote, and a soothing crackling fire started in the fireplace. The setting was ideal, I was ready for a new read!
Picking up the first manuscript, I began to read. As always, I read quickly. The title read: *The Blackest Sheep. By Isaac Bryant, age 6. Once Upon a Time...*
Oh no, what did that say? Age 6? This story was written by a 6 year old? Why hadn't I asked what grade this creative writing class was? I gritted my teeth and accepted my fate, as my eyes continued scanning the page of their own volition.
*there was a ship. It was a black sheep. It ahd black wool. The balck sheep did not have any friends because they alls aid he was a stupid head and they wood not play with him at recess and stole his lunch. And it was not fare!And the sheeps mom told him it was becuz he was a black sheep and he should try to do things like the other* *~~kids~~* *sheep and then maybee they woud be nice to him.*
I gasped for air, reaching for my tea so that I could force my eyes away from the page. My head was pounding. I imagined I could feel brain damage starting. This was not like the pain most literary fans experienced when reading something this bad. This was immersive. I was INSIDE the story. I could feel it. I was experiencing the reality of being this black "shep", and I kept morphing between the form of a 6 year old child and that of the sheep, as the author clearly did in his mind while writing it. My sip of tea finished, my eyes moved back to the words, against my will.
*The black sheep decided it did not want to be a blak sheep any more so I got my dads razor and I shaved off all my black wool. Now I am grounded but that iz ok becuz now I do not have to go to the park where the mean shheep are. The end!*
The next day, Jillian and I met for coffee as usual. I slouched in my dining chair like a petulant child. I was wearing a stocking cap, even though it was summer. Knowing something was up, Jillian pressured me until I removed it.
"What happened?" She gasped.
Wordlessly, I tossed her the manuscript, and glared daggers at her as she read the words, looked at my shaved head, and laughed. | |
[WP]You are a young bookworm with the power to transport yourself into any book you want. Unfortunately, you’ve already read (and traveled through) every book in the library and in your house. In search of something new, you turn to your school’s creative writing club. | I trailed my hand over Zusak’s *The Book Thief*, situated at the very last aisle, at the very end of all the “Z” authors. It was the last book in my middle school library, and the last book I wanted to go inside of. I’d already gone inside of it once - an accident, I got too absorbed while reading, and before I knew it I’d slipped inside - and I still flinched when I heard a door slammed too hard, a firecracker in the night. It was even worse than the time I entered *The Hunger Games*, when I came across one of the unnamed girls dying, an arrow in her stinking leg, sweat dripping off of her fevered face. She thought I was some kind of delusion, or some kind of God, and she died with my hands smoothing her hair off of her wet cheeks, my voice trembling as I tried to comfort her.
I’d only wanted to see Peeta, just once. I’d left right after she died, and done my best to avoid going inside books with too much serious violence since. I knew it wasn’t real - I knew none of it was real, or at least I hoped it wasn’t - but I always found myself shaken afterwards, sometimes so badly that my mother worried at some point I’d gotten bullied, or was watching things I shouldn’t have been, and went through my browser history.
But the other books here, the ones I liked going in, I’d entered too many times, and I’d gotten bored of them - and sad at how none of them recognized me, not ever, even if it was my twelfth time coming there. Even if we’d once been best friends.
Not that we were ever really friends, I reminded myself. They weren’t real.
I strolled around the library again, searching for something new, and preferably something exciting but safe and sweet. *Wintergirls* - Jesus, no. *Harry Potter* - I’d long exhausted the first couple of books, and all the *Redwall* books too. *Lord of the Rings* was alright but there wasn’t much to do, especially because I didn’t smoke or know how to fight. Secretly I adored jumping into *Twilight*, just to gaze at the beautiful visages of the vampires, and once I’d befriended Alice, but it took fourteen hours in real-time and I’d never managed to do it again - plus I was always a loser at the high school. Not as much of a loser as I was in *The Clique* books (once Massie called me “pepperoni pizza” because of my acne), but still definitely a loser - and I already had enough of that in real life.
*The Secret Garden* - fun to read but awfully boring to live in, plus Mary was way more insufferable when I actually had to be the one to talk to her. *Heidi* - fun to live in and read, but I felt crushed every time I met Heidi or her grandfather or Peter and was treated as a total stranger, even though we’d spent all those hours together, braiding flowers into crowns, watching the sun turn the mountain peaks pink like our cheeks at the end of the day, eating what really was the world’s best milk and cheese and bread (plus, I wasn’t lactose intolerant when I went inside a book).
*Walk Two Moons* was mostly just like regular life for me (still a loser at school), *The Perks of Being a Wallflower* I also just found myself living like usual (AKA, as a loser), every Sarah Dessen book was like my life at school too, same thing with John Green books. The issue was always this: books that took place in real life, I was pretty much the same I already was, and books that were fantastical I was always at risk of dying in a war or scrubbing floors for three hours straight or being in Lady School and just curtsying for an hour straight (authors have got to come up with more interesting princess academies). Books that were historical, there was nothing to do, or I was at risk of dying; apocalypse books were pretty much universally horrible to go through; animal books sucked because they’d run away from me or sometimes attack me and I could never talk to them (unless it was Redwall).
I turned away from *Hatchet* (which was kind of fun the first two times, I’ll admit) in frustration, and then I saw it: a flyer, which said, “JAMESON MIDDLE SCHOOL’S CREATIVE WRITING CLUB 3-5PM EVERY FRIDAY @ ROOM 305 COME AND WRITE AND READ :) :) :) :) :) :) :) :)”.
Suddenly it all clicked for me - I’d been so *stupid*! Surely my middle school’s creative writing club would have the perfect stories to go into, fun and lighthearted and designed to fulfill the fantasy of losers (like me!), and there’d be a constant new rotation of them! I checked my watch - it was only 3:27PM, and I was already on the third floor! I flew out of the library - Ms. Rachel said, “Already?” as I passed through the doors, and ran to room 305. Inside I could hear nothing. Even better! I knocked.
A teacher opened it; she had warm dark eyes and long shiny black hair and she wore thin wire-framed rectangular glasses and a turtleneck and jeans. | I turned to Jillian, my best friend, and sighed. The look on her face made it clear she knew why. It was nice having a friend that knew my secret and understood.
"When was the last time you read something good?" she queried.
I just shrugged, rotating in my chair to get a better view of the people walking past the little cafe table with the cute umbrella where we sat. Normal people. Mundane people. Boring and bored people.
"You know, my cousin Harold teaches English. I bet I could get my hands on some creative writing stories for you." Jillian exclaimed brightly; "They may not be the best, but I bet you'll find something to keep yourself entertained!"
Looking back, I have 2 regrets. The first being that I had not explained to Jillian about how, once I start to read, I cannot stop until I finish the book. The other being.. well, that will be clear in a moment.
I kicked back in my favorite chair, cup of chamomile tea in one hand and some typed and stapled manuscripts in the other. The lights were low, casting shadows in the corners, but my reading light directly behind my shoulder was perfect. I clicked the remote, and a soothing crackling fire started in the fireplace. The setting was ideal, I was ready for a new read!
Picking up the first manuscript, I began to read. As always, I read quickly. The title read: *The Blackest Sheep. By Isaac Bryant, age 6. Once Upon a Time...*
Oh no, what did that say? Age 6? This story was written by a 6 year old? Why hadn't I asked what grade this creative writing class was? I gritted my teeth and accepted my fate, as my eyes continued scanning the page of their own volition.
*there was a ship. It was a black sheep. It ahd black wool. The balck sheep did not have any friends because they alls aid he was a stupid head and they wood not play with him at recess and stole his lunch. And it was not fare!And the sheeps mom told him it was becuz he was a black sheep and he should try to do things like the other* *~~kids~~* *sheep and then maybee they woud be nice to him.*
I gasped for air, reaching for my tea so that I could force my eyes away from the page. My head was pounding. I imagined I could feel brain damage starting. This was not like the pain most literary fans experienced when reading something this bad. This was immersive. I was INSIDE the story. I could feel it. I was experiencing the reality of being this black "shep", and I kept morphing between the form of a 6 year old child and that of the sheep, as the author clearly did in his mind while writing it. My sip of tea finished, my eyes moved back to the words, against my will.
*The black sheep decided it did not want to be a blak sheep any more so I got my dads razor and I shaved off all my black wool. Now I am grounded but that iz ok becuz now I do not have to go to the park where the mean shheep are. The end!*
The next day, Jillian and I met for coffee as usual. I slouched in my dining chair like a petulant child. I was wearing a stocking cap, even though it was summer. Knowing something was up, Jillian pressured me until I removed it.
"What happened?" She gasped.
Wordlessly, I tossed her the manuscript, and glared daggers at her as she read the words, looked at my shaved head, and laughed. | |
[WP] "The rulebook forbids it" "Demons have a rulebook" "Yes, filled with oddly specific rules" | Adam did not expect the fiend to appear so calm. The giant sat cross-legged, its one-horned hound-head too wide for the frail body, the four hoofed legs powerful and still. It was almost meditative. Instead of bargaining and trashing to earn its freedom, it exuded a dissonant serenity, like a stoic monk facing the ordeal without any sort of emotion.
Adam was exhausted, terrified and awaiting. The efforts of the past month would be etched forever on the face of the tall and gaunt man. To gather the esoteric components for the summoning, to avoid inquisitive friends and the occasional policeman, to withstand the stress and the uncertainty had taken a toll.
He had expected a deal with the devil, one he would come to regret decades down the line, after the delight of the initial moment wore off. Threats, creeping promises, a slithering silver-tongued monster, but not that.
"No."
"No?" asked a bewildered Adam.
"No."
Where was the high-stakes game for his soul? The fine-print on the contract, the nagging feeling something was wrong, the...
"Don't overthink it," added the fiend with a coarse - but perfectly composed - voice, "I'm not doing it."
The blood of a sinner, the corpse of an innocent bird, the tears of great despair, the incantations, the words burning themselves into oak wood... for a simple no?
Adam fell to his knees.
A picture of opposites. He knelled, back straight and head low, the demon sat, barely breathing and eyes unfocused. No sound was to be heard in the small cave, it appeared closer to a thinker's retreat or a philosopher's dwelling than a hellish summoning room.
No? No. Not like this, not for so little, not after he had done so many efforts. Adam would not be denied, he had gone beyond the impossible, broken the veil of worlds to bring the hound-headed demon here, it would not be for nothing.
He stood up in rage, approached the being and forced it to look into his eyes by the force of his presence alone.
Fighting to keep back tears, he asked once more:
"Please."
"Would Emily want that?" It answered.
"You don't get to invoke her name."
He had tried, and now he failed. Sobs escaped him, and the tears rolled freely.
Luck brought them together. Adam and Emily, a wise-cracking introvert, and a cynical easy-goer with the attention span of a koala.
No great spark, no sudden love-story through highs and lows, no... here came the no again. It permeated Adam's life story.
They had made efforts to make it work. Their drastic lifestyles had required communication and adaptation, nuance and finesse, and whenever one hardship was crossed came the next. But they did it, they did so together, and they were willing to continue.
Until both got tipsy during a night out. They walked back outside, arm under arm. She slipped, he held her by the hand. All it did was deny her a limb for protection, and her head hit the pavement.
She was gone an hour later.
"Please. Bring her back, she didn't deserve that."
"Nobody deserves anything, the world doesn't work this way."
"I will give you my soul," he whispered.
"No Adam. I won't let you trade the chance to recover and turn the page for a short-lived illusion that will only keep you from moving on."
A strange sensation overcame Adam, piercing through despair. Not fear, not wrath, but a nagging suspicion.
"Are you pitying me?" he asked with a trembling voice.
"Yes."
"Are you trying to help me?"
"Yes."
He lowered his head pensively.
"That's the trick, isn't it? To pass as a friend and get me to lower my guard."
"No," the decision fell like a knife, again, "Adam, understand this. No matter what you say, do or don't, I will not bring Emily back. Not now, not ever. Answer me this, would she want you to sacrifice your soul to have her back?"
"No, but - "
"But what, Adam? What?" Its voice boomed and echoed in the small cave, "*But I love her?* Well, congratulations on coating her second life with the knowledge that her being back cursed you to an eternity of suffering, you think your love will survive that? *But I need her?* You were born with your own set of legs and they still hold you upright. It won't be easy, but you learned how to walk alone once already."
"I can't live without her."
The fiend suddenly mellowed. His voice flew gentle.
"You have her in memory, Adam. She's there. The moments you had together, the walks in the night, the words spoken, the winks, the tickles. Just like the morning breeze waking you up, her memory will be with you, just like she had you in hers, making a senseless life a little bit more bearable. Don't throw this all away to live a deception that will break down under what it took to build it."
What had started with the purples fires of eldritch energy had turned into a discussion about love, life and death. No soul was at stake, Adam - sitting with his back on the brick wall - knew. And the fiend was showing itself to be just as vicious and convincing as he had expected; its words pierced his hide like arrows. Adam wanted to be sad, he wanted to scream, to hate. Yet the words he heard made him remember the good times, made him smile through the tears.
It reminded him of good times, how it had been worth it, how it was still worth it. | “Why do you of all people have a rulebook? What could be written in there? I didn’t sell my soul to you to be told no!” I did my best to look intimidating as I stood before the goat headed behemoth of a demon. Growing more frustrated with each passing moment, as they didn’t even bother to look up at me from the leather skinned book they were reading, a pair of squared glasses sitting over their beady goat's eyes.
“For starters, a person cannot wish for the end of the world. Could you imagine what the world would look like if every lunatic could just wish for the end of the world? It would be chaos and as much as demons enjoy chaos, even that’s a little too chaotic for our tastes.” They responded, placing the book down, finally meeting my gaze.
“I don’t want world domination. All I asked for was a cheese toastie. You know, two pieces of bread, a rather unhealthy amount of cheese and the pure bliss that comes from knowing you probably just took a few minutes off your life eating it?” The demon went to respond, only to get interrupted by me. “Oh, and the bread is toasted. That’s the toastie part. It’s rather nice, so hurry and get me one.” I commanded, only to feel a heat hit the soles of my feet, sending me onto my back as I blew at the small burn marks that appeared.”
“YOU WILL DEMAND NOTHING OF ME.” The behemoth shrieked; their words followed by a horrific goat squeal that shook the room. “Your blood may bind me to you, but I am no servant. Remember who you will spend eternity with once your mortal body perishes.”
My body shook, hands clutching at the ground before me, struggling to pick myself up from the floor. It was a pitiful sight. Whenever I would lift myself up, my arms would give. The most I could do was sit myself upright, trying to regain some dignity.
“Yes, I know what a cheese toastie is. Everyone knows what that is. Now, if you are going to stop behaving like a child, I will inform you of why I can’t give you one. Rule 90, a demon may not summon any food deemed heavenly. This includes cheese toasties, wine, certain types of breads and a few others that I don’t feel like reading out.”
“Heavenly? It’s the simplest food there is. How is it heavenly?” I argued, finally finding my legs, able to return to my standing position before the demon.
“It tastes nice, and people crave it. You are craving it now, aren’t you? That is its divine hold. All I can do is provide you with some goat’s cheese and maybe a raisin filled bread to use for your toastie? Other than that I can’t be anymore help.”
“Goat’s cheese and raisin bread. I can’t imagine a worse combination.” I scoffed at the idea, quickly shooting it down. “What other foods can you offer me? Maybe something that isn’t gross. Nothing goat related either, it feels weird given your face.”
“What’s wrong with my face.” The demon crouched, lifting their glasses, their dead eyes staring into mine. It was like looking into hell itself, empty pits that sucked a person in. When their glasses fell back over their eyes, I felt their hold break, my head aching after the intense stare off.
“Nothing, nothings wrong with your face.” I muttered, rubbing the side of my face, hoping that might ease the banging feeling in my skull.
“Good, now are we done here or do you have anymore stupid requests?” I went to open my mouth, only for the demon to flick open the book again, pointing to a paragraph. “Rule 219, one may not wish harm or torment on the demon that is serving them. Nice try.” They grinned.
Before I could lie and say that wasn’t what I was planning on wishing for, they tossed the book my way, the hard cover hitting my chest, knocking the wind out of me.
“Here, read up on the rules. Next time you summon me, it better be worth my time.” The demon said, vanishing back into the underworld, leaving me gasping, holding the heavy book.
“Rules are made to be broken. I’ll find a loophole.” I grumbled, able to act tough now that the demon was out of sight. Placing the book under my arm, heading to my bedroom. Guess I had some reading to do.
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) | |
[WP] You've just been killed and wake up in a fantasy world. You can't understand anything of what these people are saying and they can't understand you, however, someone in what looks like high-priest looking clothes appears and yells:"Step aside, he's an Elder One". | "You speak English!"
The priest looked confused for a second, almost as if he wass working something out before he turned to someone behind him. There was a whole group of what appeared to be scholars or perhaps lower ranking priests. After a minute or so they seemed to have come to a decision and the leader turned back.
"We are... Follower? We speak some."
"Huh? I don't get it. Look, last I knew I was staring down the barrel of a gun. We lost the war, they were going round headquarters executing us and... Hang on, is this..."
Ben looked around, furrowing his brow like a caveman trying to work a VCR.
"There's a Starbucks right there!"
The crowd gasped and grinned. Some of them shook each other with excitement.
"Star-bucks!" The priest exclaimed. "You have name?"
"Ben, Ben Callaghan"
Another amazed bumble emanated through the crowd. Ben remembered seeing a similar reaction from the children he would see in documentaries about uncontacted tribes when they first saw a camera
"BEN!" Exclaimed the fanatic. "11c!"
At this he recoiled a little. "That's my apartment number! How!?"
"Ben! Come Ben!" he beckoned excitedly and the group formed a convoy around him as he was half dragged through what looked like markets and doss houses. The place looked like a bustling desert metropolis with buildings stretching up to the sky. Each adorned with coloured sheets, flags and banners.
He was pushed into a rickety looking box with a rope connected to the top. Followed by the brightly dressed priest. He was beaming from ear to ear. The man guarding the box whistled and the rope tightened and hoisted them up, knocking Ben off balance, the priest was unchanged.
Eventually they reached a hole in the side of the building. The priest climbed through and again excitedly beckoned for him to follow, offering him a hand. Looking down at the drop Ben didn't feel he had much of a choice and clambered down into the awkward opening.
"Ben! Ben!" The man said, gesturing generally about the room.
It took him a moment, but as soon as he realised, he began to weep. He was home. | suddenly she pulls out a large sacrificial dagger and slices your throat from ear to ear, grabbing your hair and pulling your head up she whispers something that even in your last moments strike you as odd with your final breath all the city goers scramble together and in a fit of horde mentality rip you apart trying to get even a drop of your precious elder blood. Yet as their dirty appendages sank into your sacred flesh, the words "i'll see you next time" sink in even further.
You've just been killed and wake up in a fantasy world. | |
[WP] You've just been killed and wake up in a fantasy world. You can't understand anything of what these people are saying and they can't understand you, however, someone in what looks like high-priest looking clothes appears and yells:"Step aside, he's an Elder One". | Inky sludge drained from my eyes, mouth, ears, and ran down my body. The gurgling of the iron drain I knelt on brought some semblance of consciousness to my blurred vision. I strained against my own limbs; my muscles responded, but seized under the weight of my own bones. As if filled with steel, I flopped onto my stomach, and retched. Several times.
Where am I?
Feeling emptier and lighter, I pressed my palms against the floor and pushed - with every ounce of strength I had - myself into a sitting position. Wobbling unsteadily I blinked away the last of the blur.
​
What met me was not something I expected. The floor I sat on was a iron plate, carved and shaped into the shape of an unknown sigil. The white marble walls formed a large circle broken by gilded pillars, each hosting a flaming sconce; the domed roof showed a painted scene of gods and demons in some wretched battlefield. A large archway led to the next room, hinting at chandeliers and gold trim. At the perimeter of the room, standing before each pillar, were men - or women, it was hard to tell - hooded in pearlescent white robes and murmuring to me.
"Wh-" My attempt to speak was met immediately by more vomiting.
​
A man standing in the archway took a step forward, and began shouting incoherently. After a few words, he took a step back and pointed a golden mace towards my chest. Alarm bells sounded in my head as it began to glow.
"Wh- Who are you?!" I attempted to get to my feet, much to my surprise successfully. I flexed, seemingly for the first time, and felt *power* run through my body.
The man continued to babble, but did take a step back. The rest of the circle of people startled, the two closest to the entrance edging towards it. The runes on the golden mace enshrouded it with a harsh blue light, as just as a whine was building up to what I was sure my second death, a woman practically tackled the man from behind.
She shouted a word several times, pushing herself into the room. Dressed in a silken priest's robe, trimmed in a red that could be mistaken for blood, she placed herself between me and the old man with the mace. "Stop!" She shouted, understanding taking me by surprise. "Stop fighting!" She turned back to my would be attacker and spoke quickly in an almost musical language. Immediately after finishing, the circle of people bowed, and left the room.
"I'm sorry for their actions, they are ignorant." The priestess turned to me. 6 feet of beauty that could have been chiseled from marble itself, with sharp green eyes that scored my soul. She bowed, the simple crown of red and blue jewels on her head sparkling in the firelight. "My name is Maya. I realize this is sudden, but you are no longer alive."
At the words, memory sparked within me. I was fighting - on a battlefield, energy and death raging around me. I was stabbed with a long red sword. I remembered my killer's face - but did not feel anger or resentment. It was the face of a scared kid who was in over his head.
"I... understand. Where am I?" I managed to croak out, spitting some black gunk from my throat.
Her relief practically lightened the room on its own. "Come with me, I'll take you to a room where you can get cleaned up."
​
\~
I feel like I could go somewhere with this but not within one post le me know if you want more :)
/r/PM_Full_Tits | It all started as an ordinary day. Went to school. Taught the first three periods. Got lunch. Taught another period. Idiot school shooter mowed me and half my fifth period down. I ask myself "Where the hell am I? Is this some Vanilla Sky bullshit?" Nope this place is too weird. All these fish people... merfolk? walking around. They got these gills on their necks and they got fish scales instead of most of there skin. Webbed fingers. Weird. Me? Yep I'm still me, nothing out of the ordinary, same mahogany flesh, not even any blood on my rubber chicken themed tie. The kids love this tie, I was really worried. Seriously who shoots kids?
"Excuse me, I seem to be lost? How do I get back, it's kinda important." I asked the first fish person.
And they all fled from me screaming, ducking into houses and shops. Well that isn't good. Some even hurled small spells at me! Nothing a teacher couldn't dodged.
Maybe I should seek help somewhere? So I start walking. Let's see what we got. Police station? I'm the wrong skin type for that to be a good idea. Butcher shop? I'm liable to be fillet. Town hall? Same problem as police. Christian Church? Library? School? Apartment complex... wait a moment... Why is there a christan church? So I doubled back and tried the front door. Open. Sanctuary at last!
The pews were full with merfolk staring at the pulpit. The preacher looked up from his liturgy, saw me and paused. He exclaimed and pointed "Look! An Old One Is Among Us! He has arisen from the deeps! Throw off the Shackles of Cthulhu and Embrace the Old God!"
I noped the fuck out of there. | |
[WP] You've just been killed and wake up in a fantasy world. You can't understand anything of what these people are saying and they can't understand you, however, someone in what looks like high-priest looking clothes appears and yells:"Step aside, he's an Elder One". | "Goddamn it," I muttered to myself weakly as I laid dying in the hospital bed. Such shitty luck. Bad enough that I was dying from an terminal illness, but then to get struck by a drunk driver as I was crossing the street? Couldn't the universe give me a fucking break? I coughed and immediately winced at the sharp pain in my ribs. Fuck, they could have at least given me some more painkillers, so I could die in peace.
"Request approved. Pain resistance acquired for future reincarnation."
I looked around in confusion. Did someone say something? I squinted as I tried to see if there was anybody else in the room. Damn it, if only my glasses hadn't broken when the car hit me...I tried raising myself up from my bed, only to immediately fall back on the bed in agony as I remembered that my limbs had been mangled in the crash as well.
"Request approved. Additional eyes acquired. Multiple sets of tentacles acquired."
I learned back in my bed and sighed. Whatever, it didn't matter anymore. I just wished I had gotten to have a decent last meal instead of the bland hospital food they served here.
"Request approved. Additional feeding tubes acquired."
I looked down at the numerous tubes sticking out of my frail skinny arms as I felt myself bemoaning my tragic fate. Damn it, if I had just been born in a stronger, healthier body, I would have been able to survive this. Alas, though, I was doomed from the very beginning. Even if the car hadn't struck me, my illness would have killed me before I reached the age of 20. There were so many places in the world that I wanted to travel to before I died. But it was too late for any of that. In a few minutes, I was going to die trapped in this tiny bed all alone by myself.
"Request approved. Physical strength increased tenfold. Resistance to physical damage acquired. Resistance to disease acquired. Extreme longevity acquired. Flight acquired."
I sighed wearily. And now, as if life wasn't shitty enough, I was hearing voices in my head. Well, I wouldn't have to worry about that for long. I could see everything slowly fading into darkness as the last embers of life drained out of me. I didn't know if there really was a afterlife, but hopefully, it was a lot better than this one...
I heard the faint sound of screaming as I felt myself slowly awakening from a deep sleep. What was happening? Had I not died? My eyes flickered open, only to gaze upon the most bizarre scene I had ever seen. Gone were the hospital room and the life support machines. Instead, I seemed to be trapped within some kind of red cylindrical force field inside some kind of underground cavern. There was a group of masked figures in robes outside the force field that was screaming and arguing amongst each other. Was that ... Japanese they were speaking? What in the actual hell was happening? I opened my mouth to speak, but to my sudden shock, instead of English, a series of wet bubbling noises and loud shrills erupted from my mouth.
For the first time, I looked down and my stomach heaved as I realized that there was something deeply, deeply wrong with me. My humans legs were gone. Instead, I was somehow standing on five different twisted scaly limbs, each of one which ended in a massive webbed foot. What was even more shocking to me though was the enormous amount of tentacles sprouting out of my barrel shaped torso in every direction. As I felt myself becoming faint, I took a deep breath and tried to ignore the fact that apparently, even my mouths I was breathing through were somehow composed of tentacles. This was obviously a dream, probably some crazy hallucination created by a dying mind. I just had to wake up from it. I tried mentally forcing myself to end this nightmare, but nothing happened. Panic started to build up inside me. Maybe, it was this stupid forcefield. Maybe, I had to get out of it for this dream to end. I reached out with one of my tentacles and touched the red forcefield in front of me. There was a loud sizzling sound as I saw my flesh start to burn, but surprisingly I didn't feel any pain. When I pulled back, it only took a few seconds for the damage to heal itself. Could I break through? In desperation, I started ramming the shield over and over again. "Let me out!" I yelled in a wild cacaphony of roars and shrieks.
Ludwig laughed maniacally as his fellow summoners turned and stared at him. "You fools!" he sneered. "You thought that you could summon a Legendary Hero to overthrow the Shadow Lord. But the Shadow Lord was already aware of your plans. That's why he sent me, to sabatoge your ritual and to summon a mighty Shoggoth from the eldritch plane instead!" He pulled out a dark tailsman from within his robes and turned toward the savage abomination, which was thrashing around with all its might within the force field. "Shoggoth, hear me! I command you to destroy these pathetic vermin and to lay waste to this entire country!"
"That's not a Shoggoth, you idiot! That's an Elder One!" someone shouted from behind him.
Ludwig turned and frowned. "What did you just --" He never finished his sentence. With one loud pop, the Elder One came bursting through the force field, crushing Ludwig into a bloody paste under its own weight. | It all started as an ordinary day. Went to school. Taught the first three periods. Got lunch. Taught another period. Idiot school shooter mowed me and half my fifth period down. I ask myself "Where the hell am I? Is this some Vanilla Sky bullshit?" Nope this place is too weird. All these fish people... merfolk? walking around. They got these gills on their necks and they got fish scales instead of most of there skin. Webbed fingers. Weird. Me? Yep I'm still me, nothing out of the ordinary, same mahogany flesh, not even any blood on my rubber chicken themed tie. The kids love this tie, I was really worried. Seriously who shoots kids?
"Excuse me, I seem to be lost? How do I get back, it's kinda important." I asked the first fish person.
And they all fled from me screaming, ducking into houses and shops. Well that isn't good. Some even hurled small spells at me! Nothing a teacher couldn't dodged.
Maybe I should seek help somewhere? So I start walking. Let's see what we got. Police station? I'm the wrong skin type for that to be a good idea. Butcher shop? I'm liable to be fillet. Town hall? Same problem as police. Christian Church? Library? School? Apartment complex... wait a moment... Why is there a christan church? So I doubled back and tried the front door. Open. Sanctuary at last!
The pews were full with merfolk staring at the pulpit. The preacher looked up from his liturgy, saw me and paused. He exclaimed and pointed "Look! An Old One Is Among Us! He has arisen from the deeps! Throw off the Shackles of Cthulhu and Embrace the Old God!"
I noped the fuck out of there. | |
[WP] You are a bank robber. But in your current heist, after you entered the vault, you discover that it's empty. There's no money but you find a person with both her hands and feet chained to the ground. | "what da f\*\*k..."
"I know I said there would be money -- but trust me, this is a far bigger payday" Cypher gloated.
"I didn't sign up for this shit!" I snarked back.
"I don't care for what you didn't sign up for - a job is a job" he replied.
Shit. So this is how it ends? Duped by my own leader? This was f\*\*ked up and even I knew it. I looked around and they were all shifty - 7 bad mofos all somehow carrying the same look of dread in their eyes. He never told me it was a syndicate bank...he didn't tell any of us...
"you know you can't get out of this right? Nobody has!!" Crytpic yelled.
"The comms are jammed, the lasers about to come back on and you wanted to pull some shit on us?" he pleaded.
"Let's run while we still can...please...it takes all 8 to get out" he continued.
"You gonna pussy out now?"
"nothing is worth this pain and suffering" cryptic stated.
\*beep\* \*beep\* \*beep\*
"This chamber and vault are gonna be underwater in 3 mins when these vibration plates reactivate - what's it gonna be? " I explained. It was do or die but not like cypher cared.
"We only need a finger..." he said while approaching the female, combat knife in hand. Nobody knew what was so special about them- only that they were the most sought after humans by collectors/experimenters alike. Anything from a syndicate marked woman charges a hefty premium in the black market.
Rumor has it. They can heal any disease...rumor also has it, their blood can trigger plagues. If only the syndicate would let you get out alive with one.
"One minute"
"This is too dense to cut! Definitely not regular skin! Lend a hand will ya!" cypher barked.
Everyone went in and I watched the outer chamber.
\*beep\*\*beep\*\*beep\*
"showtime"
Like a wave of pure energy, the vents loosened and the torrent of water began to pour into the vault and hall. These ladies were always sedated, non responsive, it's in the organizations best interest to keep that way. But they were too valuable too drown...did they really want to kill their most prized assets?
Something didn't feel right.
"scuba masks on- everyone grab a tank"
Cypher recoiled away. He and the others were able to get a finger off and the marked one was bleeding ever slightly into the filling vault. In the corner of my eye...
"is that..green? On your uniform cypher" I asked
Silence filled the air.
Everyone knew what was up. Marked Blood + water = corrosion for all except the marked ones themselves.
So this is how it ends...
The legends were true. The syndicate always wins. | This was going to be it. The one that made my career as the Jersey Cracker. My pulse was racing a mile a minute as I put my trained ear to the side of the safe, listening for the telltale clicks as I shifted past each of the tumblers. Another forty-five seconds and I’d have it.
The adrenaline was why I did it. Sure, the money was nice, but you couldn’t really spend it until the heat died down and you blasted out to some faraway corner of Indiana or Arizona, where no one knew your name and no one questioned a man who paid for things in cash. This job, though…
I had been casing it for weeks. The lady that owned this house was a weird Egyptian cultural nut, y’know? Sphinxes and ankhs and hieroglyphs galore, but in an upscale modern way, black glass and a very pricey three story house in the celebrity part of town, if you know what I mean. She was easily a billionaire, but didn’t flaunt it too much, which made me figure that something was stashed away in there. I talked to the guys that built the place, and they mentioned a weird vault in the basement and a golden sarcophagus. I figure if nothing else, I could nab that, scrape off the gold, and make a little skiing trip to Switzerland this year. Security was tight, of course, but the lady of the house was out for a week on a business trip, I had bypassed the house cameras with a CCTV loop, and the guards were on single-person patrols, which meant I had six guys upstairs hogtied in some very fetching poses. If nothing else, I could probably even pick up a few hundred from some bondage site if I snapped some shots on the way out, everyone loves a man in uniform…
My mind stopped drifting as I heard the last little click I was looking for. With a quick tug, the door popped loose, revealing my treasure, at long last. I flipped the light, and…
…the hell? There’s a girl… kinda dark skinned, in a dusky sort of way, totally naked, and covered in metal cuffs and chains, and they’re all like, bolted to the ground? I know I was just thinking about this sort of thing, but seriously, this is messed up, who does this to another girl? Happily, after some examination, I see a way to get her loose with an Allen wrench and a bit of patience. I start undoing her restraints, and try to be as soothing and calming as I can, but she is weirdly, like, unbothered by this whole thing. Finally, I asked, “Hey, umm… do you understand me? My name’s Amanda, I’m gonna get you out of here…”
She smiled at me a little bit, and nodded my way. It wasn’t like a “yeah, I understand” nod. It was a “peasant, you have my permission to speak” nod, which was weird coming from someone too tied up to snap her fingers or wiggle her toes!
I was starting to feel nervous about the whole thing, but kept going. “So, umm, do you have a name, Miss…?”
She looked me in the eyes, my stormy blues meeting her darker than chocolate browns, and in a voice with an accent I had never heard in my life, she said, “Ansapphiri, Goddess of the Nine Stars and Queen of Aferkaliki and the Valley of the Night.”
Okay, yeah, that made sense. I kept unbolting her chains and cuffs. Poor thing probably had amnesia or some sort of mental damage. Or both. There’s no telling how long they had been down here in the dark, after all. It took the better part of an hour to get her completely loose - I mean, who the hell goes through that much trouble to tie someone up? But at last, she was free, and staring at me with those eyes of hers. She was making me nervous, but I grabbed her hand and said, “C’mon, Sapphire Annie, let’s get you outta here, we’ll steal you some clothes and take you to a hospital.”
She didn’t budge. She just looked at me, and the ghost of a smile quirked her lips. “In accordance with the ancient rules, we are going to play the Game of Three Suns. I will grant you three wishes. Before I grant you a wish, I will tell you a thing that is true, and then leave you to make your wish. The sun will pass once, and I will say a thing, and you may make a wish. The sun will pass once more. And on the third day, I will say one final thing, and you may make your final wish.”
I was kinda stunned, so she continued. “The first statement I will make is that I, Ansapphiri, who have resided upon this world for longer than any of the stars in the sky, was placed into chains by the previous player of the Game of Three Suns. In my thousands and thousands of years, the third wish is always to restrain me beyond hope of escape. Make your first wish.”
Okay, I was really starting to get creeped out. This lady sounded like a genie. But what kind of genie made you put them in chains by the end? Like, did she never watch Aladdin or anything? The genie is supposed to go free at the end…
“Okay, I wish for a million dollars in gold to be deposited into a bank account in Switzerland in my name. Now let’s get you out of…”
Before I could even complete the sentence, she had vanished into thin air.
Forget creeped out, this was just… ridiculous, I had no words for this! Like, who? What? The hell? I slowly wandered out in a daze, barely remembering to call the cops for the tied up guards an hour later from some coffee shop phone as I made my way to the airport. A phone call had confirmed that I really DID have a million dollars in gold in Switzerland, so I was off to the land of chocolate and cuckoo clocks, I guess… I felt pretty cuckoo myself, so I’d be in good company, at least!
I woke up on the airplane to a tap on the shoulder. It was her. I KNOW she didn’t take off with me! There was an old lady there before I went to sleep! At least this time, she was a bit more presentable, with long, silky black hair in a ponytail, a grey t-shirt with a heart on it, tight blue jeans and a pair of gold strappy sandals, with black nail polish and a ton of gold hoop bracelets and anklets.
“Listen, lady, or goddess, or whatever, can this wait until we land at least?”
“Suit yourself, Amanda Davenport. We will arrive in two hours. And by some,” and at this, she quirked a smile, “fluke, the in-flight movie is Aladdin. You should give it a watch. Robin Williams was amazing.” | |
[WP] You are a bank robber. But in your current heist, after you entered the vault, you discover that it's empty. There's no money but you find a person with both her hands and feet chained to the ground. | I stare at the tiny figure. She can't be more than six, seven years old.
But the face isn't that of a child. She lifts her head, greasy, unwashed hair moving aside in matted chunks. "I'll make you a deal, Thief." She says.
"No, no, no, no, no." I put up a hand to stop her. "No deals. Nuh-uh. This is some straight up freaky woo-woo shit and I want none of it."
I know I should leave but I can't. It feels wrong.
I drop my gear bag, and fish around in it until I find the bolt cutters. Look, I'm not that kind of guy. I pick locks, not cut them. But sometimes escapes get messy.
"I cutting the chains, anything I should know before I start?"
She grins. "Altruism."
I snort, and use the cutters to chew through the first link on the chain holding her right hand. It's heavier than most chain I'm used to, and the cutters barely manage, and then come apart when I try for the next chain.
"No need." She flicks her wrist, and catches the chain on the upswing. The links are thicker around than her fingers, the chain almost as thick as her wrist, but she moves it lightly. She grips the end, and it begins to glow dark red like an ember, then fiery orange, and then white. She touches it to the cuff on her other wrist, which heats, and warps and comes off when she twists her arm.
Yeah. Ok. I can see why she was maybe chained up now. My cue to leave, I decide, and turn to go, but she's loosed both legs as fast as that, and is swinging the chain length menacingly.
"Some people will be paying for my captivity" she says, "do you want to see."
"Nope. No thank you. Just gonna head home and wash my hands of this."
She nods. "Wisdom and cowardice often dress alike." | This was going to be it. The one that made my career as the Jersey Cracker. My pulse was racing a mile a minute as I put my trained ear to the side of the safe, listening for the telltale clicks as I shifted past each of the tumblers. Another forty-five seconds and I’d have it.
The adrenaline was why I did it. Sure, the money was nice, but you couldn’t really spend it until the heat died down and you blasted out to some faraway corner of Indiana or Arizona, where no one knew your name and no one questioned a man who paid for things in cash. This job, though…
I had been casing it for weeks. The lady that owned this house was a weird Egyptian cultural nut, y’know? Sphinxes and ankhs and hieroglyphs galore, but in an upscale modern way, black glass and a very pricey three story house in the celebrity part of town, if you know what I mean. She was easily a billionaire, but didn’t flaunt it too much, which made me figure that something was stashed away in there. I talked to the guys that built the place, and they mentioned a weird vault in the basement and a golden sarcophagus. I figure if nothing else, I could nab that, scrape off the gold, and make a little skiing trip to Switzerland this year. Security was tight, of course, but the lady of the house was out for a week on a business trip, I had bypassed the house cameras with a CCTV loop, and the guards were on single-person patrols, which meant I had six guys upstairs hogtied in some very fetching poses. If nothing else, I could probably even pick up a few hundred from some bondage site if I snapped some shots on the way out, everyone loves a man in uniform…
My mind stopped drifting as I heard the last little click I was looking for. With a quick tug, the door popped loose, revealing my treasure, at long last. I flipped the light, and…
…the hell? There’s a girl… kinda dark skinned, in a dusky sort of way, totally naked, and covered in metal cuffs and chains, and they’re all like, bolted to the ground? I know I was just thinking about this sort of thing, but seriously, this is messed up, who does this to another girl? Happily, after some examination, I see a way to get her loose with an Allen wrench and a bit of patience. I start undoing her restraints, and try to be as soothing and calming as I can, but she is weirdly, like, unbothered by this whole thing. Finally, I asked, “Hey, umm… do you understand me? My name’s Amanda, I’m gonna get you out of here…”
She smiled at me a little bit, and nodded my way. It wasn’t like a “yeah, I understand” nod. It was a “peasant, you have my permission to speak” nod, which was weird coming from someone too tied up to snap her fingers or wiggle her toes!
I was starting to feel nervous about the whole thing, but kept going. “So, umm, do you have a name, Miss…?”
She looked me in the eyes, my stormy blues meeting her darker than chocolate browns, and in a voice with an accent I had never heard in my life, she said, “Ansapphiri, Goddess of the Nine Stars and Queen of Aferkaliki and the Valley of the Night.”
Okay, yeah, that made sense. I kept unbolting her chains and cuffs. Poor thing probably had amnesia or some sort of mental damage. Or both. There’s no telling how long they had been down here in the dark, after all. It took the better part of an hour to get her completely loose - I mean, who the hell goes through that much trouble to tie someone up? But at last, she was free, and staring at me with those eyes of hers. She was making me nervous, but I grabbed her hand and said, “C’mon, Sapphire Annie, let’s get you outta here, we’ll steal you some clothes and take you to a hospital.”
She didn’t budge. She just looked at me, and the ghost of a smile quirked her lips. “In accordance with the ancient rules, we are going to play the Game of Three Suns. I will grant you three wishes. Before I grant you a wish, I will tell you a thing that is true, and then leave you to make your wish. The sun will pass once, and I will say a thing, and you may make a wish. The sun will pass once more. And on the third day, I will say one final thing, and you may make your final wish.”
I was kinda stunned, so she continued. “The first statement I will make is that I, Ansapphiri, who have resided upon this world for longer than any of the stars in the sky, was placed into chains by the previous player of the Game of Three Suns. In my thousands and thousands of years, the third wish is always to restrain me beyond hope of escape. Make your first wish.”
Okay, I was really starting to get creeped out. This lady sounded like a genie. But what kind of genie made you put them in chains by the end? Like, did she never watch Aladdin or anything? The genie is supposed to go free at the end…
“Okay, I wish for a million dollars in gold to be deposited into a bank account in Switzerland in my name. Now let’s get you out of…”
Before I could even complete the sentence, she had vanished into thin air.
Forget creeped out, this was just… ridiculous, I had no words for this! Like, who? What? The hell? I slowly wandered out in a daze, barely remembering to call the cops for the tied up guards an hour later from some coffee shop phone as I made my way to the airport. A phone call had confirmed that I really DID have a million dollars in gold in Switzerland, so I was off to the land of chocolate and cuckoo clocks, I guess… I felt pretty cuckoo myself, so I’d be in good company, at least!
I woke up on the airplane to a tap on the shoulder. It was her. I KNOW she didn’t take off with me! There was an old lady there before I went to sleep! At least this time, she was a bit more presentable, with long, silky black hair in a ponytail, a grey t-shirt with a heart on it, tight blue jeans and a pair of gold strappy sandals, with black nail polish and a ton of gold hoop bracelets and anklets.
“Listen, lady, or goddess, or whatever, can this wait until we land at least?”
“Suit yourself, Amanda Davenport. We will arrive in two hours. And by some,” and at this, she quirked a smile, “fluke, the in-flight movie is Aladdin. You should give it a watch. Robin Williams was amazing.” | |
[WP] You are a bank robber. But in your current heist, after you entered the vault, you discover that it's empty. There's no money but you find a person with both her hands and feet chained to the ground. | I stare at the tiny figure. She can't be more than six, seven years old.
But the face isn't that of a child. She lifts her head, greasy, unwashed hair moving aside in matted chunks. "I'll make you a deal, Thief." She says.
"No, no, no, no, no." I put up a hand to stop her. "No deals. Nuh-uh. This is some straight up freaky woo-woo shit and I want none of it."
I know I should leave but I can't. It feels wrong.
I drop my gear bag, and fish around in it until I find the bolt cutters. Look, I'm not that kind of guy. I pick locks, not cut them. But sometimes escapes get messy.
"I cutting the chains, anything I should know before I start?"
She grins. "Altruism."
I snort, and use the cutters to chew through the first link on the chain holding her right hand. It's heavier than most chain I'm used to, and the cutters barely manage, and then come apart when I try for the next chain.
"No need." She flicks her wrist, and catches the chain on the upswing. The links are thicker around than her fingers, the chain almost as thick as her wrist, but she moves it lightly. She grips the end, and it begins to glow dark red like an ember, then fiery orange, and then white. She touches it to the cuff on her other wrist, which heats, and warps and comes off when she twists her arm.
Yeah. Ok. I can see why she was maybe chained up now. My cue to leave, I decide, and turn to go, but she's loosed both legs as fast as that, and is swinging the chain length menacingly.
"Some people will be paying for my captivity" she says, "do you want to see."
"Nope. No thank you. Just gonna head home and wash my hands of this."
She nods. "Wisdom and cowardice often dress alike." | "what da f\*\*k..."
"I know I said there would be money -- but trust me, this is a far bigger payday" Cypher gloated.
"I didn't sign up for this shit!" I snarked back.
"I don't care for what you didn't sign up for - a job is a job" he replied.
Shit. So this is how it ends? Duped by my own leader? This was f\*\*ked up and even I knew it. I looked around and they were all shifty - 7 bad mofos all somehow carrying the same look of dread in their eyes. He never told me it was a syndicate bank...he didn't tell any of us...
"you know you can't get out of this right? Nobody has!!" Crytpic yelled.
"The comms are jammed, the lasers about to come back on and you wanted to pull some shit on us?" he pleaded.
"Let's run while we still can...please...it takes all 8 to get out" he continued.
"You gonna pussy out now?"
"nothing is worth this pain and suffering" cryptic stated.
\*beep\* \*beep\* \*beep\*
"This chamber and vault are gonna be underwater in 3 mins when these vibration plates reactivate - what's it gonna be? " I explained. It was do or die but not like cypher cared.
"We only need a finger..." he said while approaching the female, combat knife in hand. Nobody knew what was so special about them- only that they were the most sought after humans by collectors/experimenters alike. Anything from a syndicate marked woman charges a hefty premium in the black market.
Rumor has it. They can heal any disease...rumor also has it, their blood can trigger plagues. If only the syndicate would let you get out alive with one.
"One minute"
"This is too dense to cut! Definitely not regular skin! Lend a hand will ya!" cypher barked.
Everyone went in and I watched the outer chamber.
\*beep\*\*beep\*\*beep\*
"showtime"
Like a wave of pure energy, the vents loosened and the torrent of water began to pour into the vault and hall. These ladies were always sedated, non responsive, it's in the organizations best interest to keep that way. But they were too valuable too drown...did they really want to kill their most prized assets?
Something didn't feel right.
"scuba masks on- everyone grab a tank"
Cypher recoiled away. He and the others were able to get a finger off and the marked one was bleeding ever slightly into the filling vault. In the corner of my eye...
"is that..green? On your uniform cypher" I asked
Silence filled the air.
Everyone knew what was up. Marked Blood + water = corrosion for all except the marked ones themselves.
So this is how it ends...
The legends were true. The syndicate always wins. | |
[WP] You are a bank robber. But in your current heist, after you entered the vault, you discover that it's empty. There's no money but you find a person with both her hands and feet chained to the ground. | I stare at the tiny figure. She can't be more than six, seven years old.
But the face isn't that of a child. She lifts her head, greasy, unwashed hair moving aside in matted chunks. "I'll make you a deal, Thief." She says.
"No, no, no, no, no." I put up a hand to stop her. "No deals. Nuh-uh. This is some straight up freaky woo-woo shit and I want none of it."
I know I should leave but I can't. It feels wrong.
I drop my gear bag, and fish around in it until I find the bolt cutters. Look, I'm not that kind of guy. I pick locks, not cut them. But sometimes escapes get messy.
"I cutting the chains, anything I should know before I start?"
She grins. "Altruism."
I snort, and use the cutters to chew through the first link on the chain holding her right hand. It's heavier than most chain I'm used to, and the cutters barely manage, and then come apart when I try for the next chain.
"No need." She flicks her wrist, and catches the chain on the upswing. The links are thicker around than her fingers, the chain almost as thick as her wrist, but she moves it lightly. She grips the end, and it begins to glow dark red like an ember, then fiery orange, and then white. She touches it to the cuff on her other wrist, which heats, and warps and comes off when she twists her arm.
Yeah. Ok. I can see why she was maybe chained up now. My cue to leave, I decide, and turn to go, but she's loosed both legs as fast as that, and is swinging the chain length menacingly.
"Some people will be paying for my captivity" she says, "do you want to see."
"Nope. No thank you. Just gonna head home and wash my hands of this."
She nods. "Wisdom and cowardice often dress alike." | The vault finally began to open. As it did so, the grey steel glistened on the door as the light swiftly danced over it. I began to see what was inside until…
A woman? She sat in a wooden chair, with her wrists fixed to it and her ankles the same.
This was strange to Bill. Where were the hundreds of thousands, if not millions, that Bobby had promised would be here? And why was this woman, who he had never seen before, also here?
Bill could barely utter “um-” before his expression of confusion was interrupted by the lady’s terror filled but muffled screams.
He walked over to her and pulled the tape that had been stuck to her lips and covered her pleas.
“Oh, alright, calm down would you,” said Bill, hurriedly. “What’s even going on here?”
“They left me here!” she cried, with a heavy tone of hurt in her voice. “Please, would you help me!”
“Well, shit, I-...look, I guess i might have to if they still haven’t come back for you,” replied Bill, unsure of what his next course of action would be. | |
[WP] You're an imaginary friend. You know and have come to terms with this fact. Or at least you had until just now. Your host just died and somehow you are still here | A thought crept into my mind as I stood over the still warm body of the man I had thought chained me to this world. Not in a negative way, of course; he was my father, for lack of a better term. No matter how hard I tried, however, I could never leave his presence. I had always thought, along with him, that I was imaginary. So the new thought came to me. Slowly, ticking over as I just wasn't quite ready to think it, despite it being on the tip of my tongue.
*What if I'm not imaginary?*
Decades of experience flashed through my mind. I trawled my own memories, looking for any clue that could possibly lead to this situation. What do I know?
Nobody can see me, aside from the now deceased body at my feet. I do not need to eat. I do not breathe. I do not need to sleep. Of these, I can be reasonably sure that I am not human.
I step lightly across the shag carpet, feeling the fluffy threads between my naked toes. Walking around the dark wooden coffee table, I plop soundlessly onto the well worn couch. I can touch objects and feel their texture and temperature; however, I never feel cold. Another mark for non-human, but interacting with reality in some way must mean I am in some way real, no?
According to some superstition, ghosts of some kinds - usually poltergeists - can interact with the world, while only being seen by psychics or otherwise gifted people. They also don't eat, breathe, or sleep; in some sayings, a ghost is bound to the world because of an unfinished task in its previous life, or due to the emotional strength of their loved ones binding their souls to the living world. But the thing about ghosts, is that they are single tracked, very rarely full people outside of their otherworldly desires.
A tick for the supernatural. I don't feel particularly ghost-like, I don't have any memory of a life before this, and the man whom I would place as the culprit for binding me here is dead himself, with no apparent apparition of his own, so being a ghost is unlikely. I've also never seen any others like myself, though that's not necessarily surprising.
I found myself kneeling beside my old friend, then, hands lightly on his back. There was one thing that bothered me. In none of my memories, in all of my time by this man's side, I never once saw his back. A memory of him shying away as he noticed me watching him undress; another of him becoming violently angry when another person had almost shown it to me. I noticed, then, that he had small markings on his wrists - faded, black tattoos that were barely more than short lines. How had I not seen them before?
With a swift move, I pulled his shirt in half, tearing it apart by the threads. I was only momentarily amazed by my own strength; the glittering gold symbols that had been struck along the spine practically punched me in the face themselves.
Recoiling from a disgust I had never felt previously, I felt then the biggest change of the evening;
I felt heavy. I have never felt heavy before. I've never felt any weight, at all before. It wasn't just a weight though; I felt dense. *Alive.*
I pushed myself to my feet and walked to the entrance of the house. A big oak door with tiny scratches from years of living beings using it. Opening it, I stand at the edge of the furthest I'd ever been away from someone I am starting to think wasn't my friend to begin with. One step. Followed by a second, and a third, each consecutive step picking up pace rapidly.
I was *free.* And I wanted answers.
\~
/r/PM_Full_Tits | "You are the light of my life. They may not understand, but that's okay. We have each other."
My host smiled at me, beaming after making such a sappy remark. He was probably waiting for my reply.
"I am happy to have you, too. I was shocked at first, when I learned of our relationship, but after thinking on it, this is really not so bad. We have each other, even if no one else can see or hear me." The time seemed to speed by when I was with with my host. Days seemed to drag when I was confined to only observing the world, unable to interact with any one or any thing.
"Some can hear you. You'll find another host." My host's eyes seemed to crinkle at the edge. Tears began to well up within them.
"You have had other hosts? I'm not the first. I won't be the last, will I? Don't give up on them. On love..."
I recoiled at this. My memory was somewhat hazy from years of worldly observation. Could I have mentioned this to my host? Perhaps...I couldn't be sure.
"I...don't remember. You brought me to life. If you ask me, my life began with your imagination, and will end with your demise. I know I've had other hosts. That you didn't conjure me. But you've made me better. I was emotional before you. You showed me how to love."
"It won't be long, now. I'll see you soon." My host took another ragged breath. These last few days were definitely not easy for him to bear. Surely, his time was nearing its end. I prepared for the darkness to envelope us both.
Letting out a final cry to me, he was gone.
The seconds ticked by. And then minutes. They dragged for me, watching the world without my host in it.
I saw the soldier step towards my host with a spear.
WHY AM I STILL HERE? WHY MUST I GO ON WITHOUT HIM?
The soldier stabbed the body of my host.
A CURSE UPON YOU AND THAT BLASTED SPEAR! I thought.
My host is gone. I have had other hosts before. I could have more. It's too soon. I can't let myself get hurt again. These people took my host from me...I had made changes in the world through past hosts. I had helped them do amazing things. My host had believed in them. He had loved them to the bitter end. He had told me he didn't hate them for hurting him.
I had spent many years interacting with the world through hosts.
No more. | |
[WP] Humans and aliens have had contact for several years now and peace between species has flourished. The first Earth-trained alien artist reveals their portrait of a human on international television, to show the world how they see humans. However, the portrait looks nothing like a human... | “Humanity had consigned itself to a despairing loneliness. Years of exploration, expansion and colonization seemed to have answered the one of man’s first question. The answer seemed to be an emphatic ‘yes, we are alone’. Exploration slowed over the hundreds of years as man accepted their status as the sole intelligent species.
Their coming was…overwhelming. Earth was not without defenses, as war was as part of human nature as peace. Perhaps even more so. First contact nearly resulted in a massacre, as ship and earth-based defenses activated, and gunners panicked.
Luckily, open warfare was avoided, and thus alien life was found. It was life unexpected, both in its form and substance. Semi-organic, semi-hivemind, with no standard form or size. Those that arrived at earth had hitched a ride on a passing asteroid, content to wait in stasis while making their thousand-year journey.
Translation was simple, and soon contact was established with the floating mass that made up their home world. Peace, trade, and mistrust followed, and only through consistent and focused effort was peace preserved.
Art. An abstract concept. Difficult to explain. It fascinated them. A collective body, or a single organism, depending on your view, arrived at the California Institute of the Arts to study. What followed, for the professors, may have been a cruel and unusual punishment. It turned out that teaching an extraterrestrial organism to paint pushed everyone to their limits. Oh, the technical ability came easily enough. Everything from holding the brush, to layering and multi-media painting, they had no problem absorbing. But the emotion. The passion. The tragedy. How do you teach an organism made up of thousands of conflicting emotions and intelligences, in a society of conflicting intelligences, to create something that appeals to emotion on a basic level? The difference in experience, in cultural evolution, and yes, in biology made it a near insurmountable task.
Still, the professors tried. And their efforts are what bring us here today! So, without further ado, please welcome to the stage, John!”
Applause rang out as ‘John’, as they preferred to be called, rolled onto the stage. Max Contro watched as the alien creature maneuvered its almost wagon wheel like body into the sitting area, before rearranging into something that resembled a caterpillar with three torsos. They say themselves gingerly, before turning to Max.
“Thank you, Max, I-“
“No, no thank you, it is an honor to have you on our station, and can I just tell you how excited I am to see what you have for us here today!”
“Again, I thank you it has been-“
“Also I don’t mean to interrupt, but I just wanted to tell you how fascinating it is how you change your shape like that! I mean, it’s just incredible!”
‘John’ sat quietly for a moment before responding.
“This is the method of locomotion among my kind. It is the most acceptable way of efficient motion.”
Max opened his mouth to respond, but ‘John’ plunged on, his voice emitting from small device attached to the left-hand side of their middle torso. The voice was warm, almost human sounding, despite its obviously mechanical origin.
“I am grateful that you have agreed to have me on, but I believe you were mistaken in your description”
Max’s face took on a genuinely perplexed expression, and he rolled his hand at ‘John’ in encouragement to continue.
“You characterize us as lacking emotion or experiencing emotion in way so foreign so as to make it unrecognizable. That is untrue. Our emotions and yours are quite comparable if we have understood your human professors correctly. In fact, many of your great works of art arouse great emotion within our body. The difficulty in the creation of art is not emotion, but consensus, for us. What you fail to understand, or perhaps refuse to understand, is that the body that you see here is the work of trillions of individuals. More sentients reside in this body than exist in your entire civilization. And they remain alive, sentient, and vocal in their opinions. Now imagine attempting to create a single piece of art based on input from your entire civilization.
“It becomes a tedious, stilted process. A process of self-exploration, discovery, and frustration.
I have heard humans say that there are parts of themselves that they do not like, that humans are often ‘at war with themselves’ over a decision. Now imagine that to be literally true. There are individuals that make up essential parts of our body that hold opinions and ideas the rest of us hold to be abhorrent. They are as much a part of us as our past is.
“For us to create art, we must understand ourselves completely, to attempt to do so otherwise results in nothing but wasted time and materials. Max, I appreciate your attempts to present an unbiased history, but I wished to convey the challenges we had with creating this piece and the challenges all of my kind will have with all of the human arts.”
Max glanced at the production head, slightly stunned, before responding.
“Wow, uh, I didn’t realize that uh, well that, that was an issue you had to face. Thank you for sharing it with us!”
‘John’ motioned with the uppermost torso in an apparent recognition of the words.
Max, clearly on edge now, motioned to the assistants to bring in the piece.
As they wheeled on the large, 10x10 canvas, Max spoke again.
“Well then, lets take a look at what you’ve brought us!”
‘John’ seemed to watch impassively as Max signaled for the sheet covering the canvas to be dropped.
The scene that it revealed seemed almost more tableau than painted image.
What immediately caught the eye was a large, seemingly human face that dominated the lower mid portion of the portrait. The face was distorted though, misshapen, with a jawline that waved and arced, eyes that seemed to be slightly different colors, and hair that had no uniform length or pattern. But for all it’s details and imperfections, it seemed to be no more than a mask, with no emotion reflected on its ill sitting features.
The face appeared to be suspended, with to body or head to support it, though immediately behind and to the left of the body, there seemed to be a color wheel, colors blurring together, and giving the impression of rapid change and progression. Indeed, if one stared at the colors long enough, they began to blend together completely until one was indistinguishable from the other.
Below the wheel seemed to be nothing but inarticulate scratches, apparently made at random, with little relation to the wheel or the face.
The rest of the large canvas was painted a solid black. At least at first glance. It was a black that invited, encouraged, even demanded a closer look, as it seemed to move and writhe as ones eyes slid over it.
Upon closer inspection, what appeared to be solid black became a field of octagonal rods, shifting in direction, size and length, but packed so closely that only a detailed viewing would reveal the truth.
A similar inspection of the other elements exposed their secrets as well. The face, not one face, but a face made up of fractions of dozens of different faces, each that seemed to reflect intense emotion, but when taken together showed nothing. Each fraction of the face seemed connected, almost at random to colors on the wheel. And when viewed from another angle, the random scratches seemed to create an almost semi corporeal image of the human anatomy.
It was alien, and strange and beautiful.
Max seemed unimpressed.
“Would you” Max began “care to offer an interpretation of-“
“No”
The word was said with quiet finality.
“I will offer no interpretation or explanation. This is our gift to humanity”
And without another word, ‘John’ shifted shape again and rolled from the room. | The producers had installed a photosynthetic booth deep in bowels of the UltraNet studios. Had Nassica thought of it, she would have put the booth in her rider. But then, that assumed she would have thought herself worth a rider. Instead UltraNet had called and she had answered, and sometime after she dropped the phone Priya figured out they were supposed to be celebrating and found the one bottle of wine they could both drink, though all the other humans claimed it tasted like spoiled peaches.
She was good at that sort of thing, Priya. But then, she was good at a lot of things.
A soft rapping at the door of the booth, Priya’s voice. “You okay in there? You’re on in ten.”
The light flared overhead, a bit off from the egg yolk orange of Nassica’s childhood sun but close enough that it didn’t matter. Once, Nassica had compared the difference between suns to the difference between Human food cultures. “It’s like when and you Laura both make chai, but she puts a little cinnamon in, and a scoop of brown sugar.”
Priya had frowned. “Laura doesn’t make chai, she makes dessert.”
But Priya had understood. She always did.
“Nass?” Priya said, rapping on the booth’s door again.
“Yes, yes I’m alright. Quite alright in fact.”
Priya opened the door, and the outside world flowed in.
UltraNet’s back-rooms were a cascade failure of wires that somehow kept working, held together with a blank checkbook and the combined prayers of five percent of the galaxy. Their operations did not have to be that way, but there was an edge to their aesthetic, a reason their market share seemed steady at five percent, which although still impressive was nowhere near the reach of a Conglomerated Intelligences (Con/Int) or a Sapient Securities.
There were benefits to that edge though. After all, what other network would allow an Alien on their Feed?
To be sure, there were some Aliens. There was MetaCops, the Con/Int show featuring daring Human police officers pursuing cybernetically enhanced criminals across the migrant swarms of the Citonian Expanse. Sapient Securities had featured *Primus Inter Pares* for years, something Nassica did her best not to think about. And beyond that was the preponderance of stim-fics and skinnies. But an Alien simply talking? That was shocking enough to only be on UltraNet. Even if all the Alien had done was paint a pretty picture.
Priya reached in, offered Nassica a hand. She took it gratefully and stepped out of the photosynthetic booth, conscious of each step in the skintight dress they had given her to wear. UltraNet’s handler leaned against nearby wall, face lit by sparking wires, a smile flirting with the edges of his wide mouth. “They said you’d be a sight. They weren’t lying.”
Nassica put a restraining hand on Priya’s shoulder, pulled herself up to her full, impressive height. The peaks of her headdress scraped the ceiling, even without the shoes they had tried to give her. “You are here to lead us?”
“Yes ma’am,” the man said, “I work for Rex. He asked me to prepare you.”
“I’m sure he did,” said Priya.
“Priya,” Nassica warned.
The man stopped flirting with it and just smiled, in the vulpine way common to media-men no matter their affiliation. “He did, but I bet you’ll do fine anyway. You’ve got a look about you I like. Made for the camera. And you’re a Trilurian, right? I’d bet bright lights don’t scare you.”
“Why should light scare anyone?” Nassica said, though she could feel Priya tensing beneath her fingers. “Would you show us the way to Studio C?”
They followed him out past the wall where the wires sparked, and into corridors where UltraNet had tried to hide its nature. It was a great deal of shock for a young painter from Trilure, and in the moments when Nassica caught Priya’s eye she could tell that her friend wasn’t taking it much better.
A far cry from their basement studio and a portfolio submission to a human university.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Priya said as she rounded the last bend, the bright white of the corridor turning a seedy, shifting blue. Discordant music played ahead, and a man shouted to a live studio audience. There were roars, a tiger. The assistant called a halt five meters back from the door and they lead the tiger out. It had yellow, three ringed eyes, its spinal column protruded in razorbacked humps of steel. When Nassica looked at it the tiger smiled, nodded calmly.
“Two minutes!” A voice called from just inside the door.
“I swear to God, Nass, say the word and I’ll get us out of here,” Priya said.
Nassica closed her eyes and wished for the booth. The sun had tasted like a bit like Laura’s chai, like dessert. Undertones from home when she had really tried. “If you did that,” Nassica said, “then could you get my painting back?”
“Hah! Fat chance of that,” the man said, “that’s UltraNet property now sweetheart.”
And Nassica smiled, tried to lean against the wall as casually as the man had. A voice counted down from sixty, hit thirty, hit ten and his timbre changed.
One.
Zero.
Nassica walked out.
What did they see? They saw a woman, very tall and willowy, covered in what they would interpret as bark. They saw a dress made by humans, for humans, woven from the silk of Venusian spiders to hug slim hips and long, strangely curving legs, the fabric peeled away to webbing in all the places where Nassica’s ivy grew. They saw hair like a tumble of flowers, white and five petaled, and those who had paid for it could smell a certain translated sweetness condensed from the air around her and breathed into a billion living rooms throughout the Web.
They saw a tree grown for their amusement and taught to paint. But they did see her.
Nassica sat across from Rex Chapman, took in another vulpine grin. The chair was too low, she couldn’t sit the way she wanted to and so she stretched her legs out in front of her, realized they’d hemmed the dress too short. Her ivy red-shifted in a twining sash from mid-thigh to the blossoming termination at her neck.
Rex Chapman let the applause die down, turn to murmurs and sighs before he said: “So they tell me you’re a painter,” and the interview began.
He had many questions. Nassica had few answers. His questions were not designed to be answered, and the simplest of them, “What’s your home like?” could not be answered in any human tongue she had ever encountered. There were bits of the answer in French, scraps in Portuguese, more in Priya’s native Hindi, but nothing that seemed entirely right.
So eventually he said, “Lets talk about your painting,” and the man who’d come to find them opened the door, wheeled out a covered frame with the canvas underneath. Nassica, seated across from the door where she had entered, saw Priya ease her head in through the crack.
“Yes,” Nassica said, “lets. I would like that very much.”
“Unusual, don’t you think? An Alien who paints?” Rex Chapman said.
“Painting perhaps, but I found it not so completely different from my own culture's art forms. Particularly in terms of—”
“You have art then, on Trilure?”
Nassica choked off the word *‘themes.’* “Yes,” she whispered, “we have art on Trilure.”
“Speak up dear, the good people at home can’t hear you.”
“I said we have art on Trilure.”
“Well! Isn’t that something, folks. Anyway, any final words before we unveil her? I believe I’ve got your original statement here, you said it was a ‘portrait of how Humans looked to you.’ That’s quite interesting. Care to give us anything further?”
Nassica took a deep, shaky breath, eyes fixed to Priya at the door. “Just that it’s only a certain human. And that I want to tell her thank you, for a great many things.”
“Well! That’s damned sweet, folks.” Rex Chapman turned a dazzling smile to the nearest camera, shuffling his notes away. “Pardon my French, you all know how I feel about sweet ladies. Drumroll?”
The band began to play, a descending cacophony ordered around a synthetic countdown. The countdown hit zero and Rex stood, shouted. “Let ‘er rip, Pete!”
The sheet fell away, and in its place was silence.
She saw Priya get it. A moment passed between them that could have only come through art. A look, a certain framing of her lips and that was it, that was enough.
Rex Chapman glanced to his assistant, muttered “Who booked the fuckin’ abstract?”
What did they see? A billion households saw a woman with mile long legs and a sash of ruby ivy, a man with a bulldog’s chin and a frozen showman’s smile. A canvas with a background of royal Trilurian blue sky framing Earthly clouds, fragile wisps of gauze and cotton that some more intelligent observers later deemed to be lace and silk.
They saw the sun, butter yellow rays bleeding into the richest red-brown soil, the paint piled, layered, a depth in the many browns and their textures. And planted there, a tree in full, riotous bloom, stretched up to pin the sky, branches and blossoms turned towards the sun. Outstretched. Grasping. Hungering.
Needing.
They saw a stupid girl who couldn’t even get a portrait right.
They did not see what that sun did to Priya’s eyes, and when Nassica mouthed three long-held words nobody could understand it because those weren’t words weren't made for alien lips, especially aliens too dumb to paint a simple portrait.
But Priya knew the words, and that was what mattered. And Priya waited in the hall, and that was mattered. And Priya had smiled, very brightly, and it wasn’t anything like Laura’s chai: it was the real thing, warm and nourishing, and where it was sweet it was not an affectation, but rather it couldn't have been anything else.
Rex Chapman spoke, but his words didn’t matter.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you! | |
[WP] Every human you try to contact screams, tries to attack you, or tries to run in fear. You've decided you need a new strategy: Instead of *you* contacting THEM, you'll make *them* want to come searching for YOU! | It had been long decades of failure. You were Sh'ngth spirit sister of Terra. You had wanted to meet the creations of your sister in all but blood and mind, but every time they looked upon your majesty they ran away screaming. That was, if they didnt try to tear you down and kill you
She had tried to console you, but every attempt led to failure. Fear or hate, run or fight. You hated it.
Then, a thought came to mind. Something, that in hindsight, seemed so obvious.
With her permission you buried yourself deep within your sister spirits core, and with great effort hardened yourself. Your skin and flesh grew hard and shiny, ensuring they would be attracted by you and would need to work to get you, ensuring that they woukd value you.
But, it came at a price. Your concious thought.
And so you settled into Terra with a new name, your body spread across millions upon millions of miles of Earth.
Dia'mond. | "This is so stupid!" I said to myself for the 25th time today, "Why does EVERY human I try to befriend just screams and runs away?"
It was a cold and stormy afternoon shortly after my last attempt in making a friend. I wanted to give up, but then, as I arrived home I got an idea.
"I will make them come to me instead" I said to mom as I opened the kitchen's door.
"That's great sweetie" She said while giving me a hug "you'll finally make some friends!"
I went upstairs and saw myself in the mirror, I looked like a twenty-year-old with tanned skin and long hair, I quickly swapped back to myself and watched as the image started to change. First my hair shortened, my skin paled and my pupils turned vertically with a green-ish color.
The next day I figure I would start with my new strategy for finding new friends. The only thing that I wanted was to be a normal kid, with normal friends.. But every one always ran from me, but now, that I knew how to attract people I would be everything I'd ever wanted. | |
[WP] Death tries to reconnect with the modern world by posting soul unboxing videos to YouTube. | Ting!! One notification from YouTube.
Without even glancing at screen , i knew it was from the channel 'soul '. As i reached for my phone i heard my mom call out and tell me she would be taking the car to go to town.
Oh yeah! About **SOUL -**10 years ago, a new channel had come up, named SOUL .And let me just say, people went crazy over it. At first , nobody gave it a second thought, we just dismissed it as some crazy channel. However, as the people's loved one's started appearing, oh we knew something was not right.
A man or rather, a huge lean 'thing' named **Death** would stand over bodies of people from various places, and read out the body's past life, family, wealth and their achievements and crimes. Everyone related to the corpse such as family friends and relatives would get a notification. The other kind of notifications were of celebrities or famous criminals.
**Death** had something menacing about himself, he gave off a dark aura, not threatening in itself, it had a weird kind of calm and peace, as well as fear and decay.
I checked the notification to know who the entry into the land of the unknown was.Some man whom i had never heard of, turns out he was quite famous in japan for his poetry.
i tossed my phone onto the bed and sighed. I remember seeing my grandma in it five years ago. She was one of the good ones, as they say.
Her memory made me tear up, i got up from bed and tried to sneak out of the house , as i was grounded for something stupid i did 2 days ago. As i climbed down the stairs, my phone beeped again, i ignored it and crept out of my house.
I returned 30 minutes later, afraid my mom would have come back home. Luckily ,the house was empty. Feeling rather smug, i jumped onto the sofa, reaching for my phone in my pocket.
SOUL had posted again. Honestly, i was quite tired of this channel's constant notifications. Annoyed , i checked for whom it was. A woman lay motionless in a dark place, and it looked quite claustrophobic , that's when Death walked over and took her soul. i checked for her details, Sophia Traynor.
**OH NO ! MOM.** | SCRIPT GHOST-IN-A-JAR UNBOXING VIDEO 07
DATE: 10th november, 2021
The camera turns on. The screen shows a dark-cloaked man sitting in a white room. A scythe hangs on the wall by two brackets. One bracket has a post-it note saying ‘You rock!’. He throws up a peace sign with two bony fingers. By now you notice the white shape of a skull sitting under the hood.
“Hey guys, it’s me, death, and what I’m going to show you today is, uh, human soul unboxing videos.”
The video cuts to a view of his desk, showing three square cardboard boxes the size of a tennis ball.
“Just recently I started collecting them. I’ve now got over 200 types of souls. Let’s see what kinds of souls we get today!”
He starts unpacking the first cardboard box and pulls out a tiny jar with a blue glowing fog in it.
“Oh hey, it’s the self-righteous soul again! We already got five of those. Believe me, these guys squeal the loudest when they meet their end.”
The blue fog in the bottle lets out a cold whine when Death puts it aside. Then he opens the next box, and takes out a bottle with a bright red fog.
“Ohhh shiiiiit! Look at that! We got the ultra rare communist soul!”
The red fog lets out high-pitched moaning and squeals, dampened by the glass. He nods in approval and puts it to the side.
“This was probably one of the poor souls that got killed by the same political party that he chose in the elections. Ha! Communism has made business so great for me!”
Then he turns to the last box and opens it, but it seems like nothing’s inside. He studies it.
“Weird, this one’s empty.” he says, screwing the cork from the top and bringing it closer to look at it. Then he bends over and starts to hurl.
“OH! Oh that stinks! Hrwlll!”
Then a cacophony of laughter erupts one room over. A jock walks into his room and laughs at him in his face. “Haaa! How’d my fart smell, you nerd!”
“Ah fuck you guys! I’m moving dorms!” | |
[WP] The dragon was melancholy. In the war for the world, wyrm kind had prevailed over the legions of men, scattering their kind to the four winds. With only dragons left, there were no fat cows to eat, and no fine treasures left to steal, for dragons did not create such things. | The thing was ALL dragons had the ability to shape change into humans, even the chromatic ones despite the fact that they officially claimed they couldn't.
Which is how Maximum Awesomeness, King of Justice, found himself at a farm trying, and failing, to maintain a herd of cattle.
"This is so damn boring," stated the nearly immortal being as he watched the 5 dozen head of cattle eating grass. They still weren't that fat, but apparently they needed to eat more than just grass to get that way.
So Maximum Awesomeness built a large farm, out of nothing, and found wild grains from where the human settlements had been and started planting a field. Thankfully, turning into a human didn't diminish his draconic strength in the least so he was able to plow the field by pushing the stupid plow through it.
And the years went on and on. Once one of his brothers, a green, had seen his cattle and come to take them for his own. Maximum had shown him the error of his ways, leaping into the air and punching the other dragon on top of his snout so powerfully that the other dragon went flying off with its tail between its legs.
"That's right, these are MY COWS," roared Maximum as the dragon retreated. As he turned around to survey the herd, he spotted something new. A human. She approached him rapidly, holding a spear with a bone tip and a hide shield.
"You defeated a dragon," she said in a halting language, "And you yelled at him in their language. Who are you?"
Crap. What are the human legends again. "Um, Well, I'm not really a farmer that's for certain."
"Are you the chosen one, spoken of in prophesy?" she asked after a moment.
"What does the chosen one have to do," asked Maximum.
"Well, according to the Zanier guide to the world, the chosen one will rise up and," she started and Maximum realized she was in it for the long haul. If he wanted to be bored, he could keep farming. Speaking of which.
"Does the Chosen one have to tend cattle or farm," he asked.
"No, other people will do that," she replied.
"Then I am the chosen one," stated Maximum.
"Then you may start by slaying the evil dragon that lives locally, known as the Red Scourge," stated the woman.
"Maximum Awesomeness?" asked... Maximum Awesomeness.
"Is that his true name, no matter, yes, you the Chosen One must slay him," replied the woman.
"And if I do, I don't have to farm anymore," asked Maximum.
"Nope," replied the woman.
"I'll be right back," stated the newly minted Chosen One. He strode out a minute later," The dragon is dealt with!"
"You didn't even have time to fight him," she replied.
"Oh, that kind of dealing with, be right back," stated Maximum walking back into his lair. A few gouts of flame later and a rather good death stream, if he had to say so for himself, he came back out. "Super handled with this time."
"Let me see the body," replied the woman.
"Oh my me," grumbled Maximum, then he remembered anything was better than farming, so he walked back into the lair, changed back into a dragon and promptly collapsed the whole thing before crawling back out in his human form. "The vile beast will never bother you again, and his lair is buried so no one can ever find his body, like evil dragon necromancers who would raise him as a Dracolich."
"Is that a real thing," asked the woman.
"Its in the monster manual, so sure," replied Maximum. "This valley is clear, please feel free to farm those cows for me. I'll take my hero tribute of one cow a day when you are ready."
"There are not enough cattle for that, thought I do know of some herds in the next territory where the evil Blue Dragon, Cloud Kill resides," stated the woman.
As she spoke a few other humans appeared and began the process of tending the farms. Doing some quick mental arithmetic, Maximum realized his problem.
"Then I'll go kill that dragon too," stated Maximum.
He returned a month later with dozens of more cows and several large scales from the blue dragon, "I dealt with her and she no longer a problem."
"Are you sure," asked the woman.
"I brought scales, I said the red one was handled, has he come back," asked Maximum.
Chastised, the woman nodded, "I'm sorry for questioning you chosen one."
Maximum looked around, there were dozens of humans around his farm now tending to the cattle and the fields.
"My new fee will be the Cow, one goat and a piece of 'half way decent jewelry' stated Maximum.
"We do not have the materials for that, yet, there is a gold mine to the east," began the woman.
"ARG," screamed the dragon man as he started marching to the east.
When he returned several months later after burning out an entire horde of goblins and 'dealing' with the local dragon. The woman looked at him as he approached.
"New fee, two cows, one goat, a decent piece of jewelry, and a maiden who likes to sing to attend a shrine," stated Max.
"We don't have enough, but if you traveled south to the desert," began the woman.
"ARRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGG," screamed the dragon.
\*\*\*
And so the history's say that the screamer persisted, dealing with all of the dragons until finally human civilization was restored over the next several hundred years. If you ever doubt yourself, remember what the Chosen One used to say, "If someone doesn't give me a damn cow in the next trip, I'm going to murder you all!" | “Bruh my shit gone”
“The cows keep fucking dying, I think humans helped take care of them, but those fuckers tried to attack us”
“And the gold? Eaten.”
“Broski, sorry, It’s just so tasty, y’know?”
“Yeah, yeah I get it. But like, y’know, what’s next? What the point?”
“Eh idk, guess we could, y’know, go out or something”
“WHA-“
“Uh, I mean, hah dude just kidding. Let’s go west, see if the sun dragon is still there, maybe she has some extra gold”
“Hmm, okay yeah that sounds good”
As they fly towards west, they end up getting closer and closer to the sun till they turn to ash, turning into nothingess. | |
[WP] In the galactic community, humans aren't seen as the most chaotic or creative. Rather, compared to other species, they're seen as a cold emotionless, highly logical species. Humans find that absolutely baffling. | The AI responded in an according fashion. "If you say so. My research on the subject tells me that that much for human consumption is... Well, excessive."
"It could be for a party."
"No, I looked up the order from my fellow operating systems. It's just for her."
"...Look I just think it shouldn't be a problem. If she wants to eat 30 kilos of vanilla pudding, that's her prerogative."
Delivery ships like this were common in local star systems anymore. And in classic fashion, it only made sense that mankind was one of the first species happy to jump to such an opportunity. Now, years later, despite their personal issues, it wasn't uncommon to find them shipping around parts of the Milky Way.
Early hadn't exactly been the quickest study Dakante had ever hired. But once he got the hang of things, he'd become a rather well recommended member of the crew. Specifically with their routing. They'd had shortened down their average delivery times by 15 percent. Great results on a ship-to-ship basis.
The reason being was actually kind of complex. There were a lot of factions in space that rarely if ever agreed with each other. Humans fascinated Dakante for their abilities to connect with so many. Granted, they could easily be some of the sweetest, kindest people you'd ever meet. Or easily some of the most cruel and horrifying.
He assumed that had to be it. But it wasn't always easy to know what they were thinking. They're actually rather cold. Solitary even. A blank slate, depending on the person.
So when the latest delivery to a pirate outpost involved 15 large packs of this odd Human confection Early had mentioned: The order was completed without a hitch. There were no arguments or taunts or anything inflammatory. If anything, his arrival seemed to confuse everyone present for the sake of his willingness to stop by.
"I can't understand you."
"Hmm?"
"There's no fear. Well at least none I can sense. You go to all these odd places. Meet people I and most on the ship can't or won't, and then we're off. At a good pace too. How?"
"People want what they want." Early chuckled. "We're not moving anything dangerous or illegal from what I know. At least right now. Unless there's something about cakes and pies I'm not aware of."
"What's that thing you lot worry about from time to time? Dia-what is it again?"
"I mean, yeah if you eat too much stuff like that, but no. That's. That's normal."
Dankante's skin flushed a pale blue, an indicator that his race had more perplexed feelings, or so Early has struggled to learn.
"But seriously. I have a simple reason. It could be worse."
"Worse?"
"Well?" Early spun, "We could be running contraband we don't know about. Get arrested. Go straight to jail. There could be a issue with the ship. Something go wrong, 'poof', we die-"
"-Not good."
"-We have something weird happen, fall into a gas giant or something. Our AI catches malware..."
"Don't say that." The AI agreed.
"I could get a subpoena." Early considered.
"What's that?"
"Nothing. Look, we give people what they want, and go about our happy way. Makes sense, right?"
Dakante returned to a normal skin tone as he considered the truth of that statement. His employee had a good point.
"Yes. It could be worse."
"Exactly." Early mentioned as he looked at their next order in the cargo hold. "...That's a lot of bananas."
Dakante "Yeah, there's this weird thing in Sector-6 where they have a festival with- You know what, I'll let you see for yourself. It'll be funnier that way."
---
Characters being logical. That's a start for me lmao r/Jamaican_Dynamite | Hetra Torric disengaged from the galactic net in surprise, carapace arching with electrical currents. Tendrils of plasma swirled around its body, flashing through the electromagnetic spectrum twice before the Leonid controlled its emotions and meekly peeked an eye back through the net portal.
Torric had been perusing the frontiers of knowledge; flying virtually between newly initiated planets as their flows of information steadied and allowed for neural networking, when it had come upon a system almost bereft of original content. In fact, what should have been a beautifully diverse web was instead populated by endless repetition of very similar ideas. Even just dipping into the local net’s surface made the nodes on Torric’s body spark and jitter with unease. Cautious but curious, the Leonid accessed a net archive on the history of this particular system.
There were four terrestrial and four Jovian worlds, all of which had manifested forms of life. However, only one world had blossomed with intelligence. The sparse report showed that it had done so very recently in galactic standard time, within the last half-cycle, but there had been attempts earlier. An aquatic native species had first tried, without much success, to link with the net almost two cycles prior.
The currently dominant species were primates; not much was known about them save for their lack of mental cohesion and the fact they’d just joined the net. Torric decided to explore this strange landscape and become a sort of authority on these ‘Humans’. Opening a local net directory, the Leonid settled on a category labeled ‘Saturday Night Live Skits, Best Of’.
After several galactic hours and several more forced breaks from the net portal, Torric was left with more questions than answers. The ancient being had seen much of this spiral of the galaxy, and from what it had now learned of humans, they were cold, heartless creatures for the most part, utterly devoid of humor or empathy. Admittedly, a few seemed to rise to the level of a Thalorpian or a Geta’svaayan in terms of artistic prowess or compassion, but this was exceedingly rare. Most of the species seemed utterly bent on destruction and consumption. It seemed that the ascension to an interplanetary way of life had not changed their animalistic natures, merely led them to devour information and ideas like they had previously done with others on their home world.
Torric performed the ritual that would close the net portal, resolving to approach central authority with a report detailing its concerns about this species. A report that would include more research into this ‘Stefon’ fellow and his frightening endeavors around major metropolitan areas. | |
[WP] In the galactic community, humans aren't seen as the most chaotic or creative. Rather, compared to other species, they're seen as a cold emotionless, highly logical species. Humans find that absolutely baffling. | "Situation report number one."
"We're in orbit around Grandozius 4 and"
"That's really the name of the system?"
"I checked twice sir, it's the literal translation."
"Very well. Cary on."
"The ambassadors of the two races requesting arbitration have been transported and are currently waiting for us."
"Hard to believe they come to humans for arbitration."
"They see us as cold and unemotional. Deck 3."
*Turbolift chimes*
"How would you best describe the ambassadors, number one? You've been in contact with them."
"The Humongi Aquaticus, yes that's how they fall themselves, are octopuses. Lots of nerve clusters forming semi independent brains in their arms around a central brain. One individual is, to be frank, like a kindergarten teacher trying to control a bunch of toddlers on a suger high. They can be quite spirited at times."
"We'll have to be diplomatic then, number one. And the other species?"
"It's a hive mind sir. Legion Superioris."
"I'm detecting a pattern with these names, number one."
"Quite so, sir. As I was saying, a hive mind. An individual is composed out of a few thousands of small robots."
"Sentient robots in this case?"
"Sort of, sir. You know how one human can be intelligent but a mob of people acts like an idiot? This is like having a stadium full of spectators all shouting, cheering or booing. They can be fickle."
""It'll be a challenge, number one. Here we are."
The door to the hangar deck opens with a hiss and reveals a large aquarium containing an octopus. Its skin is flashing in angry white, red and black so quickly it's like static. The universal communicator kicks in, as does the universal censor.
"Say that about my mother one more time you beeeeep beeep piece of metal beeeeeep. You can beeeep yourself and breed some more beeeep new kiddie robots you beeping kiddie beeper."
The recipient of the tirade, looking more like a bunch crawling metal worms forming a roughly humanoid shape, is emitting its own digital screeching.
"I'll format every cell you have you ugly beeping underwater rat. There'll be nothing left of your little excuse of a beeeep pond of beeeeep scum you call a planet."
The captain pinches the bridge of his nose, orders an Earl Grey from the replicator and approaches the ambassador.
"Welcome, ambassadors. If you have a moment we start with"
"Keep out of this you beeping ground hugger!! Cold emotionless land fish shouldn't talk!"
"Beeeep ugly bags of mostly water don't understand our needs."
"What was that about water you beeeeeep beep beeeep collection of fish food?!"
The first officer just looks at the captain with his trademark "I told you so" expression. It was going to be a long day. A universe of hot heads with humans as the source of reason wasn't anybody's idea of what to find after going where no man has gone before. | Hetra Torric disengaged from the galactic net in surprise, carapace arching with electrical currents. Tendrils of plasma swirled around its body, flashing through the electromagnetic spectrum twice before the Leonid controlled its emotions and meekly peeked an eye back through the net portal.
Torric had been perusing the frontiers of knowledge; flying virtually between newly initiated planets as their flows of information steadied and allowed for neural networking, when it had come upon a system almost bereft of original content. In fact, what should have been a beautifully diverse web was instead populated by endless repetition of very similar ideas. Even just dipping into the local net’s surface made the nodes on Torric’s body spark and jitter with unease. Cautious but curious, the Leonid accessed a net archive on the history of this particular system.
There were four terrestrial and four Jovian worlds, all of which had manifested forms of life. However, only one world had blossomed with intelligence. The sparse report showed that it had done so very recently in galactic standard time, within the last half-cycle, but there had been attempts earlier. An aquatic native species had first tried, without much success, to link with the net almost two cycles prior.
The currently dominant species were primates; not much was known about them save for their lack of mental cohesion and the fact they’d just joined the net. Torric decided to explore this strange landscape and become a sort of authority on these ‘Humans’. Opening a local net directory, the Leonid settled on a category labeled ‘Saturday Night Live Skits, Best Of’.
After several galactic hours and several more forced breaks from the net portal, Torric was left with more questions than answers. The ancient being had seen much of this spiral of the galaxy, and from what it had now learned of humans, they were cold, heartless creatures for the most part, utterly devoid of humor or empathy. Admittedly, a few seemed to rise to the level of a Thalorpian or a Geta’svaayan in terms of artistic prowess or compassion, but this was exceedingly rare. Most of the species seemed utterly bent on destruction and consumption. It seemed that the ascension to an interplanetary way of life had not changed their animalistic natures, merely led them to devour information and ideas like they had previously done with others on their home world.
Torric performed the ritual that would close the net portal, resolving to approach central authority with a report detailing its concerns about this species. A report that would include more research into this ‘Stefon’ fellow and his frightening endeavors around major metropolitan areas. | |
[WP] In the galactic community, humans aren't seen as the most chaotic or creative. Rather, compared to other species, they're seen as a cold emotionless, highly logical species. Humans find that absolutely baffling. |
I could have loved him.
If I were any other being or lived in any other world, I could have loved him.
I still remember the moment he drew me in. It was as if he were gravity and I were the molecules spinning circles around him, again and again and again. I think I tried to find my way to him, somehow — subconsciously, without thought or effort. But that was just the person he was; the sun amongst a sea of revolving planets.
Even the cosmos had nothing on the sight of him.
But mostly, and perhaps most regrettably, I remember my mother’s words drumming against my ears softly. So soft I could barely make them out. *There is nothing for you with him. He’s a human. All they know is the cold. He will never love you the same way you’ll love him.*
And a part of me knows she’s right. Knows that humans are cold and emotionless, and if they’re emotionless — if their feelings are minuscule compared to ours, then what would come out of love?
How could I love someone who could never love me back with the same strength?
The world is forever spinning, the sun at the centre of its axis. Even still, they never touch.
Even still, the light runs on for miles.
—
I could have loved her.
If I were any other being or lived in any other world, I could have loved her.
I had never known such beauty until I met her. *Her* with the caramel eyes. *Her* with the soft smile. *Her* with the confident stature. *Her, her, her.*
I never wanted to let go of this feeling.
But, alas, we are worlds apart, torn by space and time and *humanity.*
We were emotionless, they said. Cold. Logical. *Human.* We could never fathom their pain, their sadness, their love. We could never be what they wanted us to be.
So we were just us, separated from the rest of *them.* We lived worlds away, even while amongst the same one. And the meaning of us — of who we are and who we could be — well, that ran out a long time ago too.
I think somehow I should have known. Should have seen it earlier. I had fallen in love with someone I wasn’t supposed to and I would continue to love her if she let me. But in a way, I couldn’t love her back. At least, not in the same way she’d love me.
And perhaps that’s what hurts the most. That for all I’ve loved, my love could never be enough.
That humanity, built and destroyed on the *basis* of loving, would never — could never — know such love.
—
/r/itrytowrite | Hetra Torric disengaged from the galactic net in surprise, carapace arching with electrical currents. Tendrils of plasma swirled around its body, flashing through the electromagnetic spectrum twice before the Leonid controlled its emotions and meekly peeked an eye back through the net portal.
Torric had been perusing the frontiers of knowledge; flying virtually between newly initiated planets as their flows of information steadied and allowed for neural networking, when it had come upon a system almost bereft of original content. In fact, what should have been a beautifully diverse web was instead populated by endless repetition of very similar ideas. Even just dipping into the local net’s surface made the nodes on Torric’s body spark and jitter with unease. Cautious but curious, the Leonid accessed a net archive on the history of this particular system.
There were four terrestrial and four Jovian worlds, all of which had manifested forms of life. However, only one world had blossomed with intelligence. The sparse report showed that it had done so very recently in galactic standard time, within the last half-cycle, but there had been attempts earlier. An aquatic native species had first tried, without much success, to link with the net almost two cycles prior.
The currently dominant species were primates; not much was known about them save for their lack of mental cohesion and the fact they’d just joined the net. Torric decided to explore this strange landscape and become a sort of authority on these ‘Humans’. Opening a local net directory, the Leonid settled on a category labeled ‘Saturday Night Live Skits, Best Of’.
After several galactic hours and several more forced breaks from the net portal, Torric was left with more questions than answers. The ancient being had seen much of this spiral of the galaxy, and from what it had now learned of humans, they were cold, heartless creatures for the most part, utterly devoid of humor or empathy. Admittedly, a few seemed to rise to the level of a Thalorpian or a Geta’svaayan in terms of artistic prowess or compassion, but this was exceedingly rare. Most of the species seemed utterly bent on destruction and consumption. It seemed that the ascension to an interplanetary way of life had not changed their animalistic natures, merely led them to devour information and ideas like they had previously done with others on their home world.
Torric performed the ritual that would close the net portal, resolving to approach central authority with a report detailing its concerns about this species. A report that would include more research into this ‘Stefon’ fellow and his frightening endeavors around major metropolitan areas. | |
[WP] In the galactic community, humans aren't seen as the most chaotic or creative. Rather, compared to other species, they're seen as a cold emotionless, highly logical species. Humans find that absolutely baffling. | "Situation report number one."
"We're in orbit around Grandozius 4 and"
"That's really the name of the system?"
"I checked twice sir, it's the literal translation."
"Very well. Cary on."
"The ambassadors of the two races requesting arbitration have been transported and are currently waiting for us."
"Hard to believe they come to humans for arbitration."
"They see us as cold and unemotional. Deck 3."
*Turbolift chimes*
"How would you best describe the ambassadors, number one? You've been in contact with them."
"The Humongi Aquaticus, yes that's how they fall themselves, are octopuses. Lots of nerve clusters forming semi independent brains in their arms around a central brain. One individual is, to be frank, like a kindergarten teacher trying to control a bunch of toddlers on a suger high. They can be quite spirited at times."
"We'll have to be diplomatic then, number one. And the other species?"
"It's a hive mind sir. Legion Superioris."
"I'm detecting a pattern with these names, number one."
"Quite so, sir. As I was saying, a hive mind. An individual is composed out of a few thousands of small robots."
"Sentient robots in this case?"
"Sort of, sir. You know how one human can be intelligent but a mob of people acts like an idiot? This is like having a stadium full of spectators all shouting, cheering or booing. They can be fickle."
""It'll be a challenge, number one. Here we are."
The door to the hangar deck opens with a hiss and reveals a large aquarium containing an octopus. Its skin is flashing in angry white, red and black so quickly it's like static. The universal communicator kicks in, as does the universal censor.
"Say that about my mother one more time you beeeeep beeep piece of metal beeeeeep. You can beeeep yourself and breed some more beeeep new kiddie robots you beeping kiddie beeper."
The recipient of the tirade, looking more like a bunch crawling metal worms forming a roughly humanoid shape, is emitting its own digital screeching.
"I'll format every cell you have you ugly beeping underwater rat. There'll be nothing left of your little excuse of a beeeep pond of beeeeep scum you call a planet."
The captain pinches the bridge of his nose, orders an Earl Grey from the replicator and approaches the ambassador.
"Welcome, ambassadors. If you have a moment we start with"
"Keep out of this you beeping ground hugger!! Cold emotionless land fish shouldn't talk!"
"Beeeep ugly bags of mostly water don't understand our needs."
"What was that about water you beeeeeep beep beeeep collection of fish food?!"
The first officer just looks at the captain with his trademark "I told you so" expression. It was going to be a long day. A universe of hot heads with humans as the source of reason wasn't anybody's idea of what to find after going where no man has gone before. | The AI responded in an according fashion. "If you say so. My research on the subject tells me that that much for human consumption is... Well, excessive."
"It could be for a party."
"No, I looked up the order from my fellow operating systems. It's just for her."
"...Look I just think it shouldn't be a problem. If she wants to eat 30 kilos of vanilla pudding, that's her prerogative."
Delivery ships like this were common in local star systems anymore. And in classic fashion, it only made sense that mankind was one of the first species happy to jump to such an opportunity. Now, years later, despite their personal issues, it wasn't uncommon to find them shipping around parts of the Milky Way.
Early hadn't exactly been the quickest study Dakante had ever hired. But once he got the hang of things, he'd become a rather well recommended member of the crew. Specifically with their routing. They'd had shortened down their average delivery times by 15 percent. Great results on a ship-to-ship basis.
The reason being was actually kind of complex. There were a lot of factions in space that rarely if ever agreed with each other. Humans fascinated Dakante for their abilities to connect with so many. Granted, they could easily be some of the sweetest, kindest people you'd ever meet. Or easily some of the most cruel and horrifying.
He assumed that had to be it. But it wasn't always easy to know what they were thinking. They're actually rather cold. Solitary even. A blank slate, depending on the person.
So when the latest delivery to a pirate outpost involved 15 large packs of this odd Human confection Early had mentioned: The order was completed without a hitch. There were no arguments or taunts or anything inflammatory. If anything, his arrival seemed to confuse everyone present for the sake of his willingness to stop by.
"I can't understand you."
"Hmm?"
"There's no fear. Well at least none I can sense. You go to all these odd places. Meet people I and most on the ship can't or won't, and then we're off. At a good pace too. How?"
"People want what they want." Early chuckled. "We're not moving anything dangerous or illegal from what I know. At least right now. Unless there's something about cakes and pies I'm not aware of."
"What's that thing you lot worry about from time to time? Dia-what is it again?"
"I mean, yeah if you eat too much stuff like that, but no. That's. That's normal."
Dankante's skin flushed a pale blue, an indicator that his race had more perplexed feelings, or so Early has struggled to learn.
"But seriously. I have a simple reason. It could be worse."
"Worse?"
"Well?" Early spun, "We could be running contraband we don't know about. Get arrested. Go straight to jail. There could be a issue with the ship. Something go wrong, 'poof', we die-"
"-Not good."
"-We have something weird happen, fall into a gas giant or something. Our AI catches malware..."
"Don't say that." The AI agreed.
"I could get a subpoena." Early considered.
"What's that?"
"Nothing. Look, we give people what they want, and go about our happy way. Makes sense, right?"
Dakante returned to a normal skin tone as he considered the truth of that statement. His employee had a good point.
"Yes. It could be worse."
"Exactly." Early mentioned as he looked at their next order in the cargo hold. "...That's a lot of bananas."
Dakante "Yeah, there's this weird thing in Sector-6 where they have a festival with- You know what, I'll let you see for yourself. It'll be funnier that way."
---
Characters being logical. That's a start for me lmao r/Jamaican_Dynamite | |
[WP] In the galactic community, humans aren't seen as the most chaotic or creative. Rather, compared to other species, they're seen as a cold emotionless, highly logical species. Humans find that absolutely baffling. |
I could have loved him.
If I were any other being or lived in any other world, I could have loved him.
I still remember the moment he drew me in. It was as if he were gravity and I were the molecules spinning circles around him, again and again and again. I think I tried to find my way to him, somehow — subconsciously, without thought or effort. But that was just the person he was; the sun amongst a sea of revolving planets.
Even the cosmos had nothing on the sight of him.
But mostly, and perhaps most regrettably, I remember my mother’s words drumming against my ears softly. So soft I could barely make them out. *There is nothing for you with him. He’s a human. All they know is the cold. He will never love you the same way you’ll love him.*
And a part of me knows she’s right. Knows that humans are cold and emotionless, and if they’re emotionless — if their feelings are minuscule compared to ours, then what would come out of love?
How could I love someone who could never love me back with the same strength?
The world is forever spinning, the sun at the centre of its axis. Even still, they never touch.
Even still, the light runs on for miles.
—
I could have loved her.
If I were any other being or lived in any other world, I could have loved her.
I had never known such beauty until I met her. *Her* with the caramel eyes. *Her* with the soft smile. *Her* with the confident stature. *Her, her, her.*
I never wanted to let go of this feeling.
But, alas, we are worlds apart, torn by space and time and *humanity.*
We were emotionless, they said. Cold. Logical. *Human.* We could never fathom their pain, their sadness, their love. We could never be what they wanted us to be.
So we were just us, separated from the rest of *them.* We lived worlds away, even while amongst the same one. And the meaning of us — of who we are and who we could be — well, that ran out a long time ago too.
I think somehow I should have known. Should have seen it earlier. I had fallen in love with someone I wasn’t supposed to and I would continue to love her if she let me. But in a way, I couldn’t love her back. At least, not in the same way she’d love me.
And perhaps that’s what hurts the most. That for all I’ve loved, my love could never be enough.
That humanity, built and destroyed on the *basis* of loving, would never — could never — know such love.
—
/r/itrytowrite | Hey mom, whats for dinner?
Mac n' Cheese
Yay!
Go set the table and get your siblings!
Ok
​
Did you see how lame her reaction was? I'd be freaking out if I knew I'd get Mac n' Cheese. Sadly it is hard to take onto a spaceship. What's your opinion on this, rufus?
Yes, the humans are pretty emotionless when it comes to food, but they always get something different, while they only feed chester the same mixture three times a day. That's probably the reason he is flipping out right now because they also put some of it in his bowl.
Did they really? Let me see! Oh that lucky bastard, gets fed and pet and can sleep whenever and wherever he wants. All he has to do is not hurt the study subjects and act as our eyes to the human world.
\*through a speaker\* lunch break! Because you have been working so hard this week, you get an extra treat!
OH BOY OH BOY OH BOY OH BOY OH BOY OH BOY OH BOY OH BOY EXTRA TREAAAAAAAAAAT!!!!!!!!
​
I know this is kinda short but it is my first attempt at a prompt | |
[WP] write a typical "radioactive waste gave me superpowers" story but instead of a human, it's the critter of your choice (rat, seagull, pigeon, stray dog/cat, any of those animals who have a lot more chances of messing around in waste than a human) | Hunting near Pripyat, near Chernobyl... is ill advised. It is also very illegal. But, there are things to hunt there, and not things to hunt at home. And I say, if it is safe for the deer, then it is safe for me.
Well, that's what I used to say, until one of those zasranec deer charged me, and bit me! Like a dog! I had to hit it in the head three times to get it to let go and then it took off. Took a piece of me with it too.
So, somehow, I went out to hunt deer and came back with less meat than when I left. Oh, how the boys laughed. One of them said I should be grateful, that I was lucky the deer had not gone home to his wife, with me draped over his shoulder for dinner! Punching him made me feel better.
Well, when I awoke the next morning I felt different. It wasn't the hangover, that's normal. I felt a certain spryness to my step. And my, hearing, it was so sensitive. And these bumps on my head made me wonder if I had gotten punched back and forgotten about it. But most remarkable of all, my deer bite had healed nicely. Maybe it had not been as bad as I thought. I showered and then wiped the steam off of the mirror. My razor clattered into the sink.
The bumps? Small horns growing in my head, like Bambi. And my ears were... longer. One twitched as I heard my neighbor swear. It was upsetting. I'd been infected with some deer rabies and I was going to froth at the mouth any second now.
I got over the panic. Eventually. I went to the doctor, and he was quite interested and friendly. I finally caved and told him where I had been, which proved to be the wrong thing as he cursed me and threw me out. But, before then, he said that I was quite healthy. Incredibly healthy in fact, just... a little disfigured.
Since then I've gotten used to the changes. I can run faster than that lightning man in the Olympics. Bolt is his name. I have a ten foot vertical jump. My hearing and smell are excellent. I can even see in the dark, more or less, usually when it's not cloudy. I'm strong too. Not by a lot, but I was already strong. With that and my horns, I can put a good dent in car door. Not that I would want to, but I missed the mugger I was aiming for. And I was no worse for wear. Not sure that car door would ever open again though.
So yes, I've become a hero of my little town. Like those American cowboys with their underwear on the outside. I wear sensible clothing. I've also become much better at hunting, I don't come back without a deer anymore. Which says a lot, as I do not dare return to Pripyat. I think that, perhaps, the deer meat there is not the best for eating.
My only real concern is someone learning of my weakness. Bright glaring lights. I freeze up, can't move. I don't have any villains who could take advantage, but I know those punk kids would take severe advantage of it to screw with me. So, I try to look both ways before crossing the road, just in case. | The flocks were at war again, ferociously devouring the bounty disgorged by the garbage trucks. She smells the rising symphony of fried oil fats and sickly sweet decay from her perch. Sitting atop an older, more dignified mound of tires and computer parts, she surveyed the kingdom of choices before her. She is particularly interested in the large drums that had been rolled into the dump in the night, their scent a unique curiosity demanding investigation. She alights onto the air, sunlight reflecting momentarily off white feathers before she swoops down toward the drums. She sees a glow from the top of one, and lands on it to investigate. She pecks at a small hole in the top, a thick viscous green ooze dribbling out and quickly lapped up. She feels a deep warmth as it slides down her gullet, the taste almost sweet but with an odd harshness. She quickly loses interest, flapping off to join the cawing clawing mob, though everything else she eats has an edge of that distinct taste, like a coat of paint inside her mouth. As she beds down for the night, she feels a deep ache in her belly, but pays it no heed as she works her wings occasionally to keep warm. Though as the night goes on, she feels the warmth inside her grow, and she falls into a deep slumber. The first rays of light hit her eyes painfully, and she feels clumsy blinking her eyes awake. As she looks about her, she feels a moment of disorientation as her wings send PC monitors and tires flying. An enormous hunger washes over her, and she screams her displeasure for all the flocks and skies to hear. The gusts of air from her wings flapping leave a small cyclone of plastic scraps behind her, her caws drowning out the surprised calls of nearby birds. She rises in the air reveling in the new strength, the new confidence, the new...thoughts? She comes back down to earth, pawing through a pile of burger and fry boxes. Her eyes focus in on the logo, the buns encapsulating the brown squiggles that her mind is working to decipher. She thinks back, to before the Change, to bountiful parking lots and delicious dumpsters. She thinks of hostile hairless apes, coming with their stones or cars or alka seltzer. She licks her enormous talons, stares more closely at the packaging. An awful cawing screaming voice is born unto the world, "Buuuurrger KING!" roaring throughout the dump as she flaps her wings wide, sending bird bodies and trash flying into the air once more. The scent of hot oil, decaying dumpster, and human sweat on asphalt call to her, dreams of the glorious feast to come flashing across her eyes. | |
[WP] Rule number one of space travel: never leave a human unattended on the bridge. They will eventually press every single button, no matter how many interstellar wars it might cause. | The bridge was home to many, and many called it their own. *A gap between worlds,* they would muse to each other, *to keep us all separate* – apart, away from possible hate and anger and vengeance. There was an unspoken message there too, one that many understood but didn’t dare speak aloud. Because the bridge *itself* was peace. And peace comes with many costs.
Aedar was nothing more than a soldier. He served his kingdom and his leader, and perhaps he could have done differently – been someone else entirely – but his father was a soldier, just as his grandfather had been, and Aedar’s mother a general. Duty ran in his blood deeply, and his parents’ sacrifices would not die with them.
It made sense then, in some weird, twisted way, that Aedar would oversee guarding the bridge.
Only, Aedar hadn’t accounted for the *human.*
“Hello!” Said human greets, bouncing over to Aedar. “I’m Riley. Can’t believe you guys are actually real. Now, I do support a good conspiracy every now and again, but this is just crazy!”
“Err…” Aedar starts but is interrupted when the human – now deemed *Riley* – extends their hand over to him. Aeder can do nothing more but stare down at it in confusion. Riley laughs nervously.
“Anyways,” They continue, pulling their hand away and awkwardly rubbing their nose. “Don’t mind me. I’m just here to make sure everything stays in order while the big bosses talk. But I figured this can be a good learning experience. You know, like a field trip!” Aedar does not know, actually, but Riley doesn’t let him speak. “An intergalactic fieldtrip, mind you, but a field trip nonetheless!”
Riley stares at him from behind two… glassy spheres? Brown eyes wide in awe and silent contemplation. “You know, you don’t talk very much, do you?”
Now, Aedar has never considered himself a vindictive man, but at this moment, he thinks he understands his enemies better now. Aeder has never wanted to push someone off this bridge more than he does right now.
“Okay, so you’re the ‘silent but deadly’ type. Got it,” Riley nods as if this has meaning, but offers no further explanation. Instead, Riley turns their gaze beyond the bridge. Aedar turns to watch too. As a child, he once thought the planet to be beautiful, with its vast space running on for miles and miles, a dome of stars blanketing them as if they were the night’s children. It was terrifying and brilliant and exhilarating all at once. The planet existed on darkness alone, like a fuel, and although there was light, it wasn’t light that gave us life. That made us come alive. But now, the darkness was more a foe than a friend, and learning to survive in spite of the darkness was much harder than ignoring it.
We live and die in darkness, after all. Aedar knows this now.
“It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen,” Riley suddenly breathes out, and Aedar can’t help but nod his head in agreement. Because even if he does find fault in the sky, there can still be beauty in something terrible. “The stars are so close,” And, as if to prove a point, Riley reaches their hand out, and Aeder can see the illusion that so many before him had; Riley’s fingers just brushing the edges of the cosmos, specks of stardust raining down their palm, a type of heaven miles and miles away, yet right there at their fingertips. But only if you close your eyes. The stars, like the darkness, are merely an illusion. They are as far away as the rest of the universe.
“Is it like this all the time?” Riley asks. “Is it always this beautiful?”
“No,” Aeder says, and Riley looks at him in surprise. Maybe because he’s finally talking or maybe because it wasn’t the answer they were expecting, but Aeder spends no further time contemplating. Instead, he says, “it’s like any other world; filled with anger and greed and death, but also filled with joy and kindness and life. I have never lived in the light, not fully, but I have yet to live in pure darkness either.”
“We have darkness too, although we’re usually sleeping when it’s dark,” Riley pipes in helpfully.
Aedar nods. “Then you do not know it. Not like we do. Just as we don’t know the light the way you humans do.”
Riley hums. “No, I suppose not.”
And it was true. Humans lived in worlds far from Aedar’s kind. They existed miles apart, lived and died separately. They too, were only illusions. And yet there is a part of Aedar who hopes to learn more, to explore, to see the world through the eyes of another.
Because in truth, Aedar and Riley speak in different tongues, and yet they can understand each other. Aedar knows his planet is much more advanced than Riley’s; it has mechanisms designed for intergalactic communication, but they can still speak freely with each other. Can still talk about darkness and light easily, perhaps because it is unlikely that they will ever see each other again. It says something then, to know someone else’s language. To learn their culture and practices and teachings.
Aedar is by no means fluent in English, but he has practiced it, just as all the soldiers before him have, and it must count for something then, that in both languages, love is pronounced the same.
Perhaps they aren’t so different after all.
“Umm,” Riley suddenly speaks up. “Is that supposed to be happening?”
Aedar glances up to see Riley nervously hovering over the big, red button, stationed atop one of the pillars on the bridge, looking up at him with an anxious expression. Aeder feels trepidation rise up in him. He rushes over.
“Did you touch it?” Aeder frantically asks. When he gets no reply, Aeder asks the question again, only, practically growling this time. Riley squeaks.
“Um,” Riley laughs nervously. “Well… maybe? But it was only an accident, I swear! I didn’t mean to, but it was just sitting there, and my elbow was over there, and… it doesn’t do anything right? Right?” Riley asks, but Aedar isn’t listening to them, he’s too busy running from the bridge and the darkness and the human, trying to get to his leader.
Because Riley had unknowingly pressed the big, red button everyone was forbidden from pressing in the first place. And because they may or may not have just caused the biggest interstellar war since the ‘blue button’ incident.
Forget about love. Aedar was wrong. He was so, very wrong.
The bridge wasn’t there to keep *them* separated from different planets. It was there to keep the *humans* out.
—
/r/itrytowrite
Not edited, so sorry for any spelling mistakes! | Several figures were huddled around a table with a large holographic screen popping out of it.
“Commander, the Councillor of Ashter System has approved the treaty.” Said the tall lean four armed one addressing the stout figure with spiked shoulders at the centre.
“Very good Wing Officer. Who else is left?” replied the commander.
“The Chairman of Axzen Syndicate has sought some changes here, here and here” replied the Wing Officer pointing at different places on the screen with his various arms.
“Those are insignificant. That one there just repeats clause 43.3.8” interjected the feminine cat-like officer next to the Wing Officer.
“I agree. Anything else.” replied the Commander.
“Nothing much, Captain Serj is on his way from the Bridge with the authentication codes. Once we beam the approvals to Rear Admiral Sarfpin, he’ll give his approval and we’re done.”
“Very well, looks like we’re finally putting an end to this needless bloodshed. Just hope the stupid trigger happy humans don’t fuck this up.” Said the Commander as the doors behind opened and a snail like creature entered the room.
“The codes commander” said the Captain as he handed a small device to the Commander.
“Here you go Wing Officer, upload them soon please” the Commander said handing it over to the Wing Officer.
As the Wing Officer connected the device to the port behind the large table and set to work on the keys a sudden alarm began to sound.
“Wait, why is there a launch warning? Who is launching Drive Bombs? The only ship within a strike distance is the Rear Admiral’s ship. It’s a diplomatic vessel. No shields!” Screamed the Commander.
“Captain did you authorise a launch?” Asked the Wing Officer.
“No, I specifically told Kevin not to touch anything and not to let anyone in to the Bridge till I’m back” replied the Captain.
“Kevin. Kevin the human!?” yelped the Wing Officer as the Commander sunk into a chair, “Oh fuck, not again.” | |
[WP] Rule number one of space travel: never leave a human unattended on the bridge. They will eventually press every single button, no matter how many interstellar wars it might cause. | Steve sat in the captain's chair. Technically it was the watch officer's chair, but he thought of it as belonging to the captain. It was right in the middle of the bridge, surrounded by control panels, and covered in a smooth dark red leather, matching the color of his hair, unlike the rest of the chairs that were black plastic. The chair was oversized. He could comfortably sit cross-legged in it or recline sideways with a leg over the arm, so long as he avoided hitting any of the controls.
And it swiveled. He could point it at any of the screens on the bridge. None of the screens showed anything important at the moment, so the main use he had for the swivelling was to spin around and pass the time until his watch was done. The main screen showed mostly black space with a few stars and a standard nebula. Pretty as a picture, but nothing to hold his attention.
He was relaxing with his eyes closed, definitely not sleeping, when the alarm sounded. He spun the chair around. None of the viewscreens showed any alert. He flicked a switch to bring up a status report and it was all green. The klaxon cut off and the intercom came to life, "Human to the Bridge. Human watch officer to the Bridge."
He clicked the intercom button. "This is Watch Officer Herrington. I am on the bridge. What's the emergency? All my boards are green."
Instead of an answer, he heard the door slide open behind him. Turning, he saw Golbur, the Raxian Second Officer. The Raxian was tall. Seven feet tall, which Steve always chuckled at because the Raxian had eight feet, each with a little hoof. Unlike humans, who were required while on duty to wear tight, uncomfortable uniforms that covered all of their skin below the jaw, the Raxian was naked except for its fur and the gold necklace it used in the place of pockets, around it's giraffe-like neck. A little speaker on the necklace translated as Golbur yelled "Steve, we need you on the Bridge."
Steve raised his eyebrows. "Yeah, I've been on the Bridge."
"No, the Real Bridge. Come on."
This raised some questions with Steve. Questions about what the hell he'd been doing seven hours a day for the past year. But before he could ask any of them, Golbur turned and left, waving his neck to indicate that Steve should follow.
Golbur walked just down the hall and then turned and disappeared through a bulkhead. A bulkhead that Steve would have sworn was the outer hull of the ship. He waved his hand through the hologram, then plunged himself through.
On the other side was a large white room. There was no captain's chair, though the Raxian Captain and several other officers were there. There was no furniture of any kind except for a small plinth in the middle of the room. It struck Steve for the first time that Raxians didn't use chairs.
"Um— What is this place?"
"This is the Bridge, Officer Herrington." The voice came from the captain's speaker. Most of the Raxians used the same generic human voice on their speakers, but the captain had changed his to an authoritative Basso Profundo.
"And the room I was in?"
"That's the Human Waiting Room. I'll explain later. We have a situation that requires your attention." It turned to face the wall opposite the entrance. "Viewscreen."
The entire wall illuminated with a display of the surrounding space. The nebula and stars were there, but unlike Steve's screen, this one showed ships. An entire armada arrayed in front of them. Energy weapons lanced out from them to splash against the ship's shields. "As you can see, Officer Herrington, we are under attack. Ships regulations dictate that in this situation a Human should be called to the bridge to rectify the situation."
"Okay, where are the controls?" Steve looked around the room again. Every surface was a seamless white. Other than the viewscreen, the only spot of color was a bit of red on the plinth in the middle.
"The computer controls most things automatically. The rest is voice controls."
"Did you tell the computer to fire weapons?"
"The computer does not have such a function."
The Raxians were beginning to wave their necks in agitation. For lack of a better idea, Steve wandered up to look at the plinth. The splotch of red was a round button, a large one the size of his hand. "What's this button do?"
"We don't know. Regulations explicitly forbid us from pushing the button."
"The same regulations that say you're supposed to bring a human to the bridge in this situation?" The captain stomped his front hooves in agreement. Steve looked back and forth from the captain to the plinth.
A loud alarm sounded in the room, followed by a quick string of Raxian vocals. Golbur translated for Steve, "The Shields are down to ten percent."
The Raxians began to stampede around the room. Their necks whipped from side to side in panic. Steve looked once over each shoulder, shrugged, and slammed a fist down on the button.
The alarms stopped. When Steve looked up at the display screen, he smiled. As a thousand ships were immolated, a warm glow bathed over his face.
\[I post self-critiques of all my prompts the next day at r/c_avery_m\] | Several figures were huddled around a table with a large holographic screen popping out of it.
“Commander, the Councillor of Ashter System has approved the treaty.” Said the tall lean four armed one addressing the stout figure with spiked shoulders at the centre.
“Very good Wing Officer. Who else is left?” replied the commander.
“The Chairman of Axzen Syndicate has sought some changes here, here and here” replied the Wing Officer pointing at different places on the screen with his various arms.
“Those are insignificant. That one there just repeats clause 43.3.8” interjected the feminine cat-like officer next to the Wing Officer.
“I agree. Anything else.” replied the Commander.
“Nothing much, Captain Serj is on his way from the Bridge with the authentication codes. Once we beam the approvals to Rear Admiral Sarfpin, he’ll give his approval and we’re done.”
“Very well, looks like we’re finally putting an end to this needless bloodshed. Just hope the stupid trigger happy humans don’t fuck this up.” Said the Commander as the doors behind opened and a snail like creature entered the room.
“The codes commander” said the Captain as he handed a small device to the Commander.
“Here you go Wing Officer, upload them soon please” the Commander said handing it over to the Wing Officer.
As the Wing Officer connected the device to the port behind the large table and set to work on the keys a sudden alarm began to sound.
“Wait, why is there a launch warning? Who is launching Drive Bombs? The only ship within a strike distance is the Rear Admiral’s ship. It’s a diplomatic vessel. No shields!” Screamed the Commander.
“Captain did you authorise a launch?” Asked the Wing Officer.
“No, I specifically told Kevin not to touch anything and not to let anyone in to the Bridge till I’m back” replied the Captain.
“Kevin. Kevin the human!?” yelped the Wing Officer as the Commander sunk into a chair, “Oh fuck, not again.” | |
[WP] You're pretty sure your boyfriend was replaced by an eldritch being that can barely emulate being human. Weirdly, you enjoy a better relationship with them then your actual boyfriend. | It had been a year since Ian had been replaced, but Sarah never said anything, things were better, he now bought her food and gifts, sometimes he walked on all fours and used his claws to cut her hair and open letters. The best thing about Sarah’s new Ian was; there was no longer abuse, no more bruises, no more black eyes, no more gaslighting and controlling. There was a new car in the driveway new Ian bought Sarah, old Ian wouldn’t allow Sarah to drive anywhere alone. New Ian kept the fridge stocked and cooked meals, old Ian drank a whole mottle of whisky and broke it over Sarah’s head.
Yes, Ian is strange, but he couldn’t hurt her anymore.
We are quick to judge monsters and new ideas, and not quick enough to judge those who hurt us. | Life was good, you had food, house, all the basic necessities in life and I had even managed to get a boyfriend last week, life was indeed good!
Recently though, from the last two days my boyfriend, Mark has been acting in a peculiar manner at first you thought this was the real him, the one who is finally back in his comfort zone he was a kind introverted person, who did not talk a lot but that was fine with you since you wanted a boyfriend just like him but these changes seem a bit too bizarre for it to be normal.
I am beginning to suspect that the one I have been contact with for the last two days is not Mark but rather someone who has possessed him, a shapeshifting eldritch being has replaced him or he has a twin who is meeting me instead of him... weirdly enough last one seems the least likely since Marks's acting as person who is interacting with humans for the first time.
Possession is also ruled out since he does not really done any evil, malicious acts... and he seems to be a bit too pure and innocent to possess someone.
A eldritch being... I should really stop overthinking things...
Anyway I am calling the imposter Mikey in my mind.
He seems more like a golden retriever who can talk then anything else... always curious, eager to do something and be praised. Whenever I see him I feel my heart beat faster his innocent, angelic(ha!) smile, the way he perks up.
Yesterday we went out on a date to the movie theatre to watch a romance filled horror movie and his expressions were priceless... he blushed deep red at even small show of affection while ignoring all the horror elements like it was part of life.
Maybe I am the bad person, may be I am too tired and sleepy or even too drunk to have moral compassion but I am happy to be with Mikey.
\----
Critiques and tips to write better would be greatly appreciated! | |
[WP] You're pretty sure your boyfriend was replaced by an eldritch being that can barely emulate being human. Weirdly, you enjoy a better relationship with them then your actual boyfriend. | Before our trip to Innsmouth I was concerned about the spark of our relationship fading. My partner felt distant and each day that passed the space between us widened and grew colder.
We decided to try one last get away to see if we could salvage things and I have to tell you that while it started out really poorly we ended up having a great time!
At first things seemed to be dull and grey, this small port town was hardly the picture of mysterious, inviting or even remotely romantic but all the same here we were.
That first day was pretty forgettable as we stayed in a small dingy motel and mostly just watched the waves crash onto the beach. The weather was awful so we had no reason to leave and the locals weren't exactly warm either.
At the end of the night I remember announcing to my partner that I was heading to bed and they barely managed eye contact, transfixed on the waves crashing into the beach. I remember I left to bed feeling very upset, feeling like the last of whatever we we're supposed to be was being washed away on that grey little beach - washed out into an ocean of blackness. I was sad, lonely and sure this would be the end of our relationship.
That same night it was like a completely different person returned to our room. I don't know if it was the way moonlight illuminated the beach or just that we were both feeling that vast and infinite emptiness of human loneliness but when they woke me it was like a completely new person wanted to know me and understand me. A new being who wanted to share everything of themselves with me with a fervor and interest that was almost scary.
It felt like such a cliche but this person that the same evening had me questioning everything about us and myself, was now doing everything in their power to not only share but create this profound and emotional moment with me.
There was a real passionate and sort of insane energy to the evening like nothing I'd ever experienced before. I always heard the sex was better with the "crazy" ones but you will literally never believe me when I tell you my partner is like a whole other person lately.
After our trip to Innsmouth I really feel like our relationship has been completely revitalized, there's so much more attention to me and my needs / wants as well as how I feel.
I just feel so seen you know? The way they just watch me laying in bed until I fall asleep and stay standing over me making me feel safe until I awake again? I dunno I just love it.
I guess I should be concerned with all the looks we get but the way it feels to wake up in the morning and hear the words:
"I devoured your nightmares to empower myelf."
The poetry I hear sometimes too is so just.. moving I don't know? The sensitive creative side I felt like I'd never get to see just shows up every day now - just the other morning I rolled over and the first thing I heard to start my day was:
"I shall feast on the eternal fears and sorrows of your life for they sate me."
If that's not a love language ripe with emotional support than I just don't know what is.
It really makes me feel like we can have and build a mature relationship with me, my family and the world as a whole you know? I'm just surprised that all of a sudden there's been a real fascination almost obsession about having kids... and a lot of them.
Also we've begun planning our destination wedding for the very same port town of you guessed it - Innsmouth. There's a beautiful sea side chapel that practically sprung up overnight that we are just dying to get our families to see.
More updates to come!
XOXO | Life was good, you had food, house, all the basic necessities in life and I had even managed to get a boyfriend last week, life was indeed good!
Recently though, from the last two days my boyfriend, Mark has been acting in a peculiar manner at first you thought this was the real him, the one who is finally back in his comfort zone he was a kind introverted person, who did not talk a lot but that was fine with you since you wanted a boyfriend just like him but these changes seem a bit too bizarre for it to be normal.
I am beginning to suspect that the one I have been contact with for the last two days is not Mark but rather someone who has possessed him, a shapeshifting eldritch being has replaced him or he has a twin who is meeting me instead of him... weirdly enough last one seems the least likely since Marks's acting as person who is interacting with humans for the first time.
Possession is also ruled out since he does not really done any evil, malicious acts... and he seems to be a bit too pure and innocent to possess someone.
A eldritch being... I should really stop overthinking things...
Anyway I am calling the imposter Mikey in my mind.
He seems more like a golden retriever who can talk then anything else... always curious, eager to do something and be praised. Whenever I see him I feel my heart beat faster his innocent, angelic(ha!) smile, the way he perks up.
Yesterday we went out on a date to the movie theatre to watch a romance filled horror movie and his expressions were priceless... he blushed deep red at even small show of affection while ignoring all the horror elements like it was part of life.
Maybe I am the bad person, may be I am too tired and sleepy or even too drunk to have moral compassion but I am happy to be with Mikey.
\----
Critiques and tips to write better would be greatly appreciated! | |
[WP] You're pretty sure your boyfriend was replaced by an eldritch being that can barely emulate being human. Weirdly, you enjoy a better relationship with them then your actual boyfriend. | A bit rough. but here.
It'd been just four weeks.
I held his hand. His blue eyes, looking deeper into mine. Like glaciers, ice cold, they were somehow warmer than before. One eye flicked to the right, eyeing a nearby bird on the branch. My hand squeezed tighter and they both focused on me. The man walking past us didn't break stride. Good.
It'd been just four weeks. Four weeks of life being better.
He opened the door to the house and smiled at me. My heartbeat pulsed, his smile he gave me now was so genuine, so kind. His hand held a broken bird to me, I shook my head and he turned away a moment. The bird was gone. It wasn't like the other birds.
It'd been just four weeks. Nothing hurt now.
I didn't wear makeup today. I didn't need concealer or eyeshadow or anything now. I didn't need to hide. I smiled at him. He smiled back gently. He didn't really talk much, beyond those first few words. I wonder if he ever would.
It'd been just four weeks. Four weeks since my life had changed for the better.
I sat on the lounge and looked at the TV. It was static, he'd been watching it for nearly an hour. I whispered in his ear and showed him how to turn it onto a channel. he smiled at me. His pupils static like the TV had been. I didn't mind.
It's been just four weeks. I sleep better now than I have in over a year.
I woke. he was there, looking out the window. Just like he liked to do. A bird in the distance crowed. It was well too early for morning light to show anything my mere eyes could see. It was okay, I went back to sleep.
It's been just four weeks. I don't need to run, but I can.
I hadn't even been to a park run for years, my side ached as I bent over and gasped for breat. I hadn't had the strength to run, but now I did. He slowed down as he passed me again. This time coming to a stop. The motorbike rider's head turned as he drove by but I stared back until their attention returned to the road.
It'd been just four weeks. Four weeks since he left me. Since he arrived.
His brown eyes sneered at me. My tears had been flowing. The bruises covered my arm under his hand as he snarled and held me against the cave wall, my feet slipping in the circle of blood from his last. My makeup smeared as I realised I was really going to die here. Sacrificed by my boyfriend of four years, after all the words, the fights, the abuse, this was how it was going to end.
The bonfire raged, purple and blue flames 12 feet tall. Blue Eyes from beyond looked through the tongues of light.
"NOT HER."
The inhuman sound echoed in the chamber. The blood that pooled at my feet from his best friend quivered and wriggled like a live thing before creeping up his legs.
"You" he whispered from the flames.
It's been just four weeks. | Life was good, you had food, house, all the basic necessities in life and I had even managed to get a boyfriend last week, life was indeed good!
Recently though, from the last two days my boyfriend, Mark has been acting in a peculiar manner at first you thought this was the real him, the one who is finally back in his comfort zone he was a kind introverted person, who did not talk a lot but that was fine with you since you wanted a boyfriend just like him but these changes seem a bit too bizarre for it to be normal.
I am beginning to suspect that the one I have been contact with for the last two days is not Mark but rather someone who has possessed him, a shapeshifting eldritch being has replaced him or he has a twin who is meeting me instead of him... weirdly enough last one seems the least likely since Marks's acting as person who is interacting with humans for the first time.
Possession is also ruled out since he does not really done any evil, malicious acts... and he seems to be a bit too pure and innocent to possess someone.
A eldritch being... I should really stop overthinking things...
Anyway I am calling the imposter Mikey in my mind.
He seems more like a golden retriever who can talk then anything else... always curious, eager to do something and be praised. Whenever I see him I feel my heart beat faster his innocent, angelic(ha!) smile, the way he perks up.
Yesterday we went out on a date to the movie theatre to watch a romance filled horror movie and his expressions were priceless... he blushed deep red at even small show of affection while ignoring all the horror elements like it was part of life.
Maybe I am the bad person, may be I am too tired and sleepy or even too drunk to have moral compassion but I am happy to be with Mikey.
\----
Critiques and tips to write better would be greatly appreciated! | |
[WP] You're pretty sure your boyfriend was replaced by an eldritch being that can barely emulate being human. Weirdly, you enjoy a better relationship with them then your actual boyfriend. | Arthur opened his mouth in a smile so wide it cracked his jaw out of its joints, yet he didn't seem bothered until I gave him a cold stare and he promptly readjusted it. My mother dropped her utensils, while my father clutched his as if they were the only thing still keeping him alive.
"Can someone please pass the brussel sprouts?" I asked in an attempt to break the spell.
They slowly looked over at me as Arthur held a peeled potato in his hand, hot and steaming, and he studied it with apparent awe. My mother seemed about to speak when Arthur shoved it into his mouth and let out a half-choked scream.
It had been a week since I discovered my boyfriend had been replaced by a Lovecraftian doppelgänger. The first clue had been when I'd asked him what he wanted for Christmas and he'd replied he wanted to feast on the fears of lesser gods. Later, when he had just been out with the trash he tried to sneak past me and I caught him only to see a tail sticking out of his mouth.
"H'Loth remembers the day the Earth was created from a speck in the eye of Khtlon the Elder," he'd admitted suddenly while we were watching 90 Day Fiancé.
"Time sure flies," I'd replied.
"H'Loth insulted Khtlon the Younger and so he was punished, sentenced to spend the rest of his days in a prison of flesh."
"That's what you get for being a bully," I'd said, and he'd slowly nodded his head.
My mother took me aside, wanting to have a word. "He's ... interesting. I thought you said he was an artist?"
"He's given up on all that," I told her. Arthur, the real one, had been a spineless coward and a cheater. He kept a girl called Vanessa around, telling me she was simply his muse, and even the girl seemed to feel bummed out by the way he treated me. I'd planned to break up with him when his behavior suddenly changed. He started doing things that surprised me. Like eating Vanessa.
Apparently she had been angry that he hadn't shown up for their appointment at his art studio. She banged at our door, drunk, and shouted obscenities. "The human acts like a bully," he said. "H'Loth was punished. Then so human must be punished." Not quite awake I had agreed with his logic and it never occurred to me that he had wandered downstairs, dragged Vanessa over to our kitchen, and devoured her entirely as she screamed and begged for forgiveness.
"So what does he do?" asked my mother.
"He makes me *happy*," I replied. "Perhaps that's not good enough for you?"
She groaned because she couldn't argue with that in a way that made her come out on top. When we returned we were both shocked to see my father and Arthur engaged in arm wrestling. As I'd heard a thousand times over the years, my father had never lost a match. Born with the strength of a bull, he'd ask anyone he met to try to take him down and he hadn't yet met anyone who could. Once he'd broken the arm of a bricklayer and whenever he got drunk enough he would tell the story and he would always end it by saying that he was glad he broke the arm of the bastard. But as far as I could tell, him and my boyfriend were evenly matched.
Grabbing my hand tightly, my mother said, "My god. I think he's going to *lose*."
In our household this was like saying you didn't expect the sun to rise tomorrow. The strength of my father had reached the status of mythology and it had never before occurred to me that he might ever lose out in a contest of strength.
"Sht'Koloth has granted you power, human," said my boyfriend.
"You're not so bad either," answered my father through clenched teeth.
Arthur's eyes seemed to sparkle for a moment and I cleared my throat to get his attention. He looked over at me and I gave him a stern look. Ten seconds later, he let his arm drop to the kitchen table and my father cried triumphantly.
"Why did you wait so long to show us this guy?" said my father. "He's *strong*. I mean, he talks kinda funny but I guess that's 'cause he's an," he said, close to gagging, "an *artist* and all that."
"Actually," I said, making a show of studying my fingernails. "He's given up on art." His muse did, after all, end up as an *amuse-bouche*.
My father's ears perked up. "Oh, yeah? Well now that's interesting."
"Now, maybe someone can finally pass me those brussel sprouts," I said and we laughed and we sat back down.
"H'Loth so hungry he could eat a cat," said my boyfriend.
My father howled with laughter and he grabbed a potato and he put the whole thing in his mouth. I'm not sure, but I thought I could see a hint of tears in the corner of Arthur's eyes. In *H'Loth's* eyes.
As he opened his mouth in a huge grin, and his jaw clicked out from its hinges, I gave him a bear hug. I've decided that I'll keep him around. | Life was good, you had food, house, all the basic necessities in life and I had even managed to get a boyfriend last week, life was indeed good!
Recently though, from the last two days my boyfriend, Mark has been acting in a peculiar manner at first you thought this was the real him, the one who is finally back in his comfort zone he was a kind introverted person, who did not talk a lot but that was fine with you since you wanted a boyfriend just like him but these changes seem a bit too bizarre for it to be normal.
I am beginning to suspect that the one I have been contact with for the last two days is not Mark but rather someone who has possessed him, a shapeshifting eldritch being has replaced him or he has a twin who is meeting me instead of him... weirdly enough last one seems the least likely since Marks's acting as person who is interacting with humans for the first time.
Possession is also ruled out since he does not really done any evil, malicious acts... and he seems to be a bit too pure and innocent to possess someone.
A eldritch being... I should really stop overthinking things...
Anyway I am calling the imposter Mikey in my mind.
He seems more like a golden retriever who can talk then anything else... always curious, eager to do something and be praised. Whenever I see him I feel my heart beat faster his innocent, angelic(ha!) smile, the way he perks up.
Yesterday we went out on a date to the movie theatre to watch a romance filled horror movie and his expressions were priceless... he blushed deep red at even small show of affection while ignoring all the horror elements like it was part of life.
Maybe I am the bad person, may be I am too tired and sleepy or even too drunk to have moral compassion but I am happy to be with Mikey.
\----
Critiques and tips to write better would be greatly appreciated! | |
[WP] You're pretty sure your boyfriend was replaced by an eldritch being that can barely emulate being human. Weirdly, you enjoy a better relationship with them then your actual boyfriend. | Before our trip to Innsmouth I was concerned about the spark of our relationship fading. My partner felt distant and each day that passed the space between us widened and grew colder.
We decided to try one last get away to see if we could salvage things and I have to tell you that while it started out really poorly we ended up having a great time!
At first things seemed to be dull and grey, this small port town was hardly the picture of mysterious, inviting or even remotely romantic but all the same here we were.
That first day was pretty forgettable as we stayed in a small dingy motel and mostly just watched the waves crash onto the beach. The weather was awful so we had no reason to leave and the locals weren't exactly warm either.
At the end of the night I remember announcing to my partner that I was heading to bed and they barely managed eye contact, transfixed on the waves crashing into the beach. I remember I left to bed feeling very upset, feeling like the last of whatever we we're supposed to be was being washed away on that grey little beach - washed out into an ocean of blackness. I was sad, lonely and sure this would be the end of our relationship.
That same night it was like a completely different person returned to our room. I don't know if it was the way moonlight illuminated the beach or just that we were both feeling that vast and infinite emptiness of human loneliness but when they woke me it was like a completely new person wanted to know me and understand me. A new being who wanted to share everything of themselves with me with a fervor and interest that was almost scary.
It felt like such a cliche but this person that the same evening had me questioning everything about us and myself, was now doing everything in their power to not only share but create this profound and emotional moment with me.
There was a real passionate and sort of insane energy to the evening like nothing I'd ever experienced before. I always heard the sex was better with the "crazy" ones but you will literally never believe me when I tell you my partner is like a whole other person lately.
After our trip to Innsmouth I really feel like our relationship has been completely revitalized, there's so much more attention to me and my needs / wants as well as how I feel.
I just feel so seen you know? The way they just watch me laying in bed until I fall asleep and stay standing over me making me feel safe until I awake again? I dunno I just love it.
I guess I should be concerned with all the looks we get but the way it feels to wake up in the morning and hear the words:
"I devoured your nightmares to empower myelf."
The poetry I hear sometimes too is so just.. moving I don't know? The sensitive creative side I felt like I'd never get to see just shows up every day now - just the other morning I rolled over and the first thing I heard to start my day was:
"I shall feast on the eternal fears and sorrows of your life for they sate me."
If that's not a love language ripe with emotional support than I just don't know what is.
It really makes me feel like we can have and build a mature relationship with me, my family and the world as a whole you know? I'm just surprised that all of a sudden there's been a real fascination almost obsession about having kids... and a lot of them.
Also we've begun planning our destination wedding for the very same port town of you guessed it - Innsmouth. There's a beautiful sea side chapel that practically sprung up overnight that we are just dying to get our families to see.
More updates to come!
XOXO | It had been a year since Ian had been replaced, but Sarah never said anything, things were better, he now bought her food and gifts, sometimes he walked on all fours and used his claws to cut her hair and open letters. The best thing about Sarah’s new Ian was; there was no longer abuse, no more bruises, no more black eyes, no more gaslighting and controlling. There was a new car in the driveway new Ian bought Sarah, old Ian wouldn’t allow Sarah to drive anywhere alone. New Ian kept the fridge stocked and cooked meals, old Ian drank a whole mottle of whisky and broke it over Sarah’s head.
Yes, Ian is strange, but he couldn’t hurt her anymore.
We are quick to judge monsters and new ideas, and not quick enough to judge those who hurt us. | |
[WP] You're pretty sure your boyfriend was replaced by an eldritch being that can barely emulate being human. Weirdly, you enjoy a better relationship with them then your actual boyfriend. | Before our trip to Innsmouth I was concerned about the spark of our relationship fading. My partner felt distant and each day that passed the space between us widened and grew colder.
We decided to try one last get away to see if we could salvage things and I have to tell you that while it started out really poorly we ended up having a great time!
At first things seemed to be dull and grey, this small port town was hardly the picture of mysterious, inviting or even remotely romantic but all the same here we were.
That first day was pretty forgettable as we stayed in a small dingy motel and mostly just watched the waves crash onto the beach. The weather was awful so we had no reason to leave and the locals weren't exactly warm either.
At the end of the night I remember announcing to my partner that I was heading to bed and they barely managed eye contact, transfixed on the waves crashing into the beach. I remember I left to bed feeling very upset, feeling like the last of whatever we we're supposed to be was being washed away on that grey little beach - washed out into an ocean of blackness. I was sad, lonely and sure this would be the end of our relationship.
That same night it was like a completely different person returned to our room. I don't know if it was the way moonlight illuminated the beach or just that we were both feeling that vast and infinite emptiness of human loneliness but when they woke me it was like a completely new person wanted to know me and understand me. A new being who wanted to share everything of themselves with me with a fervor and interest that was almost scary.
It felt like such a cliche but this person that the same evening had me questioning everything about us and myself, was now doing everything in their power to not only share but create this profound and emotional moment with me.
There was a real passionate and sort of insane energy to the evening like nothing I'd ever experienced before. I always heard the sex was better with the "crazy" ones but you will literally never believe me when I tell you my partner is like a whole other person lately.
After our trip to Innsmouth I really feel like our relationship has been completely revitalized, there's so much more attention to me and my needs / wants as well as how I feel.
I just feel so seen you know? The way they just watch me laying in bed until I fall asleep and stay standing over me making me feel safe until I awake again? I dunno I just love it.
I guess I should be concerned with all the looks we get but the way it feels to wake up in the morning and hear the words:
"I devoured your nightmares to empower myelf."
The poetry I hear sometimes too is so just.. moving I don't know? The sensitive creative side I felt like I'd never get to see just shows up every day now - just the other morning I rolled over and the first thing I heard to start my day was:
"I shall feast on the eternal fears and sorrows of your life for they sate me."
If that's not a love language ripe with emotional support than I just don't know what is.
It really makes me feel like we can have and build a mature relationship with me, my family and the world as a whole you know? I'm just surprised that all of a sudden there's been a real fascination almost obsession about having kids... and a lot of them.
Also we've begun planning our destination wedding for the very same port town of you guessed it - Innsmouth. There's a beautiful sea side chapel that practically sprung up overnight that we are just dying to get our families to see.
More updates to come!
XOXO | **EXT. MALL - DAY**
JAKE: OH EM GEE, Micheal, I haven't seen you in so long – how are you? What are you doing in this mall?
MIKE: Jake! Hey! Doing really well actually. I'm just here looking for a few things before our trip
JAKE: A trip? Who is “our”? Are you still with Brian?
MIKE: Yeah
JAKE: Its been like year by now, hasn't it?
MIKE: Almost – like a year and a half?
JAKE: It must be going well if you're going on a trip together.
MIKE: Yeah, we went through a rough patch a few months ago, but things have gotten really good lately. I'm not entirely sure what happened, but its almost like he’s a completely different person.
JAKE: In a good way?
MIKE: Yeah, mostly. Are you still with Matt?
JAKE: Naw, we broke up a few weeks ago
MIKE: Oh, I'm sorry
JAKE: Don’t be – he was a cheating jerk. Fucker.
MIKE: Yeah, been there – that sucks
JAKE: Totally. *(beat)* So where are you guys going?
MIKE: San Francisco
JAKE: Just to get out of town?
MIKE: Well, kind of. We need to get out of the house. Recently, his house started smelling of sulpher – its been driving me kinda nuts - and we can’t seem to figure out what the cause is.
JAKE: You guys live together?
MIKE: Yeah, a few weeks ago. Brian said that he wanted me under his dominion. He kind of just got all dominant all of a sudden. It's kinda hot.
*They laugh.*
MIKE: *(CONT’D)* Also we just wanted to do something different. I mean the sex has suddenly gotten amazing, *(leans in to whisper)* i mean, like *hentai* good.
MIKE: *(CONT’D)* We still want to mix it up, though, you know? He has been doing a lot of talking about enslaving people so we’re heading to San Francisco for the Folsum Street Fair…
JAKE: That's the leather S&M thing, right?
MIKE: Yeah. Its not my thing, but I’ll give it a shot...
JAKE: Wow, that's brave. I hope you have a good time.
MIKE: Thanks. *(beat)* What about you? I know you broke up with Matt but are you seeing anyone else now?
JAKE: No, everything is still kinda fresh, ya know
MIKE: Yeah, I get that. (pause) the reason I ask is because Brian has a friend that he keeps asking me to set up with one of my friends!
JAKE: Oh – whats his name
MIKE: Yog-Sothoth
JAKE: What kind of name is that?
MIKE: Brian says that it’s Babylonian?
JAKE: *(considering)* Middle-eastern guys are hot.
MIKE: *(leans in)* Brian says he’s a dom top, so I thought maybe you’d be up for it
JAKE: Let me think on it.
MIKE: Yeah, of course - no pressure
JAKE: You still have my number, right?
MIKE: Yeah
JAKE: Text me his number – I mean, you gotta get back on the horse at some point, right?
MIKE: Definitely. (leans in again) Brian says that he’s really “big” so..*.(holds a space between his hands)*
*They both laugh.*
JAKE: Well, hey, I gotta run. It was good seeing you!
MIKE: Yeah, you too!
JAKE: Text me!
MIKE: Yeah, you too!
JAKE: Alright..see ya! Stay out of trouble!
MIKE: *(laughs)* Why start now? Talk to you later, Jake! | |
[WP] You're pretty sure your boyfriend was replaced by an eldritch being that can barely emulate being human. Weirdly, you enjoy a better relationship with them then your actual boyfriend. | A bit rough. but here.
It'd been just four weeks.
I held his hand. His blue eyes, looking deeper into mine. Like glaciers, ice cold, they were somehow warmer than before. One eye flicked to the right, eyeing a nearby bird on the branch. My hand squeezed tighter and they both focused on me. The man walking past us didn't break stride. Good.
It'd been just four weeks. Four weeks of life being better.
He opened the door to the house and smiled at me. My heartbeat pulsed, his smile he gave me now was so genuine, so kind. His hand held a broken bird to me, I shook my head and he turned away a moment. The bird was gone. It wasn't like the other birds.
It'd been just four weeks. Nothing hurt now.
I didn't wear makeup today. I didn't need concealer or eyeshadow or anything now. I didn't need to hide. I smiled at him. He smiled back gently. He didn't really talk much, beyond those first few words. I wonder if he ever would.
It'd been just four weeks. Four weeks since my life had changed for the better.
I sat on the lounge and looked at the TV. It was static, he'd been watching it for nearly an hour. I whispered in his ear and showed him how to turn it onto a channel. he smiled at me. His pupils static like the TV had been. I didn't mind.
It's been just four weeks. I sleep better now than I have in over a year.
I woke. he was there, looking out the window. Just like he liked to do. A bird in the distance crowed. It was well too early for morning light to show anything my mere eyes could see. It was okay, I went back to sleep.
It's been just four weeks. I don't need to run, but I can.
I hadn't even been to a park run for years, my side ached as I bent over and gasped for breat. I hadn't had the strength to run, but now I did. He slowed down as he passed me again. This time coming to a stop. The motorbike rider's head turned as he drove by but I stared back until their attention returned to the road.
It'd been just four weeks. Four weeks since he left me. Since he arrived.
His brown eyes sneered at me. My tears had been flowing. The bruises covered my arm under his hand as he snarled and held me against the cave wall, my feet slipping in the circle of blood from his last. My makeup smeared as I realised I was really going to die here. Sacrificed by my boyfriend of four years, after all the words, the fights, the abuse, this was how it was going to end.
The bonfire raged, purple and blue flames 12 feet tall. Blue Eyes from beyond looked through the tongues of light.
"NOT HER."
The inhuman sound echoed in the chamber. The blood that pooled at my feet from his best friend quivered and wriggled like a live thing before creeping up his legs.
"You" he whispered from the flames.
It's been just four weeks. | **EXT. MALL - DAY**
JAKE: OH EM GEE, Micheal, I haven't seen you in so long – how are you? What are you doing in this mall?
MIKE: Jake! Hey! Doing really well actually. I'm just here looking for a few things before our trip
JAKE: A trip? Who is “our”? Are you still with Brian?
MIKE: Yeah
JAKE: Its been like year by now, hasn't it?
MIKE: Almost – like a year and a half?
JAKE: It must be going well if you're going on a trip together.
MIKE: Yeah, we went through a rough patch a few months ago, but things have gotten really good lately. I'm not entirely sure what happened, but its almost like he’s a completely different person.
JAKE: In a good way?
MIKE: Yeah, mostly. Are you still with Matt?
JAKE: Naw, we broke up a few weeks ago
MIKE: Oh, I'm sorry
JAKE: Don’t be – he was a cheating jerk. Fucker.
MIKE: Yeah, been there – that sucks
JAKE: Totally. *(beat)* So where are you guys going?
MIKE: San Francisco
JAKE: Just to get out of town?
MIKE: Well, kind of. We need to get out of the house. Recently, his house started smelling of sulpher – its been driving me kinda nuts - and we can’t seem to figure out what the cause is.
JAKE: You guys live together?
MIKE: Yeah, a few weeks ago. Brian said that he wanted me under his dominion. He kind of just got all dominant all of a sudden. It's kinda hot.
*They laugh.*
MIKE: *(CONT’D)* Also we just wanted to do something different. I mean the sex has suddenly gotten amazing, *(leans in to whisper)* i mean, like *hentai* good.
MIKE: *(CONT’D)* We still want to mix it up, though, you know? He has been doing a lot of talking about enslaving people so we’re heading to San Francisco for the Folsum Street Fair…
JAKE: That's the leather S&M thing, right?
MIKE: Yeah. Its not my thing, but I’ll give it a shot...
JAKE: Wow, that's brave. I hope you have a good time.
MIKE: Thanks. *(beat)* What about you? I know you broke up with Matt but are you seeing anyone else now?
JAKE: No, everything is still kinda fresh, ya know
MIKE: Yeah, I get that. (pause) the reason I ask is because Brian has a friend that he keeps asking me to set up with one of my friends!
JAKE: Oh – whats his name
MIKE: Yog-Sothoth
JAKE: What kind of name is that?
MIKE: Brian says that it’s Babylonian?
JAKE: *(considering)* Middle-eastern guys are hot.
MIKE: *(leans in)* Brian says he’s a dom top, so I thought maybe you’d be up for it
JAKE: Let me think on it.
MIKE: Yeah, of course - no pressure
JAKE: You still have my number, right?
MIKE: Yeah
JAKE: Text me his number – I mean, you gotta get back on the horse at some point, right?
MIKE: Definitely. (leans in again) Brian says that he’s really “big” so..*.(holds a space between his hands)*
*They both laugh.*
JAKE: Well, hey, I gotta run. It was good seeing you!
MIKE: Yeah, you too!
JAKE: Text me!
MIKE: Yeah, you too!
JAKE: Alright..see ya! Stay out of trouble!
MIKE: *(laughs)* Why start now? Talk to you later, Jake! | |
[WP] You're pretty sure your boyfriend was replaced by an eldritch being that can barely emulate being human. Weirdly, you enjoy a better relationship with them then your actual boyfriend. | Arthur opened his mouth in a smile so wide it cracked his jaw out of its joints, yet he didn't seem bothered until I gave him a cold stare and he promptly readjusted it. My mother dropped her utensils, while my father clutched his as if they were the only thing still keeping him alive.
"Can someone please pass the brussel sprouts?" I asked in an attempt to break the spell.
They slowly looked over at me as Arthur held a peeled potato in his hand, hot and steaming, and he studied it with apparent awe. My mother seemed about to speak when Arthur shoved it into his mouth and let out a half-choked scream.
It had been a week since I discovered my boyfriend had been replaced by a Lovecraftian doppelgänger. The first clue had been when I'd asked him what he wanted for Christmas and he'd replied he wanted to feast on the fears of lesser gods. Later, when he had just been out with the trash he tried to sneak past me and I caught him only to see a tail sticking out of his mouth.
"H'Loth remembers the day the Earth was created from a speck in the eye of Khtlon the Elder," he'd admitted suddenly while we were watching 90 Day Fiancé.
"Time sure flies," I'd replied.
"H'Loth insulted Khtlon the Younger and so he was punished, sentenced to spend the rest of his days in a prison of flesh."
"That's what you get for being a bully," I'd said, and he'd slowly nodded his head.
My mother took me aside, wanting to have a word. "He's ... interesting. I thought you said he was an artist?"
"He's given up on all that," I told her. Arthur, the real one, had been a spineless coward and a cheater. He kept a girl called Vanessa around, telling me she was simply his muse, and even the girl seemed to feel bummed out by the way he treated me. I'd planned to break up with him when his behavior suddenly changed. He started doing things that surprised me. Like eating Vanessa.
Apparently she had been angry that he hadn't shown up for their appointment at his art studio. She banged at our door, drunk, and shouted obscenities. "The human acts like a bully," he said. "H'Loth was punished. Then so human must be punished." Not quite awake I had agreed with his logic and it never occurred to me that he had wandered downstairs, dragged Vanessa over to our kitchen, and devoured her entirely as she screamed and begged for forgiveness.
"So what does he do?" asked my mother.
"He makes me *happy*," I replied. "Perhaps that's not good enough for you?"
She groaned because she couldn't argue with that in a way that made her come out on top. When we returned we were both shocked to see my father and Arthur engaged in arm wrestling. As I'd heard a thousand times over the years, my father had never lost a match. Born with the strength of a bull, he'd ask anyone he met to try to take him down and he hadn't yet met anyone who could. Once he'd broken the arm of a bricklayer and whenever he got drunk enough he would tell the story and he would always end it by saying that he was glad he broke the arm of the bastard. But as far as I could tell, him and my boyfriend were evenly matched.
Grabbing my hand tightly, my mother said, "My god. I think he's going to *lose*."
In our household this was like saying you didn't expect the sun to rise tomorrow. The strength of my father had reached the status of mythology and it had never before occurred to me that he might ever lose out in a contest of strength.
"Sht'Koloth has granted you power, human," said my boyfriend.
"You're not so bad either," answered my father through clenched teeth.
Arthur's eyes seemed to sparkle for a moment and I cleared my throat to get his attention. He looked over at me and I gave him a stern look. Ten seconds later, he let his arm drop to the kitchen table and my father cried triumphantly.
"Why did you wait so long to show us this guy?" said my father. "He's *strong*. I mean, he talks kinda funny but I guess that's 'cause he's an," he said, close to gagging, "an *artist* and all that."
"Actually," I said, making a show of studying my fingernails. "He's given up on art." His muse did, after all, end up as an *amuse-bouche*.
My father's ears perked up. "Oh, yeah? Well now that's interesting."
"Now, maybe someone can finally pass me those brussel sprouts," I said and we laughed and we sat back down.
"H'Loth so hungry he could eat a cat," said my boyfriend.
My father howled with laughter and he grabbed a potato and he put the whole thing in his mouth. I'm not sure, but I thought I could see a hint of tears in the corner of Arthur's eyes. In *H'Loth's* eyes.
As he opened his mouth in a huge grin, and his jaw clicked out from its hinges, I gave him a bear hug. I've decided that I'll keep him around. | **EXT. MALL - DAY**
JAKE: OH EM GEE, Micheal, I haven't seen you in so long – how are you? What are you doing in this mall?
MIKE: Jake! Hey! Doing really well actually. I'm just here looking for a few things before our trip
JAKE: A trip? Who is “our”? Are you still with Brian?
MIKE: Yeah
JAKE: Its been like year by now, hasn't it?
MIKE: Almost – like a year and a half?
JAKE: It must be going well if you're going on a trip together.
MIKE: Yeah, we went through a rough patch a few months ago, but things have gotten really good lately. I'm not entirely sure what happened, but its almost like he’s a completely different person.
JAKE: In a good way?
MIKE: Yeah, mostly. Are you still with Matt?
JAKE: Naw, we broke up a few weeks ago
MIKE: Oh, I'm sorry
JAKE: Don’t be – he was a cheating jerk. Fucker.
MIKE: Yeah, been there – that sucks
JAKE: Totally. *(beat)* So where are you guys going?
MIKE: San Francisco
JAKE: Just to get out of town?
MIKE: Well, kind of. We need to get out of the house. Recently, his house started smelling of sulpher – its been driving me kinda nuts - and we can’t seem to figure out what the cause is.
JAKE: You guys live together?
MIKE: Yeah, a few weeks ago. Brian said that he wanted me under his dominion. He kind of just got all dominant all of a sudden. It's kinda hot.
*They laugh.*
MIKE: *(CONT’D)* Also we just wanted to do something different. I mean the sex has suddenly gotten amazing, *(leans in to whisper)* i mean, like *hentai* good.
MIKE: *(CONT’D)* We still want to mix it up, though, you know? He has been doing a lot of talking about enslaving people so we’re heading to San Francisco for the Folsum Street Fair…
JAKE: That's the leather S&M thing, right?
MIKE: Yeah. Its not my thing, but I’ll give it a shot...
JAKE: Wow, that's brave. I hope you have a good time.
MIKE: Thanks. *(beat)* What about you? I know you broke up with Matt but are you seeing anyone else now?
JAKE: No, everything is still kinda fresh, ya know
MIKE: Yeah, I get that. (pause) the reason I ask is because Brian has a friend that he keeps asking me to set up with one of my friends!
JAKE: Oh – whats his name
MIKE: Yog-Sothoth
JAKE: What kind of name is that?
MIKE: Brian says that it’s Babylonian?
JAKE: *(considering)* Middle-eastern guys are hot.
MIKE: *(leans in)* Brian says he’s a dom top, so I thought maybe you’d be up for it
JAKE: Let me think on it.
MIKE: Yeah, of course - no pressure
JAKE: You still have my number, right?
MIKE: Yeah
JAKE: Text me his number – I mean, you gotta get back on the horse at some point, right?
MIKE: Definitely. (leans in again) Brian says that he’s really “big” so..*.(holds a space between his hands)*
*They both laugh.*
JAKE: Well, hey, I gotta run. It was good seeing you!
MIKE: Yeah, you too!
JAKE: Text me!
MIKE: Yeah, you too!
JAKE: Alright..see ya! Stay out of trouble!
MIKE: *(laughs)* Why start now? Talk to you later, Jake! | |
[WP] "Tell my family... I loved them." Whimpered the Dragon with its last breath as you slayed it. You didn't expect it to talk, and now you feel a sense of guilt. You take it up as a new quest and journey to do so as a knight, you seek its family and bring the saddening, yet somewhat awkward news. | "Of. Fucking. Course."
I looked up from my poorly disguised cringe stance. "W..what?"
"How big a pile was Syrvak sitting on? About, what, waist high on you?" the dragon's voice boomed.
"Uh... something like that, maybe a little more..."
"Look, I'm gonna be honest with you. I knew he was going to end up like that. That's why I dumped his scaly ass. The kids won't miss him. Never showed up for visits except occasionally on the High Draconic Holidays. Never shared his hoard despite the court order. Not one Tiamas present that didn't come from a last-minute trip to Family Goldpiece. I'd fuck a donkey before I mourned that loser. Kid, you did the world a favor."
Suddenly a voice -- smaller, higher-pitched, inexplicably vaguely equine -- came from deeper in the cave. "Hey, hon, parfait is ready. Time for dessert."
"Be right there! Get the kids first, I'll be right in." The dragon turned back to me. "Just bring me half that treasure you found. I figure that'll cover what the fucker owed me. Enjoy the rest."
I walked out to the party and turned to Kaerleng, the warlock. "So, Kaer... do you know a good place to rent a heavy-duty cart?" | "Tell my family... I loved them." Whimpered the Dragon with its last breath as you slayed it. You didn't expect it to talk, and now you feel a sense of guilt. You take it up as a new quest and journey to do so as a knight, you seek its family and bring the saddening, yet somewhat awkward news.
Slowly the once fiery eyes cooled became a grey ash. His life had ceased…
…
Rocks crash below as the last rock you grabbed onto did not hold on to your weight. Luckily you grabbed the top edge of the cliff as is gave way. The hornet journey had taken years and had this climb was far from the hardest part of the quest, still you preferred not to end up as a splat 1,000 meters below. At least not when you were so close to the end. It’s been a long day of climbing. As the sun sets, the radiant colors emanating through the atmosphere revealed what you were looking for. An iridescent glow formed around the entrance of one of the caves. “There it is! Finally!”
You set up a small camp, you needed rest after such a grueling journey. When morning came, you secured your armor and secured your belt. *Sssshhhiiiiinnnngggg* your sword makes the familiar sound as you draw it to inspect it one last time. “I hope I don’t have to use this.” You mutter as you slide the glistening blade back into its sheath. You secure your gauntlets, and rub your hand over the thick, red scales, your trophy from years ago. You slip your helmet on your head and march forward into the cave.
Not even 50 meters into the cave, a massive chamber opened. Inside you found them, the dragons family. A large black dragon stood in the corner, climbing around her and flying around the hall, several smaller dragons.
“Excuse me,” you timidly call out!
Suddenly all the dragons stop in their tracks the large black dragon swung her body around. As she swung in front of you he smaller dragons circled round about your, small flames gut from their nostrils as they snarled at you.
“Hello, human,” the black dragon growls, “either your are brave or very stupid for walking into a dragons nest. What business do you have here?”
“I came to fulfill my quest.” The courage building as you spoke.
“Let me guess, you came to slay the dragons that live here… look over there, and see the trophies we have from other like you who came to slay the dragon nest.” The black dragon motions with its large tail to ward a wall. As you glance over the black dragon blows a steady flame out of its mouth to illuminate the wall. Dozens of ornate helmets and shields hung from the wall in neat rows. You pray that your shield does not become another ornament. “This is your last chance to leave, and never return.”
You kneel down before the dragon and bow your head. You slowly take off your helmet. “Thank you for your graciousness,” you slowly state, “such a merciful being like you surely deserves praise. I came here not to slay, but to deliver a message.” You raise your arms in a manner beseeching mercy. “If I may speak…”
“Silence, knight!” Bellows the dragon. “Those scales on your gauntlet, I have only known one beast that had scales colored like that. The Red dragon, my husband. Where did you get those scales!”
Your mouth drops open. You were not expecting the dragon to recognize the scales in your armor. “This is the message I came to deliver. In the last moments of battle, before the fire was out of his eyes, the Red dragon told me to tell his family he Loved them! After the battle I took some of the loose scales that had protected him. I then incorporated them into my armor to offer me some protection, and to remind me of my quest to find you.”
“My husband is dead, by your hand?!?!”
“Yes, I offer my condolences…”
“My husband is dead! Children did you hear that!!! That good for nothing, abusive father of your is dead!” Cheers erupted throughout the cave. You didn’t expect this… you expected to be killed, or have to fight your way out of the cave. You didn’t expect the dragons to be happy.
“Thank you hood knight!” The black dragon said, her tone softer than it was previously. “Last time that good for nothing dragon came to visit, he devoured 4 of my children, I was powerless to stop him. Thank you! “Children, go get this knight his reward!”
The smaller dragons tore off into another tunnel. A few minutes later they each returned with a chest full of gold and precious stones. “Sir knight, pleas take this offering as a token of our appreciation. And we have another gift for you.”The large black dragon takes her claws and removes several of her scales. As she removes several scales, the young dragons each do the same. “The strength of the dragon scales is determined by the life within the dragon. While the scales you possess are strong, they would not tolerate a hit from a dragon or it’s flame. Take these scales, these scales can withstand any flame, claw, or blow from any dragon, these are the strongest scales you will ever get, because they were removed from strong healthy dragons. We are indebted to you good Knight. We will forever be at your service. Is there anything else that you desire from from us?”
“There is one thing…” you whisper into the ear of the black dragon, a subtle smile appears in the dragons face.
…
The wicked king sits upon his balcony. “Finally, the good knight is dead. Years have passed and the only person who could challenge the thrown is gone.” He mutters to his companions.
The bell in the keep starts ringing, the warning of an attack. Off in the distance the king can see a group of 8 dragons flying toward the city.
Quickly the solders arm themselves and align themselves to defend the city. The king adorns his armor and stands on his balcony with his generals, ready to give commands. The dragons circle the castle, they don’t attack the city, but rather follows the directions of the knight is dragon scale armor riding the black dragon. After circling and repelling the hopeless attacks of the kings knights, the black dragon lands on the tower of the castle. The good knight dismounts his ride and approaches the king. A general swings his sword at the night but his sword shatters when it makes contact with a scale on the hood knights armor. The King recognizes the good knight, and the good knight draws his sword and approaches the king. The king falls to the floor and grabs the knee of the good knight. “Mercy,” the king calls out. “The kingdom for your life,” the good knight coldly states, “ you showed no mercy to your kingdom, why would mercy be offered to you?”
The king slowly hands his sword over to the new King, and hands him his ring. The generals now before their new king, thankful to have the Tyrant removed from the thrown. The black dragon grabs the wicked man who once was king and in a single bite devours him. “For my husband.” She mutters under her breath.
“Today marks a new day!” Proclaims the new king from his balcony. “Today, marks a day of piece. Today, this kingdom becomes ally’s with the dragons!” The town erupts in cheers! “Today a blood pact is made with the dragons! An unbreakable oath, that this town and dragons will work together and care for each other!” The king draws his sword and makes a deep cut in his hand and extends the bleeding hand toward the black dragon. The dragon takes is razor sharp claw and wounds it’s tail and extends the wound until it meets the hand of the king. “The oath has been made. Knights! Solders! Towns people! If you wish to be part of this oath, swear your allegiance to me!” The entire town, army, and all the generals in the terrace with you, kneel and bow before you.
“All hail the good king who has brought peace between us and the dragons! All hail the king!”
The cheers last for hours, the feast lasted for 9 days. The war that lasted for years had finally ended. All due to a quest to tell the dragons family that “he loved them.” Who knew the family would be so thankful that the red dragon was dead.
The next 300 years saw peace and prosperity the town had never known. The dragons made an oath with each king, and every year on the anniversary of the blood oath, a party was held, the dragons always appeared, each year a little bigger, and a little stronger than the year before. And they always brought exuberant riches to the king as a time. If hood favor, remember what was done for them. | |
[WP] "Tell my family... I loved them." Whimpered the Dragon with its last breath as you slayed it. You didn't expect it to talk, and now you feel a sense of guilt. You take it up as a new quest and journey to do so as a knight, you seek its family and bring the saddening, yet somewhat awkward news. | Once I read an interesting trivia fact on the internet, back when I lived on Earth. The trivia fact was that some Mafia bosses, after having a rival boss killed, send flowers to his widow. The gesture, apparently, means that the hit was 'nothing personal', and that they regret the fact that the circumstances forced them to kill their competitor.
It sounded like bullshit to me back then.
It sounds like bullshit to me now.
But the fact remains: there is a dead dragon at my feet and I feel awful about it.
Let me introduce myself: Zackorthaymar Oberynt d'Ventus, Count Palatine of the Stormshores Palatinate, Margrave of the Unholy Marches, Lord of the Neverbroken Castle, one of the nine Prince-Electors of the Empire of Light, Most Supremely Galant and Honorable General of the Galant and Honorable Knights of the Holy Silver Chalice, Wielder of *Thevet'dar*, the Glaive of the Cyclone, wearer of the Molten Crown. I am the future husband of Alayna, the Empress of Light, the Chosen One.
My titles are legion, among them *Ard Velleh*, the Lightning Lord, *D'hash Sheheszar*, Bane of the Dark, *Olos Ulmey*, the Morning Wind. I am the Anvil on
which all Storms are Forged, I am He, Who Walks On Clouds. I am called Thunderfist, and Windblade, and Stormstrike. And now, apparently, Dragonslayer.
My real name is Zach Owens, and I was a more-or-less ordinary 17-year-old boy on earth.
I think it was rather cliche, especially because I was actually rereading Narnia at the time. Yes, I was rereading Narnia with 17. So sue me. If your lawyer can actually deliver the letter to *Mundus Obscurus*, you are clearly not paying them enough.
Ahem.
So, I was reading Narnia in a wave of nostalgia on a bench in front of the school my foster parents sent me to on a beautiful summer day, when suddenly a storm appeared out of literally blue skies. Within seconds the rain ruined the book, and within minutes I was completely lost while I stumbled towards the school building. I lost my way so completely, that I was only moderately surprised when I stumbled out of the storm on a grove lit by the light of three moons and was greeted by the arrows of some paranoid paranoid and trigger-happy elves.
Okay, trigger-happy isn't the appropriate expression for archers. Loose-happy? Doesn't sound right. Arrow-happy? Maybe better.
Ahem. I digress.
After recognizing them as honest-to-god elves and distinguishing them from reenactment hippies (the long ears, technicolor eyes, silvery hair, melodic voices and, for the lack of a better expression, elvish behavior gave them away) I managed to negotiate a truce and convince them that I was not a threat.
I figured that I had become the Protagonist of a fantasy novel for some reason (the alternative being hit on the head and imagining this stuff while in a coma). I was mostly right.
Whoever writes this stuff is really fond of certain clichees. Forest-dwelling elves, check. Undermountain dwarves, check. Knights in shining armor, check, as well as black knights, check. Mysterious Wizards, check. Wise mentors, who 'conveniently' die before teaching me everything, check (and *thank you very much, dear writer*. I rather liked Cenadrene the Sidhe despite her famous temper - the Orc raid was rather lazy writing, really). A glorious empire which fell exactly three thousand years ago but is still remembered in surprisingly detailed histories, check. Technological stagnation at late medieval level ever since, check. An evil empire over half of the map, check. Good kingdoms (and exactly one token republic) in a war with it, check. True love on first sight, check (that, at least, is pretty convenient - much less difficulty dating).
At least, they are relatively progressive. It took me a few, years to figure it out, but I'm the Deuteragonist, not the Protagonist, the Protagonist being Alayna, my soon-to-be wife. I figured it out when, after a series of epic adventures I, for some reason, did not do anything of significance for a few months while Alayna was beating some witches into submission. This dynamic at least mostly prevents the never-to-be-sufficiently-damned damsel-in-distress plot.
Also, should the novel (or, more likely, the novel series) be ever turned into a movie, it would pass the Bechdel test with flying colors. Similarly, questions like homosexuality and race aren't conveniently pushed out of the picture. So, points for progressiveness, I guess, although having a white anglo-saxon heterosexual protestant (i.e. me) as the deuteragonist also gives a few minus points here. At least there's no 'white savior' bullshit.
I also rather like the magic system, as it appeals to both my senses of logic and wonder. The bending of the laws of nature to my will, the sweet, sweet struggle with the power in my soul, the clarity when my mind strikes out. My vast powers over air, storm and lightning became apparent at what I now guess was the last scene of the first volume and led to my *Ard Velleh* title.
Anyway, I did what is expected of a good deuteragonist. I threw all my considerable power behind what was good and just. I led armies against dark lords (not all, but some of them cliché mustache-twirling-evil) and even a dark lady (who, in a surprising subversion of the genre, didn't turn out to be good at heart, nor did she develop a crush on me. I guess, I am not James Bond, thankfully). I made desperate strikes at the heart of the enemy, sometimes leading groups of friends, sometimes accompanied by, or rather, accompanying Alayna.
We two, and ten other Narnia'd people from earth, forged the empire of light anew. I'm pretty sure that we're like two-thirds through the series now. By my account there were likely eight full books, based on the number of climatic confrontations, (as well as a few novellas, focusing on the secondary characters - at least some of them written by guest writers, if I guess correctly) and twelve looks like a good number of books in a series, unless it'll get the 'Wheel of Time' treatment.
So...back to the dragon. She was my main antagonist through book eight, by my accounts. After Alayna's and my wedding got interrupted by an assassination attempt in what I believe was the prologue of this particular book, and her being required to go to war against the Titans of the creatively named Red Desert in the south-east (lazy cartography, that. Of course there is a desert in the "Mordor Corner" of the map. And yes, the map of the places where most of our adventures occurred fits suspiciously well on a book cover... borderless sea in the west, suspiciously rectangular east-to-west continent, long mountain range which disregards all geological logic in the east, and so on, and so on...). I was meanwhile recalled to the north-east, as a dragon had descended on the recently conquered Unholy Marches, which are my responsibility.
I actually suspect that the writer pulled the dragon out of a certain place to keep me busy, because the plot needed me not to go to the desert - because my presence would have made Alayna's epic battle against the king of the titans (which should be occurring about now, if my sense of the dramatic is any good) too trivial.
For week after week the dragon and me dueled. And we talked. And I found out a lot about her.
Her name was Shimmering Light Which Emanates From A Crystal Scale (Shimmer for short).She was bound by oath to Lady Aderketh, the Duchess of Pain, one of the most powerful antagonists in this story (and whom I suspect to be my former Math and English teacher who got here like I did).
I found out a lot about dragons, which my training had regretfully neglected (and which leeds me to believe that dragons were added in volume 8,or 7 at the earliest. Crazy writer.)
Shimmer and I developed a mutual respect, but she literally couldn't stop attacking my holdings. Dragon's oaths are binding.
In the end, I understood that I could not save Shimmer. In fact, she forced me to decide, whether I will try to save her - or a bunch of my friends, whom she attacked. Poor Kartak, the steadfast-as-rock dwarf priest died holding her at bay. Thingenol and his twin sister Enthinngea suffered heavy burns peppering her with arrows.
So I entered the battle, despite not wanting to kill her, the storm at my behest, and in a fight lasting at least two chapters I slew her.
And in the end Shimmer (or the writer) pulled a final cruelty on me.
"tell my family...i love them", she whispered, and died.
Fuck this narrative. I feel bad for being forced to kill her. Just as I am supposed to. I also feel bad for Kartak - that's clearly another guilt complex coming.
This is clearly a quest to keep me busy for book nine. How do I even explain to a dragon "sorry, I killed your wife, nothing personal, I was forced to"..?
Well. I have to find out.
"Rest in peace, Shimmering Light That Emanates From A Crystal Scale", I say and close the dragon's huge eyes "I will tell your family about you"
To be continued. | "Tell my family... I loved them." Whimpered the Dragon with its last breath as you slayed it. You didn't expect it to talk, and now you feel a sense of guilt. You take it up as a new quest and journey to do so as a knight, you seek its family and bring the saddening, yet somewhat awkward news.
Slowly the once fiery eyes cooled became a grey ash. His life had ceased…
…
Rocks crash below as the last rock you grabbed onto did not hold on to your weight. Luckily you grabbed the top edge of the cliff as is gave way. The hornet journey had taken years and had this climb was far from the hardest part of the quest, still you preferred not to end up as a splat 1,000 meters below. At least not when you were so close to the end. It’s been a long day of climbing. As the sun sets, the radiant colors emanating through the atmosphere revealed what you were looking for. An iridescent glow formed around the entrance of one of the caves. “There it is! Finally!”
You set up a small camp, you needed rest after such a grueling journey. When morning came, you secured your armor and secured your belt. *Sssshhhiiiiinnnngggg* your sword makes the familiar sound as you draw it to inspect it one last time. “I hope I don’t have to use this.” You mutter as you slide the glistening blade back into its sheath. You secure your gauntlets, and rub your hand over the thick, red scales, your trophy from years ago. You slip your helmet on your head and march forward into the cave.
Not even 50 meters into the cave, a massive chamber opened. Inside you found them, the dragons family. A large black dragon stood in the corner, climbing around her and flying around the hall, several smaller dragons.
“Excuse me,” you timidly call out!
Suddenly all the dragons stop in their tracks the large black dragon swung her body around. As she swung in front of you he smaller dragons circled round about your, small flames gut from their nostrils as they snarled at you.
“Hello, human,” the black dragon growls, “either your are brave or very stupid for walking into a dragons nest. What business do you have here?”
“I came to fulfill my quest.” The courage building as you spoke.
“Let me guess, you came to slay the dragons that live here… look over there, and see the trophies we have from other like you who came to slay the dragon nest.” The black dragon motions with its large tail to ward a wall. As you glance over the black dragon blows a steady flame out of its mouth to illuminate the wall. Dozens of ornate helmets and shields hung from the wall in neat rows. You pray that your shield does not become another ornament. “This is your last chance to leave, and never return.”
You kneel down before the dragon and bow your head. You slowly take off your helmet. “Thank you for your graciousness,” you slowly state, “such a merciful being like you surely deserves praise. I came here not to slay, but to deliver a message.” You raise your arms in a manner beseeching mercy. “If I may speak…”
“Silence, knight!” Bellows the dragon. “Those scales on your gauntlet, I have only known one beast that had scales colored like that. The Red dragon, my husband. Where did you get those scales!”
Your mouth drops open. You were not expecting the dragon to recognize the scales in your armor. “This is the message I came to deliver. In the last moments of battle, before the fire was out of his eyes, the Red dragon told me to tell his family he Loved them! After the battle I took some of the loose scales that had protected him. I then incorporated them into my armor to offer me some protection, and to remind me of my quest to find you.”
“My husband is dead, by your hand?!?!”
“Yes, I offer my condolences…”
“My husband is dead! Children did you hear that!!! That good for nothing, abusive father of your is dead!” Cheers erupted throughout the cave. You didn’t expect this… you expected to be killed, or have to fight your way out of the cave. You didn’t expect the dragons to be happy.
“Thank you hood knight!” The black dragon said, her tone softer than it was previously. “Last time that good for nothing dragon came to visit, he devoured 4 of my children, I was powerless to stop him. Thank you! “Children, go get this knight his reward!”
The smaller dragons tore off into another tunnel. A few minutes later they each returned with a chest full of gold and precious stones. “Sir knight, pleas take this offering as a token of our appreciation. And we have another gift for you.”The large black dragon takes her claws and removes several of her scales. As she removes several scales, the young dragons each do the same. “The strength of the dragon scales is determined by the life within the dragon. While the scales you possess are strong, they would not tolerate a hit from a dragon or it’s flame. Take these scales, these scales can withstand any flame, claw, or blow from any dragon, these are the strongest scales you will ever get, because they were removed from strong healthy dragons. We are indebted to you good Knight. We will forever be at your service. Is there anything else that you desire from from us?”
“There is one thing…” you whisper into the ear of the black dragon, a subtle smile appears in the dragons face.
…
The wicked king sits upon his balcony. “Finally, the good knight is dead. Years have passed and the only person who could challenge the thrown is gone.” He mutters to his companions.
The bell in the keep starts ringing, the warning of an attack. Off in the distance the king can see a group of 8 dragons flying toward the city.
Quickly the solders arm themselves and align themselves to defend the city. The king adorns his armor and stands on his balcony with his generals, ready to give commands. The dragons circle the castle, they don’t attack the city, but rather follows the directions of the knight is dragon scale armor riding the black dragon. After circling and repelling the hopeless attacks of the kings knights, the black dragon lands on the tower of the castle. The good knight dismounts his ride and approaches the king. A general swings his sword at the night but his sword shatters when it makes contact with a scale on the hood knights armor. The King recognizes the good knight, and the good knight draws his sword and approaches the king. The king falls to the floor and grabs the knee of the good knight. “Mercy,” the king calls out. “The kingdom for your life,” the good knight coldly states, “ you showed no mercy to your kingdom, why would mercy be offered to you?”
The king slowly hands his sword over to the new King, and hands him his ring. The generals now before their new king, thankful to have the Tyrant removed from the thrown. The black dragon grabs the wicked man who once was king and in a single bite devours him. “For my husband.” She mutters under her breath.
“Today marks a new day!” Proclaims the new king from his balcony. “Today, marks a day of piece. Today, this kingdom becomes ally’s with the dragons!” The town erupts in cheers! “Today a blood pact is made with the dragons! An unbreakable oath, that this town and dragons will work together and care for each other!” The king draws his sword and makes a deep cut in his hand and extends the bleeding hand toward the black dragon. The dragon takes is razor sharp claw and wounds it’s tail and extends the wound until it meets the hand of the king. “The oath has been made. Knights! Solders! Towns people! If you wish to be part of this oath, swear your allegiance to me!” The entire town, army, and all the generals in the terrace with you, kneel and bow before you.
“All hail the good king who has brought peace between us and the dragons! All hail the king!”
The cheers last for hours, the feast lasted for 9 days. The war that lasted for years had finally ended. All due to a quest to tell the dragons family that “he loved them.” Who knew the family would be so thankful that the red dragon was dead.
The next 300 years saw peace and prosperity the town had never known. The dragons made an oath with each king, and every year on the anniversary of the blood oath, a party was held, the dragons always appeared, each year a little bigger, and a little stronger than the year before. And they always brought exuberant riches to the king as a time. If hood favor, remember what was done for them. | |
[WP] "Tell my family... I loved them." Whimpered the Dragon with its last breath as you slayed it. You didn't expect it to talk, and now you feel a sense of guilt. You take it up as a new quest and journey to do so as a knight, you seek its family and bring the saddening, yet somewhat awkward news. | The dragon towered over me, blood seeping from a thousand wounds. I had broken him. A punch had staved in all scales along the right side of his chest, wind roared through a gash in his neck when breathed. And still, he pressed on. I had killed a dozen dragons before— there was no sport in the world like them— but this one was different.
“What are you?” I said, staring up at massive beast.
“A father,” he said. “Do you have children, Sir Knight?”
A forked tongue rasped out of his mouth, wicking away gallons of blood. His limbless length trembled from snout to tail.
“No.”
“A pity,” he said, words whistling up from the depths of his chest. “A pity…”
He tried to bite me then, one last time. I tore tore a tooth from his mouth and slammed it through his lower jaw, nearly pinning his mouth shut. The dragon fell, curling himself snakelike around his chest wound. A rich blue light seeped out, throwing the blood into backlit confusion. He was truly dying now, the jewel in his chest was finally giving out.
“Take my body back to my family,” he said, the words barely intelligible through the wounds and whistle. “Tell them I loved them.”
“No.”
Something leaves the world when a dragon dies. There is a rush of superheated air like stepping into the center of a forge, and all of his scales go brittle and crack. A sound like shattering ice fills the air and the heat forces you stumbling back. The dragon begins to splinter outward from the jewel in his chest. His whole body goes still, the clouded eyes clear, and for the space of a breath before he is no more it’s as if you’re looking into a still living dragon— as if the weight of all those years could filter out of his eyes and into his killer’s soul.
Then the eyes shatter. The teeth. The dragon dusts the ground in a fine layer of volcanic ash that the wind whips away. There is always one terrific gust the moment a dragon dies.
In its wake, the dragon leaves behind a single jewel the size of a man’s hand. Sapphire or ruby, emerald or tourmaline; the wise men say it is a dragon’s heart. But the wise men never left their towers, they never killed a piece of history with their own two hands, taken the jewel from the ashes a dragon’s flesh. A dragon is too rare a creature to leave a simple heart.
Instead, they leave behind a piece of their soul.
I pocketed the jewel, a sapphire, and was gone from the caldera where we had fought before the day was out. It was a long walk back to civilization, and from time to time to I pulled the jewel out to stare at it in wonder. Lit from the inside by a warm blue glow, sometimes it felt as if the jewel spoke to me. In the wild and lonely places of the world, a man talks to anything he can.
And sometimes it really does speak back. Sometimes, late at night by the campfire, it can even be convincing.
\*\*\*
When a dragon says he has a family, he does not mean it in any sense a man might imagine. To a dragon, the bonds of family are as eternal as their souls. What does it matter to a creature who might live a thousand years or more if he leaves for half a dozen?
Such was my thirteenth dragon, a creature by the name of Tatsuya, one of the legless and wingless eastern breeds that swam through the sky like a snake through the sea. The piece of his soul told me his history by the campfire, a detached tone speaking into the depths of my mind, life seeping back in towards the dawn when he said, as ever, *“Take my body back.”*
There was no conscious choice to turn back from civilization. One night I simply went to sleep by a crossroads, and when I woke I took the eastern path. I had no sons to leave my castle to, no woman to tie me to the land my peasants my farmed. “East is as good a place as any,” I said, walking down that dusty road. “I’d like to see another wingless dragon fly.”
I walked. Tatsuya had flown for six years, nesting at times among the places of the world or diving beneath the waves to commune with the distant cousins of his kind. I stopped less often than he, and generally because the world demanded it. There were as many wars to the east as there had been in the west.
Eventually, a legend grew.
Two years into my journey I came to a castle in the foothills of the Tyber Mountains. A single spire jutted up from the castle’s center flying the banner of a burning rose, and as I walked closer it seemed the world shifted and changed around me in hallucinatory patterns garbed in petals. *“Careful,”* Tatsuya’s voice whispered into my mind. *“Something comes.”*
The hallucinations gathered themselves into the train of a lady’s dress. She faded into my world from the ground up, a stain of rose petals against the fading light, one hand trailing back through the air to me.
I took her hand and it was a year before Tatsuya's whispers brought me out of the clutches of her magic. I woke as one part of a prized menagerie, frozen inside a glass cage with the jewel cupped in my hands. Hands that had broken dragons and shattered castle gates. Without her spell, the glass could not hold me.
The foothills howled with the sounds of the witch’s anguish as I left her burning castle behind me, and all the while, Tatsuya whispered *“Take me home, Sir Knight. Take my body home.”* The castle crumbled, spilling gouts of flame into the night. Silent, that unearthly screaming. | My sword plunged into the beast's chest and it wailed a pained screech as it thrashed. I gripped its scaly skin tightly as it stumbled and kicked, gradually slowing, eventually falling. Its breath, once a deep rumble, was a lethargic and pitiful wheeze. I stood to my feet, catching my own breath, and I retrieved my blade from the dragon's trembling body.
Its eye looked down toward me. If I hadn't known any better, I would have thought it to be pleading; beckoning for something. Against my better judgement, I approached its face and let the monster get a better look at me. I hoped it knew that this was nothing personal; this was a hunt, no different than its escapades thinning the prairie shepherds' flocks.
"Sleep now, old man. Your days of terror are over," I said to that one, great, orange eye as I cleaned its blood from my blade.
"Come...closer," is what I thought I heard it say. Its lips seemed to open and shut from the side of its mouth delicately and precisely. Dragons were known to be arbiters of magic, and although that was more than likely an old wives' tale, it was never such a farce that it escaped popular superstitions.
I felt compelled to lean in closer. "Did you speak?" I asked the dragon.
It nodded its head slightly, the lids of its eyes growing heavy. "Tell my family...I love them."
"Tell...your family?" I asked him, more rhetorically and in shock than in a search for further information. In retrospect, I should have asked *where* his family was. I hadn't even known dragons kept families. They never seemed to move in packs or even pairs--a dragon mating is not a sight ever seen by human eyes that we know of.
The dragon ceased moving. There was no death rattle or sigh as the spirit left. It simply stopped, its eye half-open, first staring at me and then beyond me.
I thought of shaking the beast, stirring it from its sleep, but it would have been no use. We are trained how to dispatch the monsters effectively with little room for error in a lethal blow. My blade cut into its heart and stopped its blood from pumping into the rest of its body. It was gone now, never to be awoken again.
Typically, at this juncture, a knight severs the dragon's head and returns it as a trophy, proof of his courage and loyalty to the crown. But after hearing the beast speak, *and speak of its family*, I couldn't bring myself to desecrate the body.
I walked home empty-handed, arguing with myself, second-guessing myself. Had I actually heard that? Had it actually spoken? I would convince myself it had, then convince myself it hadn't. And back and forth I went, confused and deeply wounded, as it a blade had pierced *my* heart. Suddenly so many poems I had scoffed at in my youth began to ring truer.
I arrived back at the forest outpost--our temporary camp in dragon country--and submitted a falsified report to the minister of events. "Scouting expedition from dawn to early afternoon. Encountered a dragon, male, four horns, but it escaped. Flew northward. Nothing else of note."
The minister nodded and wrote my report, placing the paper in a cabinet with hundreds of identical reports. I nodded my leave and reported to my quarters, where I attempted to rest my eyes and sleep.
But sleep did not come to me. I lied awake, racked with guilt. The dragon was intelligent, and grieved its own death, the way a man in the heat of battle might as his enemy suddenly became his only hope to express a final gesture of love. The gods know I've seen it enough times in my career, hence choosing this assignment, where there was no complicated feelings in my fight. And yet, it followed me here, twisting the heart in my chest and running my mind in endless loops.
I gave up. In the middle of the night, as the camp slept but for a few listless sentries, I donned my armor, packed my effects, and took a steed from the camp's stable. Unnoticed, I strode from the gates of the outpost and into the dense forest before me, toward the dragons' realm to find its family. | |
[WP] "Tell my family... I loved them." Whimpered the Dragon with its last breath as you slayed it. You didn't expect it to talk, and now you feel a sense of guilt. You take it up as a new quest and journey to do so as a knight, you seek its family and bring the saddening, yet somewhat awkward news. | Gunvald stood over the white beast, its hot, red blood covering the blade on his battle axe and the cuffs on his coat. It was no easy task, especially not on his own. The dragon, nearly triple his size, had hunted this region for nigh on a thousand years. Perhaps, in the end, its age had caused its end, and Gunvald's axe was merely assisting it. He stood, his heavy breaths clouding up the air before him. It quivered in its dying moments. Blood pooled across the section of the cavern they were in, flowed out of the many cuts the dragon had suffered. He had scored a lucky strike in its midsection at the end, and reached its heart. It wouldn't be much longer until the beast passed away into the afterlife. He stepped away, and towards the dragon's head, his heavy footsteps echoing off the ice walls. Once there, he sat down, and gazed into those orange reptilian eyes that had seen much and knew more. With a tinge of regret, Gunvald placed his hand on the snout. He offered no words. The beast wouldn't understand him even if he did. Instead, he silently offered his sorrow. This had to be done, for his people's survival. He knew that. He had even lost friends to dragons before. Even so, he always felt so troubled at the death of something so majestic and vast, he couldn't help but wish for another way. Gunvald hoped the sentiment reached the dragon. Taking a step away, he hefted his battle axe, and prepared to hasten its death, such that it would not suffer for long. Before he could though, the dragon opened its maw.
"My family... Tell them that I loved them."
Gunvald's eyes widened in shock. He had not expected the white dragon to know common tongue, much less even be capable of emotions. Gunvald's tinge of regret deepened into a wave of guilt. This thing, it could feel, it could speak, it could love. His stomach turned over; how many of these had been killed across the entirety of the world without this knowledge? He breathed in the sharp air, and exhaled a long breath. The realization had stunned him, but he had to center himself. Perhaps out of guilt, perhaps out of honor, he would fulfill the dragon's last wish.
"I will. Rest, now, and join your ancestors."
He bid these parting words, as his blade severed its immortal soul from its earthly body. He rose, and stood over the magnificent creature. There was no way he could bury it alone, especially not in this terrain. He claimed one of the dragon's claws as a trophy, turned, and made way for the exit to the labyrinthine ice cavern the dragon had dug on its own. The cold will keep its body intact, for any who wished to return it to nature through whatever means they saw fit. As for Gunvald, it appeared his quest had not yet finished. He could not return to his village without fulfilling the last request of an opponent so noble as the white dragon. He had a difficult journey ahead. Perhaps the giants he saw would be able to assist him.
Crossing ice rifts was no simple task. The entire region was composed of vast glaciers, with enormous ravines between them, that led hundreds of meters down to freezing cold salt water. Gunvald was composed of easily defeated flesh, wrapped in heavy, thick layers of cloth and fur, and equipped with obscene quantities of high quality rope and a sturdy climbing hook. By the time he had traversed enough terrain to put eyes on the giants' large spires of ice that marked their castle, his rations had dwindled to naught but mere crumbs, though water was plentiful. At their gate, Gunvald shouted from the depths of his lungs. Some commotion followed inside. Minutes later, the frost giant Jarl Havardr emerged. They had spoken before, and while they were not friends, the Jarl had assisted Gunvald once before, and he hoped he could help again.
"Gunvald, heir to Jarl Holger!" The jarl crossed his legs and took a seat. "I presumed to next find your body as nothing more than mere bones in the stomach acid of your prey, and yet here you stand, alive and well. Would you lie to us, or shall you claim your own cowardice?" A hint of malice the giant's booming voice. It nearly shattered Gunvald's ears, but he stood firm.
"I shall do neither, but show my honor through this!" He shouted as loud and clearly as he could, holding up the dragon's claw. "The white dragon is slain, Jarl Havardr! Descend into its cavern, if you so chose to witness it for yourself!"
Havardr bent low, peering carefully at the trinket. He examined it for some time. Eventually, he motioned forward one of his clan, then whispered something to them, incredibly quiet for creatures of their size.
"It is difficult to believe you," Havardr finally spoke, "But upon your honor and the honor of your father, I shall take it as truth. Should we discover otherwise, it will be a poor day indeed," Havardr warned. Gunvald pocketed the claw.
"I have two questions, and a request, Jarl Havardr," Gunvald said.
"Speak them, Gunvald," the Jarl replied.
"First, my questions. What was the dragon's name?" he asked.
Jarl Havardr grumbled, something that rumbled Gunvald's body. "You ask something difficult of me, Gunvald, dragon slayer. We know many names, speak of many things, but to share the name of that which we mark for death is taboo."
"I wish to know the name of my most honorable foe yet. It would disgrace the dragon, and my battle, to not know its name."
The giant grumbled some more, before stroking his beard for a while. "Very well, Gunvald. I shall honor you, and give you its name. We have called it lord of the ice, but it knew itself as Snjofrenik."
Gunvald closed his eyes, and again breathed deeply. Snjofrenik. Some thought in the back of his mind bid farewell to the creature again.
"My second question. Did the dragon have any mates?"
Jarl Havardr gave a puzzled look. "Mates? Hmm. Yes, it did, for a time, but it has shared its lair with none for many years. Are you not satisfied with your victory, Gunvald, heir to Jarl Holger, slayer of the beast of the north?"
"My request, Jarl Havardr. I wish to find the mate of Snjofrenik, its nest if possible. Can you help me?"
The frost giant's eyes narrowed and eyebrows furrowed as he rose to his feet. "I have helped you once before, and have given you knowledge of that which is sacred to us. Yet you ask such a request? You wish to delve into our land, and slaughter that which pleases you? Is there no end to your hunger, Gunvald the blood thirsty? You have slain something we have lived with for generations, and now you wish to end its line?"
Gunvald's neck strained to keep his eyes on the giant's face. "Jarl Havardr. I wish nothing like that which you accuse me of. The beast of the north Snjofrenik bid me a final wish before it passed. I am honor bound to fulfill it."
Another silence passed before Havardr would speak again. "This is no simple request, Gunvald, heir to Jarl Holger. The northern end of the world is vast, treacherous terrain. Many dangers will hamper your journey, can even end it entirely. What's more, you request knowledge that which is only passed down to those who claim the title of Jarl of our clan. Everything we hold sacred to us, everything sacred to this land, you wish to entrust to you, whom has no other credit with our clan, a mere stranger, of another species, of another land? Whose intentions are unknown?"
"It was Snjofrenik's final request. A message for its family. I am honor bound to fulfill it," Gunvald repeated.
The jarl stroked his beard, before stepping to the side. "Enter, Gunvald, heir to Jarl Holger, and we shall discuss this as we wait for my kin's return. To brace these lands to honor such a request to a foe you have no attachment to is insanity. Enter, and we shall know the strength of your character."
***
I took inspiration from another one of my stories. Read Gunvald and the White Dragon over at r/joxywrites! | My sword plunged into the beast's chest and it wailed a pained screech as it thrashed. I gripped its scaly skin tightly as it stumbled and kicked, gradually slowing, eventually falling. Its breath, once a deep rumble, was a lethargic and pitiful wheeze. I stood to my feet, catching my own breath, and I retrieved my blade from the dragon's trembling body.
Its eye looked down toward me. If I hadn't known any better, I would have thought it to be pleading; beckoning for something. Against my better judgement, I approached its face and let the monster get a better look at me. I hoped it knew that this was nothing personal; this was a hunt, no different than its escapades thinning the prairie shepherds' flocks.
"Sleep now, old man. Your days of terror are over," I said to that one, great, orange eye as I cleaned its blood from my blade.
"Come...closer," is what I thought I heard it say. Its lips seemed to open and shut from the side of its mouth delicately and precisely. Dragons were known to be arbiters of magic, and although that was more than likely an old wives' tale, it was never such a farce that it escaped popular superstitions.
I felt compelled to lean in closer. "Did you speak?" I asked the dragon.
It nodded its head slightly, the lids of its eyes growing heavy. "Tell my family...I love them."
"Tell...your family?" I asked him, more rhetorically and in shock than in a search for further information. In retrospect, I should have asked *where* his family was. I hadn't even known dragons kept families. They never seemed to move in packs or even pairs--a dragon mating is not a sight ever seen by human eyes that we know of.
The dragon ceased moving. There was no death rattle or sigh as the spirit left. It simply stopped, its eye half-open, first staring at me and then beyond me.
I thought of shaking the beast, stirring it from its sleep, but it would have been no use. We are trained how to dispatch the monsters effectively with little room for error in a lethal blow. My blade cut into its heart and stopped its blood from pumping into the rest of its body. It was gone now, never to be awoken again.
Typically, at this juncture, a knight severs the dragon's head and returns it as a trophy, proof of his courage and loyalty to the crown. But after hearing the beast speak, *and speak of its family*, I couldn't bring myself to desecrate the body.
I walked home empty-handed, arguing with myself, second-guessing myself. Had I actually heard that? Had it actually spoken? I would convince myself it had, then convince myself it hadn't. And back and forth I went, confused and deeply wounded, as it a blade had pierced *my* heart. Suddenly so many poems I had scoffed at in my youth began to ring truer.
I arrived back at the forest outpost--our temporary camp in dragon country--and submitted a falsified report to the minister of events. "Scouting expedition from dawn to early afternoon. Encountered a dragon, male, four horns, but it escaped. Flew northward. Nothing else of note."
The minister nodded and wrote my report, placing the paper in a cabinet with hundreds of identical reports. I nodded my leave and reported to my quarters, where I attempted to rest my eyes and sleep.
But sleep did not come to me. I lied awake, racked with guilt. The dragon was intelligent, and grieved its own death, the way a man in the heat of battle might as his enemy suddenly became his only hope to express a final gesture of love. The gods know I've seen it enough times in my career, hence choosing this assignment, where there was no complicated feelings in my fight. And yet, it followed me here, twisting the heart in my chest and running my mind in endless loops.
I gave up. In the middle of the night, as the camp slept but for a few listless sentries, I donned my armor, packed my effects, and took a steed from the camp's stable. Unnoticed, I strode from the gates of the outpost and into the dense forest before me, toward the dragons' realm to find its family. | |
[WP] "Tell my family... I loved them." Whimpered the Dragon with its last breath as you slayed it. You didn't expect it to talk, and now you feel a sense of guilt. You take it up as a new quest and journey to do so as a knight, you seek its family and bring the saddening, yet somewhat awkward news. | The dying words of "Garanthal the Terrible" have haunted me till this day. When I looked back at my "quest" to slay the dragon terrorizing the village, on hindsight, Garanthal wasn't quite to blame. Sure, she ate sheep and goats and other livestock, always targeting the weak ones, but only so because they had less meat to offer. Sure, she was mean and menacing to the villagers, but probably that's because they kept throwing trash into her cave, trying to provoke her. And sure, she did kill a couple of humans when she torched their houses, but that was in retaliation for them stealing an egg of hers, and anyway, she couldn't have possibly known that the houses were inhabited. I mean, she did circle, giving some early warning, didn't she?
Ever since that day I've become something like a dragon apologist. But all the tomes I've written, all the speeches I've made and all the other young dragons I've eventually tamed... nothing erased my guilt. Nothing gave me the courage to start, let alone, finish my quest of breaking the awful news to Garanthal's family. Garanthal might have died first that day. But I was next, slowly dying inside as I tried to redeem myself in my own eyes. Smiling hollowly as I received award and praise for my work on dragons. Weeping for every dragon I met and tamed, seeing a bit of Garanthal in each and every one of them. No matter what I did, I couldn't shake the burden I carried, nor could I raise the courage. Not until recently, when I seriously considered ending my miserable existence.
And now, after a year of torment, tracking down Garanthal's family, trying to exorcise my demons, I stand before her family. Two huge feral elder dragons, one with massive, twisted horns, and a smaller one, young, probably just a year old. I've just relayed the news. Tears running down my face as the large, horned dragon breathes heavily. He's just as saddened as I am. The other parent lets out a dreadful, anguished roar, and the small one nuzzles her leg, as if comforting her. I look up at the two snarling, angry faces of Garanthal's parents. I am not wearing armor. Nor am I armed. This is the only way to end my guilt. This is the only way I can atone.
The horned elder's mouth glows as flames leap from his mouth, hot smoke emerging from the side of his maw, and his nostrils too. So this is it, I think to myself, I close my eyes, hold my breath, tears streaming down my face, mostly of relief. Perhaps dragonkind will tell my story of the human who sought for and found redemption. I wait, and his growl turns into an earsplitting roar. I feel the heat coming closer. This is it....
But when I open my eyes again, hoping for the afterlife, I see I am still in the cave. A portion of the wall has been burnt black, scorched by dragonflame. "She always wanted to understand humans better," the horned elder rumbles, wisps of smoke still curling out of his mouth as it bends forward to look me in the eye, "we told her it was foolish. Humans, are just too immature as a species. But we never expected her to get killed by one."
"W..wait, aren't you going to kill me?" I plead, my desperation echoing back to me from the cave walls.
"We are not like you, human," the dragon replies, shaking its massive head, "you seek redemption, and there shall be none. We don't forgive you, nor your kind. No matter what you do for dragonkind, it does not bring our daughter back to us."
With an anguished yell, I hurl myself at the dragon, pounding his snout with my fists. "No!!" I hear myself yelling, my voice barely recognizable now as I half beg, half goad the beast into ending my life.
The dragon simply flicks his head, and I tumble backward. "We're done here," it rumbles, standing up back to its full height. Turning away, it wraps a wing around the other two dragons, and guides them into the depth of the cave. I am all alone, left at the entrance, with only my pained sobs as company.
Perhaps, someday, I will be redeemed. But not today. And maybe not ever. | My sword plunged into the beast's chest and it wailed a pained screech as it thrashed. I gripped its scaly skin tightly as it stumbled and kicked, gradually slowing, eventually falling. Its breath, once a deep rumble, was a lethargic and pitiful wheeze. I stood to my feet, catching my own breath, and I retrieved my blade from the dragon's trembling body.
Its eye looked down toward me. If I hadn't known any better, I would have thought it to be pleading; beckoning for something. Against my better judgement, I approached its face and let the monster get a better look at me. I hoped it knew that this was nothing personal; this was a hunt, no different than its escapades thinning the prairie shepherds' flocks.
"Sleep now, old man. Your days of terror are over," I said to that one, great, orange eye as I cleaned its blood from my blade.
"Come...closer," is what I thought I heard it say. Its lips seemed to open and shut from the side of its mouth delicately and precisely. Dragons were known to be arbiters of magic, and although that was more than likely an old wives' tale, it was never such a farce that it escaped popular superstitions.
I felt compelled to lean in closer. "Did you speak?" I asked the dragon.
It nodded its head slightly, the lids of its eyes growing heavy. "Tell my family...I love them."
"Tell...your family?" I asked him, more rhetorically and in shock than in a search for further information. In retrospect, I should have asked *where* his family was. I hadn't even known dragons kept families. They never seemed to move in packs or even pairs--a dragon mating is not a sight ever seen by human eyes that we know of.
The dragon ceased moving. There was no death rattle or sigh as the spirit left. It simply stopped, its eye half-open, first staring at me and then beyond me.
I thought of shaking the beast, stirring it from its sleep, but it would have been no use. We are trained how to dispatch the monsters effectively with little room for error in a lethal blow. My blade cut into its heart and stopped its blood from pumping into the rest of its body. It was gone now, never to be awoken again.
Typically, at this juncture, a knight severs the dragon's head and returns it as a trophy, proof of his courage and loyalty to the crown. But after hearing the beast speak, *and speak of its family*, I couldn't bring myself to desecrate the body.
I walked home empty-handed, arguing with myself, second-guessing myself. Had I actually heard that? Had it actually spoken? I would convince myself it had, then convince myself it hadn't. And back and forth I went, confused and deeply wounded, as it a blade had pierced *my* heart. Suddenly so many poems I had scoffed at in my youth began to ring truer.
I arrived back at the forest outpost--our temporary camp in dragon country--and submitted a falsified report to the minister of events. "Scouting expedition from dawn to early afternoon. Encountered a dragon, male, four horns, but it escaped. Flew northward. Nothing else of note."
The minister nodded and wrote my report, placing the paper in a cabinet with hundreds of identical reports. I nodded my leave and reported to my quarters, where I attempted to rest my eyes and sleep.
But sleep did not come to me. I lied awake, racked with guilt. The dragon was intelligent, and grieved its own death, the way a man in the heat of battle might as his enemy suddenly became his only hope to express a final gesture of love. The gods know I've seen it enough times in my career, hence choosing this assignment, where there was no complicated feelings in my fight. And yet, it followed me here, twisting the heart in my chest and running my mind in endless loops.
I gave up. In the middle of the night, as the camp slept but for a few listless sentries, I donned my armor, packed my effects, and took a steed from the camp's stable. Unnoticed, I strode from the gates of the outpost and into the dense forest before me, toward the dragons' realm to find its family. | |
[WP] "Tell my family... I loved them." Whimpered the Dragon with its last breath as you slayed it. You didn't expect it to talk, and now you feel a sense of guilt. You take it up as a new quest and journey to do so as a knight, you seek its family and bring the saddening, yet somewhat awkward news. | Gunvald stood over the white beast, its hot, red blood covering the blade on his battle axe and the cuffs on his coat. It was no easy task, especially not on his own. The dragon, nearly triple his size, had hunted this region for nigh on a thousand years. Perhaps, in the end, its age had caused its end, and Gunvald's axe was merely assisting it. He stood, his heavy breaths clouding up the air before him. It quivered in its dying moments. Blood pooled across the section of the cavern they were in, flowed out of the many cuts the dragon had suffered. He had scored a lucky strike in its midsection at the end, and reached its heart. It wouldn't be much longer until the beast passed away into the afterlife. He stepped away, and towards the dragon's head, his heavy footsteps echoing off the ice walls. Once there, he sat down, and gazed into those orange reptilian eyes that had seen much and knew more. With a tinge of regret, Gunvald placed his hand on the snout. He offered no words. The beast wouldn't understand him even if he did. Instead, he silently offered his sorrow. This had to be done, for his people's survival. He knew that. He had even lost friends to dragons before. Even so, he always felt so troubled at the death of something so majestic and vast, he couldn't help but wish for another way. Gunvald hoped the sentiment reached the dragon. Taking a step away, he hefted his battle axe, and prepared to hasten its death, such that it would not suffer for long. Before he could though, the dragon opened its maw.
"My family... Tell them that I loved them."
Gunvald's eyes widened in shock. He had not expected the white dragon to know common tongue, much less even be capable of emotions. Gunvald's tinge of regret deepened into a wave of guilt. This thing, it could feel, it could speak, it could love. His stomach turned over; how many of these had been killed across the entirety of the world without this knowledge? He breathed in the sharp air, and exhaled a long breath. The realization had stunned him, but he had to center himself. Perhaps out of guilt, perhaps out of honor, he would fulfill the dragon's last wish.
"I will. Rest, now, and join your ancestors."
He bid these parting words, as his blade severed its immortal soul from its earthly body. He rose, and stood over the magnificent creature. There was no way he could bury it alone, especially not in this terrain. He claimed one of the dragon's claws as a trophy, turned, and made way for the exit to the labyrinthine ice cavern the dragon had dug on its own. The cold will keep its body intact, for any who wished to return it to nature through whatever means they saw fit. As for Gunvald, it appeared his quest had not yet finished. He could not return to his village without fulfilling the last request of an opponent so noble as the white dragon. He had a difficult journey ahead. Perhaps the giants he saw would be able to assist him.
Crossing ice rifts was no simple task. The entire region was composed of vast glaciers, with enormous ravines between them, that led hundreds of meters down to freezing cold salt water. Gunvald was composed of easily defeated flesh, wrapped in heavy, thick layers of cloth and fur, and equipped with obscene quantities of high quality rope and a sturdy climbing hook. By the time he had traversed enough terrain to put eyes on the giants' large spires of ice that marked their castle, his rations had dwindled to naught but mere crumbs, though water was plentiful. At their gate, Gunvald shouted from the depths of his lungs. Some commotion followed inside. Minutes later, the frost giant Jarl Havardr emerged. They had spoken before, and while they were not friends, the Jarl had assisted Gunvald once before, and he hoped he could help again.
"Gunvald, heir to Jarl Holger!" The jarl crossed his legs and took a seat. "I presumed to next find your body as nothing more than mere bones in the stomach acid of your prey, and yet here you stand, alive and well. Would you lie to us, or shall you claim your own cowardice?" A hint of malice the giant's booming voice. It nearly shattered Gunvald's ears, but he stood firm.
"I shall do neither, but show my honor through this!" He shouted as loud and clearly as he could, holding up the dragon's claw. "The white dragon is slain, Jarl Havardr! Descend into its cavern, if you so chose to witness it for yourself!"
Havardr bent low, peering carefully at the trinket. He examined it for some time. Eventually, he motioned forward one of his clan, then whispered something to them, incredibly quiet for creatures of their size.
"It is difficult to believe you," Havardr finally spoke, "But upon your honor and the honor of your father, I shall take it as truth. Should we discover otherwise, it will be a poor day indeed," Havardr warned. Gunvald pocketed the claw.
"I have two questions, and a request, Jarl Havardr," Gunvald said.
"Speak them, Gunvald," the Jarl replied.
"First, my questions. What was the dragon's name?" he asked.
Jarl Havardr grumbled, something that rumbled Gunvald's body. "You ask something difficult of me, Gunvald, dragon slayer. We know many names, speak of many things, but to share the name of that which we mark for death is taboo."
"I wish to know the name of my most honorable foe yet. It would disgrace the dragon, and my battle, to not know its name."
The giant grumbled some more, before stroking his beard for a while. "Very well, Gunvald. I shall honor you, and give you its name. We have called it lord of the ice, but it knew itself as Snjofrenik."
Gunvald closed his eyes, and again breathed deeply. Snjofrenik. Some thought in the back of his mind bid farewell to the creature again.
"My second question. Did the dragon have any mates?"
Jarl Havardr gave a puzzled look. "Mates? Hmm. Yes, it did, for a time, but it has shared its lair with none for many years. Are you not satisfied with your victory, Gunvald, heir to Jarl Holger, slayer of the beast of the north?"
"My request, Jarl Havardr. I wish to find the mate of Snjofrenik, its nest if possible. Can you help me?"
The frost giant's eyes narrowed and eyebrows furrowed as he rose to his feet. "I have helped you once before, and have given you knowledge of that which is sacred to us. Yet you ask such a request? You wish to delve into our land, and slaughter that which pleases you? Is there no end to your hunger, Gunvald the blood thirsty? You have slain something we have lived with for generations, and now you wish to end its line?"
Gunvald's neck strained to keep his eyes on the giant's face. "Jarl Havardr. I wish nothing like that which you accuse me of. The beast of the north Snjofrenik bid me a final wish before it passed. I am honor bound to fulfill it."
Another silence passed before Havardr would speak again. "This is no simple request, Gunvald, heir to Jarl Holger. The northern end of the world is vast, treacherous terrain. Many dangers will hamper your journey, can even end it entirely. What's more, you request knowledge that which is only passed down to those who claim the title of Jarl of our clan. Everything we hold sacred to us, everything sacred to this land, you wish to entrust to you, whom has no other credit with our clan, a mere stranger, of another species, of another land? Whose intentions are unknown?"
"It was Snjofrenik's final request. A message for its family. I am honor bound to fulfill it," Gunvald repeated.
The jarl stroked his beard, before stepping to the side. "Enter, Gunvald, heir to Jarl Holger, and we shall discuss this as we wait for my kin's return. To brace these lands to honor such a request to a foe you have no attachment to is insanity. Enter, and we shall know the strength of your character."
***
I took inspiration from another one of my stories. Read Gunvald and the White Dragon over at r/joxywrites! | The dragon towered over me, blood seeping from a thousand wounds. I had broken him. A punch had staved in all scales along the right side of his chest, wind roared through a gash in his neck when breathed. And still, he pressed on. I had killed a dozen dragons before— there was no sport in the world like them— but this one was different.
“What are you?” I said, staring up at massive beast.
“A father,” he said. “Do you have children, Sir Knight?”
A forked tongue rasped out of his mouth, wicking away gallons of blood. His limbless length trembled from snout to tail.
“No.”
“A pity,” he said, words whistling up from the depths of his chest. “A pity…”
He tried to bite me then, one last time. I tore tore a tooth from his mouth and slammed it through his lower jaw, nearly pinning his mouth shut. The dragon fell, curling himself snakelike around his chest wound. A rich blue light seeped out, throwing the blood into backlit confusion. He was truly dying now, the jewel in his chest was finally giving out.
“Take my body back to my family,” he said, the words barely intelligible through the wounds and whistle. “Tell them I loved them.”
“No.”
Something leaves the world when a dragon dies. There is a rush of superheated air like stepping into the center of a forge, and all of his scales go brittle and crack. A sound like shattering ice fills the air and the heat forces you stumbling back. The dragon begins to splinter outward from the jewel in his chest. His whole body goes still, the clouded eyes clear, and for the space of a breath before he is no more it’s as if you’re looking into a still living dragon— as if the weight of all those years could filter out of his eyes and into his killer’s soul.
Then the eyes shatter. The teeth. The dragon dusts the ground in a fine layer of volcanic ash that the wind whips away. There is always one terrific gust the moment a dragon dies.
In its wake, the dragon leaves behind a single jewel the size of a man’s hand. Sapphire or ruby, emerald or tourmaline; the wise men say it is a dragon’s heart. But the wise men never left their towers, they never killed a piece of history with their own two hands, taken the jewel from the ashes a dragon’s flesh. A dragon is too rare a creature to leave a simple heart.
Instead, they leave behind a piece of their soul.
I pocketed the jewel, a sapphire, and was gone from the caldera where we had fought before the day was out. It was a long walk back to civilization, and from time to time to I pulled the jewel out to stare at it in wonder. Lit from the inside by a warm blue glow, sometimes it felt as if the jewel spoke to me. In the wild and lonely places of the world, a man talks to anything he can.
And sometimes it really does speak back. Sometimes, late at night by the campfire, it can even be convincing.
\*\*\*
When a dragon says he has a family, he does not mean it in any sense a man might imagine. To a dragon, the bonds of family are as eternal as their souls. What does it matter to a creature who might live a thousand years or more if he leaves for half a dozen?
Such was my thirteenth dragon, a creature by the name of Tatsuya, one of the legless and wingless eastern breeds that swam through the sky like a snake through the sea. The piece of his soul told me his history by the campfire, a detached tone speaking into the depths of my mind, life seeping back in towards the dawn when he said, as ever, *“Take my body back.”*
There was no conscious choice to turn back from civilization. One night I simply went to sleep by a crossroads, and when I woke I took the eastern path. I had no sons to leave my castle to, no woman to tie me to the land my peasants my farmed. “East is as good a place as any,” I said, walking down that dusty road. “I’d like to see another wingless dragon fly.”
I walked. Tatsuya had flown for six years, nesting at times among the places of the world or diving beneath the waves to commune with the distant cousins of his kind. I stopped less often than he, and generally because the world demanded it. There were as many wars to the east as there had been in the west.
Eventually, a legend grew.
Two years into my journey I came to a castle in the foothills of the Tyber Mountains. A single spire jutted up from the castle’s center flying the banner of a burning rose, and as I walked closer it seemed the world shifted and changed around me in hallucinatory patterns garbed in petals. *“Careful,”* Tatsuya’s voice whispered into my mind. *“Something comes.”*
The hallucinations gathered themselves into the train of a lady’s dress. She faded into my world from the ground up, a stain of rose petals against the fading light, one hand trailing back through the air to me.
I took her hand and it was a year before Tatsuya's whispers brought me out of the clutches of her magic. I woke as one part of a prized menagerie, frozen inside a glass cage with the jewel cupped in my hands. Hands that had broken dragons and shattered castle gates. Without her spell, the glass could not hold me.
The foothills howled with the sounds of the witch’s anguish as I left her burning castle behind me, and all the while, Tatsuya whispered *“Take me home, Sir Knight. Take my body home.”* The castle crumbled, spilling gouts of flame into the night. Silent, that unearthly screaming. |
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