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[WP] It suddenly becomes possible to gain XP and level up in the real world, but you can only do so by getting kills. | The room was filled with so many different people. Most of them were frail, older ones who had no family, but there were also younger ones who were sick and had no hope in life. There were a handful of ones in jumpsuits, obviously hardened criminals who were there against their will. But what made me hesitate was seeing the young, healthy ones. They had no business being here. Who let them in here?
"You need to do this. There's no other way! "
"But some of them shouldn't be here!"
"We don't have much time. There's no time for debate"
He was right.
Every since the one that we call "The Stranger" decided to go on a shooting rampage, nobody has been able to take him down. The Stranger started his rampage at a crowded mall, leveling up faster than anyone has known. Swat couldn't take him down. He was too high of a level. Before we knew it, he wiped out so many that even the military couldn't take him. His level has gotten so high, we had no choice but to acquiesce to his demands. That was 2 years ago. Today, we all live under his control.
There had been assassination attempts by many, but none had even come close to making him bleed. The only way would be for someone of an equally high level to kill him. I was the unfortunate one nominated to do the deed.
Though there was an initial hesitation, I pulled the trigger. Within seconds, the entire room had been wiped out. All gunned down. I felt stronger.
This was the last one. How many times have I done this? I've lost count. But I had a feeling this was enough.
Rooms and rooms filled with men, women, and children, most of them volunteering for the greater good, all gunned down in the past 24 hours.
It's finally over.
"Good job".
I was handed a gun.
"You are strong enough to take out The Stranger with just one bullet."
I'm a little relieved. It's almost over.
I could hear my sister cry out, "why do we have to do it this way? Please come back. Please."
I looked at her and said, "even good people will become corrupt when they possess too much power. Maybe it won't happen today, or tomorrow, but one day it will. I can't take those chances".
I checked the gun. Two bullets. Good.
| She had returned from her latest deployment. The military had changed recently. Soldiers were recycled out and placed into non combat positions as a precaution. However the legends still stalked the battle fields, those who were out there before the terrible revelation was finally accepted.
She would be an alien, if pain staking effort was given to wipe away her identity and give a new one. Super human - all the comic book milestones. War was waged much differently now. The very act excites an immediate arms race ascribing near god like powers to anyone lucky enough, brutal enough or well trained enough to kill.
The new cold war raged quietly, as each nation assembled a pantheon of super soldiers.
She had returned home to her family. Her secret quiet and her mission to hide her awesome power. If she were to slip, he entire life would come crashing down - but what of her husband and 6 year old daughter? She did this for them. She did this keep them out of a world where murder awards obscene power.
Out there, on the battlefied, she was unstoppable. Simply wearing her mask and walking into the field of open artillery fire was enough to silence both sides. They've seen her regenerate limbs before their eyes, they've seen her crush men and armor with a psychic grasp, they've seen her inspire men into berzerker demons.
However here at home, she went grocer shopping and did laundry. Such as today, as dinner simmered and her daughter played outside.
"Sweetie, dinner's on the table! Come in!"
Ignoring her summons, the daughter continued to stomp around in the yard and play. How funny, she thought, that the world bends on my call but I cant get a six year old girl to come inside for mac'n'cheese.
"Now sweetie, this is the last call or else no dessert", she warned as she walked barefoot into the yard toward her daughter.
"No! No no no no!," and a sudden crash of twisting metal, a snap of thunder and lingering gnarled cacophony of destruction erupted as her daughter tantrumed in the yard.
"Oh god," what she had thought was a car accident was instead something much more terrible. Her daughter had spent the day - and untold others - squishing, burning, drowning and otherwise murdering a colony of ants.
Picking her daughter up, she thought of how to explain this to her superiors - they cant know of her daughter's power.
"Sweetie how about some ice cream instead?"
| |
[WP] It suddenly becomes possible to gain XP and level up in the real world, but you can only do so by getting kills. | I love my job. I really do. I work in a kitchen. Oh, no, not as a cook. I am way to high level to be a freaking dish-maker. With a grin, I ready my weapon. Soon after we found out that people could level up and you need to kill in order to get XP, my hour came.
My level surpasses everyone elses. I have hoarded so many Points that I could learn any skill in a blink of an eye.
Because I kill so much. Movement. We opened again. I am able to hunt again. With only one hit, I see the body vaporize, liquids flying everywhere. And I already focus on my next victim...
"Danny?" I miss the hit, glare up to know who dares to interrupt me. It's the chief.
"Look Danny, I thank you for swatting all the flies, but we have those sticky things to get them. We really need you to wash the dishes or we have to let you go."
I sigh, put away my ultimate weapon and wander into the kitchen. They just want to stop me from becoming too powerful. Maybe I should show them their place... | She had returned from her latest deployment. The military had changed recently. Soldiers were recycled out and placed into non combat positions as a precaution. However the legends still stalked the battle fields, those who were out there before the terrible revelation was finally accepted.
She would be an alien, if pain staking effort was given to wipe away her identity and give a new one. Super human - all the comic book milestones. War was waged much differently now. The very act excites an immediate arms race ascribing near god like powers to anyone lucky enough, brutal enough or well trained enough to kill.
The new cold war raged quietly, as each nation assembled a pantheon of super soldiers.
She had returned home to her family. Her secret quiet and her mission to hide her awesome power. If she were to slip, he entire life would come crashing down - but what of her husband and 6 year old daughter? She did this for them. She did this keep them out of a world where murder awards obscene power.
Out there, on the battlefied, she was unstoppable. Simply wearing her mask and walking into the field of open artillery fire was enough to silence both sides. They've seen her regenerate limbs before their eyes, they've seen her crush men and armor with a psychic grasp, they've seen her inspire men into berzerker demons.
However here at home, she went grocer shopping and did laundry. Such as today, as dinner simmered and her daughter played outside.
"Sweetie, dinner's on the table! Come in!"
Ignoring her summons, the daughter continued to stomp around in the yard and play. How funny, she thought, that the world bends on my call but I cant get a six year old girl to come inside for mac'n'cheese.
"Now sweetie, this is the last call or else no dessert", she warned as she walked barefoot into the yard toward her daughter.
"No! No no no no!," and a sudden crash of twisting metal, a snap of thunder and lingering gnarled cacophony of destruction erupted as her daughter tantrumed in the yard.
"Oh god," what she had thought was a car accident was instead something much more terrible. Her daughter had spent the day - and untold others - squishing, burning, drowning and otherwise murdering a colony of ants.
Picking her daughter up, she thought of how to explain this to her superiors - they cant know of her daughter's power.
"Sweetie how about some ice cream instead?"
| |
[WP] It suddenly becomes possible to gain XP and level up in the real world, but you can only do so by getting kills. | **Adam**: "Please, don't try anything you're about to see us do, at home."
**Jaimie**: "Ever!"
\**Intro starts*\*
**Today on Mythbusters, Adam and Jaimie will experience, just how experience works. They'll settle the score with a controversial issue, and... get a little philosophical. Adam Savage, Jaimie Hyneman, between them more than 40 years of special effects experience... etc. etc.**
*Adam is busy cleaning his hands. Jaimie comes into focus.*
**Jaimie speaks up**: "So what do the fans want this time?"
**Adam turns**: "Glad, you asked! Right now, everyone is still getting used to this whole "video-gamey" system with its up and downs and beeps and boops. This wasn't exactly a myth per say, but people wanted us to find out how it all works."
**Jaimie**: "Well seems pretty straightforward to me. You kill something and it makes you stronger; it's survival of the fittest in a way... So are you still washing your hands?"
**Adam**: "That's just it! We know the basics, but want to know the details, like... how much experience, if any, do we get from killing germs? Do different things give different amounts? And how can we use explosions to get exciting results?"
**Jaimie**: "I can think of a few ways we can setup this experiment and get those results."
**Adam**: "As can I. Let's get to work!"
-----
**While Adam and Jaimie get all the mechanics of their experiment in order, Kari, Grant, and Tory tackle something bigger.**
*The Build Team stand in the workshop building.*
**Kari**: "So now that life is a bit different and exciting in many ways, our fans wanted us to settle a pretty heavy issue."
**Tory**: "What kind of issue?"
**Kari**: "They want to know... when does life begin? Is abortion killing a life, or removing a fetus?"
**Tory and Grant**: "Woah."
**Tory**: "I'm surprised we're allowed to tackle this... but I guess no one else is willing to."
**Grant**: "Who even decided to turn to us for something this big?"
**Kari**: "I'm actually pretty excited about this! In fact, I know just how to start this off! We're going to first test the myth that inanimate objects *can* gain experience and level up."
**Tory**: "You mean like a chair or a book; well, both of those were made up of living things once.
**Kari**: "Right. If we find out if inanimate objects can get experience or not, then we can then see how to determine that hard-to-find moment of conception and life."
**Tory**: "Oh! How about using Buster?"
**Grant**: "I can do you even better! I'll design a machine that'll have him leveling up in no time!"
**Kari**: "Well... I guess I'm left with finding things to get experience from."
-----
**Coming up... Will Adam and Jaimie find the perfect build? Can Buster gain a few levels?... etc. etc. **
\**Commercial about Chasing Storms or Selling Stuff at Auctions*\*
-----
(To be continued) | She had returned from her latest deployment. The military had changed recently. Soldiers were recycled out and placed into non combat positions as a precaution. However the legends still stalked the battle fields, those who were out there before the terrible revelation was finally accepted.
She would be an alien, if pain staking effort was given to wipe away her identity and give a new one. Super human - all the comic book milestones. War was waged much differently now. The very act excites an immediate arms race ascribing near god like powers to anyone lucky enough, brutal enough or well trained enough to kill.
The new cold war raged quietly, as each nation assembled a pantheon of super soldiers.
She had returned home to her family. Her secret quiet and her mission to hide her awesome power. If she were to slip, he entire life would come crashing down - but what of her husband and 6 year old daughter? She did this for them. She did this keep them out of a world where murder awards obscene power.
Out there, on the battlefied, she was unstoppable. Simply wearing her mask and walking into the field of open artillery fire was enough to silence both sides. They've seen her regenerate limbs before their eyes, they've seen her crush men and armor with a psychic grasp, they've seen her inspire men into berzerker demons.
However here at home, she went grocer shopping and did laundry. Such as today, as dinner simmered and her daughter played outside.
"Sweetie, dinner's on the table! Come in!"
Ignoring her summons, the daughter continued to stomp around in the yard and play. How funny, she thought, that the world bends on my call but I cant get a six year old girl to come inside for mac'n'cheese.
"Now sweetie, this is the last call or else no dessert", she warned as she walked barefoot into the yard toward her daughter.
"No! No no no no!," and a sudden crash of twisting metal, a snap of thunder and lingering gnarled cacophony of destruction erupted as her daughter tantrumed in the yard.
"Oh god," what she had thought was a car accident was instead something much more terrible. Her daughter had spent the day - and untold others - squishing, burning, drowning and otherwise murdering a colony of ants.
Picking her daughter up, she thought of how to explain this to her superiors - they cant know of her daughter's power.
"Sweetie how about some ice cream instead?"
| |
[WP] It suddenly becomes possible to gain XP and level up in the real world, but you can only do so by getting kills. | The man sat behind a desk alone before me. He looked at me through tired eyes before speaking.
"I have to tell someone. You're the only one strong enough and trustworthy enough for me to tell.
I'm benevolent to all who come peacefully. I heal their injuries, cure their diseases, help them forget their pain. Those who come to take what I have? They die, and add their power to mine. No one can challenge me, not as I am today. Anyone who would have the power to do so would not risk their own lives with so many others still there to reap.
When the Changing happened, the world was plunged into chaos. Those who killed became stronger and unlocked new powers and abilities. These powers came in clusters; one type could summon the elements. Another could augment their strength and speed to superhuman levels. Another could mesmerize and control the minds of the weak.
I was a prison guard, a sharpshooter on the watchtowers. It wasn't long before the first set of Leveled came for the criminals locked in my facility. Unarmed and locked in cells, the prisoners would be easy prey. But I had my orders - prisoners were to be kept in, and the Leveled kept out. They were weak - no more than level 3 or 4. They died one after the other as my bullets entered their skulls. I gained 5 levels that day.
Most really powerful leveled folks were one of the destructive types. Me? I had healing. A little bit of radiant infusion to weapons, quite a bit of increased strength and endurance, but mostly healing. Wounds closed, infections just cleared up. Eventually the prisoners figured out what was going on with the Change and turned on each other, and we had to put them down to prevent them from killing each other and escaping. After the prisoners were gone, the other guards left - either to hide or seek their own strength. I stayed though. I opened the place up to the weak and infirm as a refuge. Became a bit of a leader or father to them. Every time we were assaulted, our foes were captured and brought before me. I served as judge, jury, and executioner. I protect my own, and I don't brook violence against them.
And so I grew stronger. The world has thinned out now - fewer and fewer people. Those who have survived have joined clans and gangs. I heard a rumor that out west someone's even trying to get a real city-state going. Killing doesn't happen much these days. But I just keep Leveling. Lost track of how many times now - hundreds, more than anyone I've ever heard of. My flock thinks I'm a gift from God, a holy prophet, their righteous protector. I'm not about to dispel that notion.
My quarters in this prison turned sanctuary are in the old solitary confinement area. No one is allowed back here but me, not since I consigned myself to my plan. You see, after a couple years of Leveling my healing got stronger and stronger. I could cure cancer, bring people back from mortal wounds. Then one day a stranger showed up. He was off in the head, wouldn't let me examine or try to heal him. That night he killed an old lady and the next morning we did what we had to. I put a bullet in his head and his light went out forever. I felt the now-familiar surge of power as I leveled up yet again. But this time it was a little different. I felt a compulsion... I walked up to the corpse of the man I'd just killed and laid my hand on his chest. Power surged through me and light surrounded me and the killer opened his eyes. *Resurrection*. I'd raised him from the dead.
I let someone else put him down after that. I retreated to my quarters, mind reeling. I felt a sense of honor and duty to my flock, but this gift... this new gift was amazing! What could I do with it? It was then that I knew how I would proceed.
No one's left to challenge me. But I keep getting stronger. No one sees me kill new victims - I even stepped down as executioner, allowing those I trust to take the lives that need to be taken. That's why you're my executioner, and you're the most powerful one in this place save myself. No one knows how I keep getting stronger and stronger. But I do. And now it's time once again."
The man, my leader, my prophet stood from his desk and walked to the walls. He pressed a button and a buzzer sounded throughout the solitary confinement area. 20 doors opened and the faint smell of death wafted out. The bodies were tied to chairs securely, their mouths gagged and their throats slit. Layer upon layer of dried blood covered their bindings, laps and the floor around them.
White light surrounded him as he raised his hands, looking as much like an angel as the man I knew. 20 lolling heads snapped up, screaming into the gags. Their eyes bulged wide and they strained against their bindings.
"They're criminals, the worst kind of men. Doomed to die. Still I don't know if anyone deserves this, day in, day out. But I do what I must." My prophet drew a long, sharp blade from his boot and advanced toward the first cell. | She had returned from her latest deployment. The military had changed recently. Soldiers were recycled out and placed into non combat positions as a precaution. However the legends still stalked the battle fields, those who were out there before the terrible revelation was finally accepted.
She would be an alien, if pain staking effort was given to wipe away her identity and give a new one. Super human - all the comic book milestones. War was waged much differently now. The very act excites an immediate arms race ascribing near god like powers to anyone lucky enough, brutal enough or well trained enough to kill.
The new cold war raged quietly, as each nation assembled a pantheon of super soldiers.
She had returned home to her family. Her secret quiet and her mission to hide her awesome power. If she were to slip, he entire life would come crashing down - but what of her husband and 6 year old daughter? She did this for them. She did this keep them out of a world where murder awards obscene power.
Out there, on the battlefied, she was unstoppable. Simply wearing her mask and walking into the field of open artillery fire was enough to silence both sides. They've seen her regenerate limbs before their eyes, they've seen her crush men and armor with a psychic grasp, they've seen her inspire men into berzerker demons.
However here at home, she went grocer shopping and did laundry. Such as today, as dinner simmered and her daughter played outside.
"Sweetie, dinner's on the table! Come in!"
Ignoring her summons, the daughter continued to stomp around in the yard and play. How funny, she thought, that the world bends on my call but I cant get a six year old girl to come inside for mac'n'cheese.
"Now sweetie, this is the last call or else no dessert", she warned as she walked barefoot into the yard toward her daughter.
"No! No no no no!," and a sudden crash of twisting metal, a snap of thunder and lingering gnarled cacophony of destruction erupted as her daughter tantrumed in the yard.
"Oh god," what she had thought was a car accident was instead something much more terrible. Her daughter had spent the day - and untold others - squishing, burning, drowning and otherwise murdering a colony of ants.
Picking her daughter up, she thought of how to explain this to her superiors - they cant know of her daughter's power.
"Sweetie how about some ice cream instead?"
| |
[WP] It suddenly becomes possible to gain XP and level up in the real world, but you can only do so by getting kills. | No one really understood how it happened, but the leading theory was that a new sort of virus, One that interfaced perfectly between our cognitive implants and the actual biology of the brain had been unnaturally created, possibly as a weapon, and infected the population.
Social institutions declined slowly at first, then at an increasingly apocolyptic rate. Things held together for the first month or so, but after a lone bomber boosted himself to level 40 by killing hundreds in a single strike, and then evaded capture using his newfound super-abilities, shit hit the fan. Cities are now flaming warzones. Suburbia is a blood-soaked no man's land. Until there is a winner, no civilization will function again.
The funniest thing about the entire clusterfuck was the enormous advantage gamers held. We understood how to farm. My physically inept group of friends and I took the first opportunity we could to head to a slaughterhouse. Granted, a pig gives you less EXP than a person, but it's a hell of a lot easier and less dangerous to kill 5 pigs than 1 person. The results were astounding. Leveling up was natural selection on insanely powerful steroids. The virus mutated to each individual's strengths and weaknesses. My friend Alvin with diabetes and asthma, who turned out to be dynamite with a shotgun, immediately leveled out of both. By level 5 he looked more like The Terminator than the pasty kid who liked 40K I had known him to be. To watch someone level up is to witness instantaneous euphoric mutation. By the time Alvin died he could have been a space marine. I like to think that made him very happy, even as I ripped out his throat.
I was always a quiet kid. Before the game I had made it my business to avoid any trouble or negative attention. These days I can turn entirely invisible, and no, I don't have to "reveal myself" to attack. The last thing my victims see is a slight shimmer in the air if the sun shines brightly, or nothing at all if it is dark. My shape has become more lupine , my teeth are now fangs, and my knuckles hide retractable claws. My wounds heal faster than physically possible, and I can go for extended periods without eating, drinking, or sleeping. I spend my my days far out in the wilderness. Places man never really touched before the game, and have since been long forgotten. I hunt. I eat. I level once in a great while, but my life is lonely, and devoid of much of what you might call "living". In the end though, it is better than death. | She had returned from her latest deployment. The military had changed recently. Soldiers were recycled out and placed into non combat positions as a precaution. However the legends still stalked the battle fields, those who were out there before the terrible revelation was finally accepted.
She would be an alien, if pain staking effort was given to wipe away her identity and give a new one. Super human - all the comic book milestones. War was waged much differently now. The very act excites an immediate arms race ascribing near god like powers to anyone lucky enough, brutal enough or well trained enough to kill.
The new cold war raged quietly, as each nation assembled a pantheon of super soldiers.
She had returned home to her family. Her secret quiet and her mission to hide her awesome power. If she were to slip, he entire life would come crashing down - but what of her husband and 6 year old daughter? She did this for them. She did this keep them out of a world where murder awards obscene power.
Out there, on the battlefied, she was unstoppable. Simply wearing her mask and walking into the field of open artillery fire was enough to silence both sides. They've seen her regenerate limbs before their eyes, they've seen her crush men and armor with a psychic grasp, they've seen her inspire men into berzerker demons.
However here at home, she went grocer shopping and did laundry. Such as today, as dinner simmered and her daughter played outside.
"Sweetie, dinner's on the table! Come in!"
Ignoring her summons, the daughter continued to stomp around in the yard and play. How funny, she thought, that the world bends on my call but I cant get a six year old girl to come inside for mac'n'cheese.
"Now sweetie, this is the last call or else no dessert", she warned as she walked barefoot into the yard toward her daughter.
"No! No no no no!," and a sudden crash of twisting metal, a snap of thunder and lingering gnarled cacophony of destruction erupted as her daughter tantrumed in the yard.
"Oh god," what she had thought was a car accident was instead something much more terrible. Her daughter had spent the day - and untold others - squishing, burning, drowning and otherwise murdering a colony of ants.
Picking her daughter up, she thought of how to explain this to her superiors - they cant know of her daughter's power.
"Sweetie how about some ice cream instead?"
| |
[WP] It suddenly becomes possible to gain XP and level up in the real world, but you can only do so by getting kills. | *Kill one man, and you are a murderer.*
I got my first set of kills fighting terrorists in a god forsaken hellhole. Most people feel that surge of power, when they take another life, but so few understand what they have gained. Of those who do, most put their skill points into strength, accuracy and the such, and are inevitably felled one by one on the battlefield. Fools.
*Kill millions of men, and you are a conqueror.*
I understand now, what drove the truly great and evil ones, the Hitlers, Stalins and Khans of history. Driving their forces forever forward into the destructive light, everyday a bit stronger. They lacked the technology that they needed, but they drove towards that same goal nonetheless. Charisma and intelligence were the true keys, allowing you to move onwards.
*Kill them all, and you are a god.*
Will it turn out that way? Only one way to find out.
"Mr. President. We are at DEFCON 1. Your orders, sir?" | She had returned from her latest deployment. The military had changed recently. Soldiers were recycled out and placed into non combat positions as a precaution. However the legends still stalked the battle fields, those who were out there before the terrible revelation was finally accepted.
She would be an alien, if pain staking effort was given to wipe away her identity and give a new one. Super human - all the comic book milestones. War was waged much differently now. The very act excites an immediate arms race ascribing near god like powers to anyone lucky enough, brutal enough or well trained enough to kill.
The new cold war raged quietly, as each nation assembled a pantheon of super soldiers.
She had returned home to her family. Her secret quiet and her mission to hide her awesome power. If she were to slip, he entire life would come crashing down - but what of her husband and 6 year old daughter? She did this for them. She did this keep them out of a world where murder awards obscene power.
Out there, on the battlefied, she was unstoppable. Simply wearing her mask and walking into the field of open artillery fire was enough to silence both sides. They've seen her regenerate limbs before their eyes, they've seen her crush men and armor with a psychic grasp, they've seen her inspire men into berzerker demons.
However here at home, she went grocer shopping and did laundry. Such as today, as dinner simmered and her daughter played outside.
"Sweetie, dinner's on the table! Come in!"
Ignoring her summons, the daughter continued to stomp around in the yard and play. How funny, she thought, that the world bends on my call but I cant get a six year old girl to come inside for mac'n'cheese.
"Now sweetie, this is the last call or else no dessert", she warned as she walked barefoot into the yard toward her daughter.
"No! No no no no!," and a sudden crash of twisting metal, a snap of thunder and lingering gnarled cacophony of destruction erupted as her daughter tantrumed in the yard.
"Oh god," what she had thought was a car accident was instead something much more terrible. Her daughter had spent the day - and untold others - squishing, burning, drowning and otherwise murdering a colony of ants.
Picking her daughter up, she thought of how to explain this to her superiors - they cant know of her daughter's power.
"Sweetie how about some ice cream instead?"
| |
[WP] It suddenly becomes possible to gain XP and level up in the real world, but you can only do so by getting kills. | It was a harsh world.
My father was one of the first to level up. He killed my mother and my brother to gain power. He only left me alive to raise a daughter.
Laws didn't apply to anyone. It was every man for himself.
But the stronger you are, the more EXP you're worth. Rankings never stayed constant, beyond the top five people. My father was one of them.
To kill them would raise you to the top, but they were experts at killing. It was a death wish to try and take them out.
I could never kill. I was scared of even harming bugs. I was a disappointment to my father, and sometimes I wondered why he never killed me.
He never showed me much love, as expected from a serial killer. I was just a tool for him to use. I would throw out the dead bodies for him, or scout for potential victims.
He never once feared me.
I remember when the game was first revealed. A broadcast to every nation in the world.
People killed for the dream - to be level 100. The first person to reach level 100 could become a god.
It was too good to be true.
Every level presented upgrades - enhancing your strength, your agility, your stamina. The first few murderers suddenly became more powerful. It didn't take long for people to believe the game was real. Governments fell. Nothing was there to keep order, and cooperations began to exploit their workers even more.
Everyone was determined to become a god.
My father was close to becoming level 100, but the higher you got the more kills it took. Soon, competition between the highest ranking players got rough.
They started to take each other out.
My father started first, taking someone the same level as him out. It was a tough battle, and he nearly lost an eye. But he watched his level finally go up, to 95.
I wondered a lot at times, what would my father do if he became a god?
Would he become a world leader? Would he bring my mother and brother back?
Or would he continue this sick game?
I lost hope in everyone. It felt like a nightmare I couldn't escape. I had two options to end this dream.
To kill myself, or to kill others.
I thought about it for a while - I wanted to die. My family was dead and my father was a serial killer.
I could never kill people. Never. But after years of taking out literal corpses, and after years of witnessing this world, I realized something.
The only way to escape this hell is to create the world anew.
I don't know how I got the courage, but I did. My father slept peacefully, and never had his guard up with me. He knew I would never hurt him. I was too weak.
I gave him a quick death, slicing his throat. He woke up right when it sliced his throat, and he only had a few seconds to react. He looked at me with surprise, but I stabbed directly into his heart.
I watched a bar appear over my head, quickly bringing me to level 80. He was worth that much.
Blood was all over my clothes, and I cried for a bit. I couldn't believe I could have really killed him.
But this wasn't enough. I needed more. I needed to become a God.
I decided I would only target the highest ranking players - the worst offenders of this game. If I had to kill, I would kill the scum first.
I will become a God, and I will clean this world. I will stop this madness.
If I don't fall into madness first, that is.
| She had returned from her latest deployment. The military had changed recently. Soldiers were recycled out and placed into non combat positions as a precaution. However the legends still stalked the battle fields, those who were out there before the terrible revelation was finally accepted.
She would be an alien, if pain staking effort was given to wipe away her identity and give a new one. Super human - all the comic book milestones. War was waged much differently now. The very act excites an immediate arms race ascribing near god like powers to anyone lucky enough, brutal enough or well trained enough to kill.
The new cold war raged quietly, as each nation assembled a pantheon of super soldiers.
She had returned home to her family. Her secret quiet and her mission to hide her awesome power. If she were to slip, he entire life would come crashing down - but what of her husband and 6 year old daughter? She did this for them. She did this keep them out of a world where murder awards obscene power.
Out there, on the battlefied, she was unstoppable. Simply wearing her mask and walking into the field of open artillery fire was enough to silence both sides. They've seen her regenerate limbs before their eyes, they've seen her crush men and armor with a psychic grasp, they've seen her inspire men into berzerker demons.
However here at home, she went grocer shopping and did laundry. Such as today, as dinner simmered and her daughter played outside.
"Sweetie, dinner's on the table! Come in!"
Ignoring her summons, the daughter continued to stomp around in the yard and play. How funny, she thought, that the world bends on my call but I cant get a six year old girl to come inside for mac'n'cheese.
"Now sweetie, this is the last call or else no dessert", she warned as she walked barefoot into the yard toward her daughter.
"No! No no no no!," and a sudden crash of twisting metal, a snap of thunder and lingering gnarled cacophony of destruction erupted as her daughter tantrumed in the yard.
"Oh god," what she had thought was a car accident was instead something much more terrible. Her daughter had spent the day - and untold others - squishing, burning, drowning and otherwise murdering a colony of ants.
Picking her daughter up, she thought of how to explain this to her superiors - they cant know of her daughter's power.
"Sweetie how about some ice cream instead?"
| |
[WP] It suddenly becomes possible to gain XP and level up in the real world, but you can only do so by getting kills. | "Hold on, I've gotta do my pre-homework before we go," Keisha says. Your girlfriend walks into her bedroom, the glow of a shop light over a tank silhouetting her.
"Keisha, we're gonna be late," you complain.
Her voice is muffled by the wall between you. "I just want to make sure I do well on this test. I need at least 300 hp before I even begin studying."
You can see her hand poised above the huge ant farm, ready to smash down on top of millions of ants on a slice of apple.
"Keisha, stop! That's too intimate! It's like you're peeing in front of me!" you say, covering your eyes. She turns around, flashing a flirty smile.
"At least I use ants like a normal person. Close the door if you're so grossed out!"
You close the door and sink into the living room couch. A couple minutes go by, and Keisha leaves the bedroom.
"Have you ever known someone that didn't use ants?" you ask.
"No. I heard there's this really weird physics major who uses chipmunks and mice and stuff before tests so he can max out. With a knife! I don't think it's true though."
"I know some vegans who use vegetables. It's worth like, a quarter point for every plant. They seem happy though, so that's cool," you say. You both stand and begin walking out of the apartment and towards the car.
"That's just way too extreme for me. Why not just use invasive ants?" she asks. "They're just so convenient. Sure, you have to kill a lot of them, but their plentiful and easy to kill. I can't imagine ever using something you couldn't breed in your own home."
"Now that we have the HP Cap Laws, I don't really care what people use," you say. "It's just not fair that people would use cows and elephants and stuff in the past. Although, I've heard the president still dips into endangered species every once in a while."
"Oh, that old conspiracy theory? You know you can access his HP logs online, right? It's all made up," Keisha says. "Oh my god, did you hear about Ryan?"
This was shocking. Ryan is a close friend of yours, but you haven't heard from him in a couple days.
"I meant to tell you right when you came over, but it slipped my mind!" Keisha explains.
"What happened?"
"He was caught killing twice as many ants as his allowance trying to double major without permission. Apparently he didn't want to choose between biology and chemistry by the end of sophomore year, but he missed the deadline to declare. So he forged the papers to each department, used a shit ton of ants, maxed out on the categories he needed to, and aced the tests."
"Fuck... fuck, that's so bad. Was he expelled?" you ask.
"It's still under investigation, but the police got in on it too. No one has really talked to him since it all went down. He got a penalty of -5 levels in each category though."
"That's terrible. Let's try go visit him!"
--------
Couldn't think how to wrap this up shortly, but here are ideas that could make this a much longer story:
-Serial killers get really powerful really quickly, which means policemen/military have to be maxed out completely in every level in order to deal with someone that gets out of control. Which is good/ absolutely terrible depending on the situation.
-People in power get to attain more XP secretly, meaning they are stronger and smarter than everyone, making citizens easy to oppress and suppress.
-No one can truly obtain their potential without very carefully selecting what category they want to spend their XP in. This means people are either experts in only one field, or people are jacks of all trades but best at none, depending on what kind of gamer they would be. | The bus ride itself was not unlike any other. Right at the traffic light, then straight on over the bridge and into the city. If only my mother knew where I was going, she would have a heart attack. The cities became so much worse after people noticed the little numbers flashing above their heads. So much so, it wasn't strange to see a few murders on a short bus ride into the city.
The bus lurched as the engine strained up an incline.
Who knows how it all started, or why, all that mattered was the sudden grab for power.
The crazies were the first to notice the numbers, of course. Though, were they really so crazy? Some would argue shooting up a school or a concert was insane, but they had no idea what the rush felt like. The power that came with your first kill, or your second. It wasn't gradual either. There was once a man who killed someone with 10 bullet holes right through him, and he gained enough experience to survive.
The bus came to my stop and I got out quickly. A short walk away from the office and then the return home.
The world hadn't gone to complete shit though. Murder was still technically illegal and stronger didn't mean you were invincible.
I marched along the side walk, breaking into a short run at every alley. That is until I saw two men standing over a third. Their fists were bloodied as they pummelled their victim. The poor man didn't have the energy to scream and I didn't have the stomach to watch in my condition.
Another block passed and I reached the office.
"Good evening, my name is Vel," I spoke softly, trying to sound nervous "I have an appointment,"
"Ah yes, have a seat, i'll be with you in a moment," The receptionist replied and quickly went back to her paper work.
I sat, and let my mind wander back to the kill in the alleyway.
While scientists made their best theories, there was still much that remained a mystery about the rules of a kill. If two men killed one man, would they share the experience or would the stronger one turn on his accomplice? Was it possible to gain more experience by killing someone who was equally strong?
I was snapped out of my train of though when the receptionist called my name.
"The doctor will see you now, dear." She said, giving my shoulder a reassuring squeeze.
The doctor entered shortly after and found my sitting on the operating table, "Miss Vel, before we begin i'd like to discuss your options, if thats alright?"
I nodded, though he wouldn't say anything I hadn't heard twice before. I laid down as he began to go over the details of the procedure. Meanwhile I tried not to look bored and I began to wonder if I was the first.
The first girl to realise my unborn counted as a kill.
| |
[WP] It suddenly becomes possible to gain XP and level up in the real world, but you can only do so by getting kills. | The room was filled with so many different people. Most of them were frail, older ones who had no family, but there were also younger ones who were sick and had no hope in life. There were a handful of ones in jumpsuits, obviously hardened criminals who were there against their will. But what made me hesitate was seeing the young, healthy ones. They had no business being here. Who let them in here?
"You need to do this. There's no other way! "
"But some of them shouldn't be here!"
"We don't have much time. There's no time for debate"
He was right.
Every since the one that we call "The Stranger" decided to go on a shooting rampage, nobody has been able to take him down. The Stranger started his rampage at a crowded mall, leveling up faster than anyone has known. Swat couldn't take him down. He was too high of a level. Before we knew it, he wiped out so many that even the military couldn't take him. His level has gotten so high, we had no choice but to acquiesce to his demands. That was 2 years ago. Today, we all live under his control.
There had been assassination attempts by many, but none had even come close to making him bleed. The only way would be for someone of an equally high level to kill him. I was the unfortunate one nominated to do the deed.
Though there was an initial hesitation, I pulled the trigger. Within seconds, the entire room had been wiped out. All gunned down. I felt stronger.
This was the last one. How many times have I done this? I've lost count. But I had a feeling this was enough.
Rooms and rooms filled with men, women, and children, most of them volunteering for the greater good, all gunned down in the past 24 hours.
It's finally over.
"Good job".
I was handed a gun.
"You are strong enough to take out The Stranger with just one bullet."
I'm a little relieved. It's almost over.
I could hear my sister cry out, "why do we have to do it this way? Please come back. Please."
I looked at her and said, "even good people will become corrupt when they possess too much power. Maybe it won't happen today, or tomorrow, but one day it will. I can't take those chances".
I checked the gun. Two bullets. Good.
| The bus ride itself was not unlike any other. Right at the traffic light, then straight on over the bridge and into the city. If only my mother knew where I was going, she would have a heart attack. The cities became so much worse after people noticed the little numbers flashing above their heads. So much so, it wasn't strange to see a few murders on a short bus ride into the city.
The bus lurched as the engine strained up an incline.
Who knows how it all started, or why, all that mattered was the sudden grab for power.
The crazies were the first to notice the numbers, of course. Though, were they really so crazy? Some would argue shooting up a school or a concert was insane, but they had no idea what the rush felt like. The power that came with your first kill, or your second. It wasn't gradual either. There was once a man who killed someone with 10 bullet holes right through him, and he gained enough experience to survive.
The bus came to my stop and I got out quickly. A short walk away from the office and then the return home.
The world hadn't gone to complete shit though. Murder was still technically illegal and stronger didn't mean you were invincible.
I marched along the side walk, breaking into a short run at every alley. That is until I saw two men standing over a third. Their fists were bloodied as they pummelled their victim. The poor man didn't have the energy to scream and I didn't have the stomach to watch in my condition.
Another block passed and I reached the office.
"Good evening, my name is Vel," I spoke softly, trying to sound nervous "I have an appointment,"
"Ah yes, have a seat, i'll be with you in a moment," The receptionist replied and quickly went back to her paper work.
I sat, and let my mind wander back to the kill in the alleyway.
While scientists made their best theories, there was still much that remained a mystery about the rules of a kill. If two men killed one man, would they share the experience or would the stronger one turn on his accomplice? Was it possible to gain more experience by killing someone who was equally strong?
I was snapped out of my train of though when the receptionist called my name.
"The doctor will see you now, dear." She said, giving my shoulder a reassuring squeeze.
The doctor entered shortly after and found my sitting on the operating table, "Miss Vel, before we begin i'd like to discuss your options, if thats alright?"
I nodded, though he wouldn't say anything I hadn't heard twice before. I laid down as he began to go over the details of the procedure. Meanwhile I tried not to look bored and I began to wonder if I was the first.
The first girl to realise my unborn counted as a kill.
| |
[WP] It suddenly becomes possible to gain XP and level up in the real world, but you can only do so by getting kills. | I love my job. I really do. I work in a kitchen. Oh, no, not as a cook. I am way to high level to be a freaking dish-maker. With a grin, I ready my weapon. Soon after we found out that people could level up and you need to kill in order to get XP, my hour came.
My level surpasses everyone elses. I have hoarded so many Points that I could learn any skill in a blink of an eye.
Because I kill so much. Movement. We opened again. I am able to hunt again. With only one hit, I see the body vaporize, liquids flying everywhere. And I already focus on my next victim...
"Danny?" I miss the hit, glare up to know who dares to interrupt me. It's the chief.
"Look Danny, I thank you for swatting all the flies, but we have those sticky things to get them. We really need you to wash the dishes or we have to let you go."
I sigh, put away my ultimate weapon and wander into the kitchen. They just want to stop me from becoming too powerful. Maybe I should show them their place... | The bus ride itself was not unlike any other. Right at the traffic light, then straight on over the bridge and into the city. If only my mother knew where I was going, she would have a heart attack. The cities became so much worse after people noticed the little numbers flashing above their heads. So much so, it wasn't strange to see a few murders on a short bus ride into the city.
The bus lurched as the engine strained up an incline.
Who knows how it all started, or why, all that mattered was the sudden grab for power.
The crazies were the first to notice the numbers, of course. Though, were they really so crazy? Some would argue shooting up a school or a concert was insane, but they had no idea what the rush felt like. The power that came with your first kill, or your second. It wasn't gradual either. There was once a man who killed someone with 10 bullet holes right through him, and he gained enough experience to survive.
The bus came to my stop and I got out quickly. A short walk away from the office and then the return home.
The world hadn't gone to complete shit though. Murder was still technically illegal and stronger didn't mean you were invincible.
I marched along the side walk, breaking into a short run at every alley. That is until I saw two men standing over a third. Their fists were bloodied as they pummelled their victim. The poor man didn't have the energy to scream and I didn't have the stomach to watch in my condition.
Another block passed and I reached the office.
"Good evening, my name is Vel," I spoke softly, trying to sound nervous "I have an appointment,"
"Ah yes, have a seat, i'll be with you in a moment," The receptionist replied and quickly went back to her paper work.
I sat, and let my mind wander back to the kill in the alleyway.
While scientists made their best theories, there was still much that remained a mystery about the rules of a kill. If two men killed one man, would they share the experience or would the stronger one turn on his accomplice? Was it possible to gain more experience by killing someone who was equally strong?
I was snapped out of my train of though when the receptionist called my name.
"The doctor will see you now, dear." She said, giving my shoulder a reassuring squeeze.
The doctor entered shortly after and found my sitting on the operating table, "Miss Vel, before we begin i'd like to discuss your options, if thats alright?"
I nodded, though he wouldn't say anything I hadn't heard twice before. I laid down as he began to go over the details of the procedure. Meanwhile I tried not to look bored and I began to wonder if I was the first.
The first girl to realise my unborn counted as a kill.
| |
[WP] It suddenly becomes possible to gain XP and level up in the real world, but you can only do so by getting kills. | **Adam**: "Please, don't try anything you're about to see us do, at home."
**Jaimie**: "Ever!"
\**Intro starts*\*
**Today on Mythbusters, Adam and Jaimie will experience, just how experience works. They'll settle the score with a controversial issue, and... get a little philosophical. Adam Savage, Jaimie Hyneman, between them more than 40 years of special effects experience... etc. etc.**
*Adam is busy cleaning his hands. Jaimie comes into focus.*
**Jaimie speaks up**: "So what do the fans want this time?"
**Adam turns**: "Glad, you asked! Right now, everyone is still getting used to this whole "video-gamey" system with its up and downs and beeps and boops. This wasn't exactly a myth per say, but people wanted us to find out how it all works."
**Jaimie**: "Well seems pretty straightforward to me. You kill something and it makes you stronger; it's survival of the fittest in a way... So are you still washing your hands?"
**Adam**: "That's just it! We know the basics, but want to know the details, like... how much experience, if any, do we get from killing germs? Do different things give different amounts? And how can we use explosions to get exciting results?"
**Jaimie**: "I can think of a few ways we can setup this experiment and get those results."
**Adam**: "As can I. Let's get to work!"
-----
**While Adam and Jaimie get all the mechanics of their experiment in order, Kari, Grant, and Tory tackle something bigger.**
*The Build Team stand in the workshop building.*
**Kari**: "So now that life is a bit different and exciting in many ways, our fans wanted us to settle a pretty heavy issue."
**Tory**: "What kind of issue?"
**Kari**: "They want to know... when does life begin? Is abortion killing a life, or removing a fetus?"
**Tory and Grant**: "Woah."
**Tory**: "I'm surprised we're allowed to tackle this... but I guess no one else is willing to."
**Grant**: "Who even decided to turn to us for something this big?"
**Kari**: "I'm actually pretty excited about this! In fact, I know just how to start this off! We're going to first test the myth that inanimate objects *can* gain experience and level up."
**Tory**: "You mean like a chair or a book; well, both of those were made up of living things once.
**Kari**: "Right. If we find out if inanimate objects can get experience or not, then we can then see how to determine that hard-to-find moment of conception and life."
**Tory**: "Oh! How about using Buster?"
**Grant**: "I can do you even better! I'll design a machine that'll have him leveling up in no time!"
**Kari**: "Well... I guess I'm left with finding things to get experience from."
-----
**Coming up... Will Adam and Jaimie find the perfect build? Can Buster gain a few levels?... etc. etc. **
\**Commercial about Chasing Storms or Selling Stuff at Auctions*\*
-----
(To be continued) | The bus ride itself was not unlike any other. Right at the traffic light, then straight on over the bridge and into the city. If only my mother knew where I was going, she would have a heart attack. The cities became so much worse after people noticed the little numbers flashing above their heads. So much so, it wasn't strange to see a few murders on a short bus ride into the city.
The bus lurched as the engine strained up an incline.
Who knows how it all started, or why, all that mattered was the sudden grab for power.
The crazies were the first to notice the numbers, of course. Though, were they really so crazy? Some would argue shooting up a school or a concert was insane, but they had no idea what the rush felt like. The power that came with your first kill, or your second. It wasn't gradual either. There was once a man who killed someone with 10 bullet holes right through him, and he gained enough experience to survive.
The bus came to my stop and I got out quickly. A short walk away from the office and then the return home.
The world hadn't gone to complete shit though. Murder was still technically illegal and stronger didn't mean you were invincible.
I marched along the side walk, breaking into a short run at every alley. That is until I saw two men standing over a third. Their fists were bloodied as they pummelled their victim. The poor man didn't have the energy to scream and I didn't have the stomach to watch in my condition.
Another block passed and I reached the office.
"Good evening, my name is Vel," I spoke softly, trying to sound nervous "I have an appointment,"
"Ah yes, have a seat, i'll be with you in a moment," The receptionist replied and quickly went back to her paper work.
I sat, and let my mind wander back to the kill in the alleyway.
While scientists made their best theories, there was still much that remained a mystery about the rules of a kill. If two men killed one man, would they share the experience or would the stronger one turn on his accomplice? Was it possible to gain more experience by killing someone who was equally strong?
I was snapped out of my train of though when the receptionist called my name.
"The doctor will see you now, dear." She said, giving my shoulder a reassuring squeeze.
The doctor entered shortly after and found my sitting on the operating table, "Miss Vel, before we begin i'd like to discuss your options, if thats alright?"
I nodded, though he wouldn't say anything I hadn't heard twice before. I laid down as he began to go over the details of the procedure. Meanwhile I tried not to look bored and I began to wonder if I was the first.
The first girl to realise my unborn counted as a kill.
| |
[WP] It suddenly becomes possible to gain XP and level up in the real world, but you can only do so by getting kills. | The man sat behind a desk alone before me. He looked at me through tired eyes before speaking.
"I have to tell someone. You're the only one strong enough and trustworthy enough for me to tell.
I'm benevolent to all who come peacefully. I heal their injuries, cure their diseases, help them forget their pain. Those who come to take what I have? They die, and add their power to mine. No one can challenge me, not as I am today. Anyone who would have the power to do so would not risk their own lives with so many others still there to reap.
When the Changing happened, the world was plunged into chaos. Those who killed became stronger and unlocked new powers and abilities. These powers came in clusters; one type could summon the elements. Another could augment their strength and speed to superhuman levels. Another could mesmerize and control the minds of the weak.
I was a prison guard, a sharpshooter on the watchtowers. It wasn't long before the first set of Leveled came for the criminals locked in my facility. Unarmed and locked in cells, the prisoners would be easy prey. But I had my orders - prisoners were to be kept in, and the Leveled kept out. They were weak - no more than level 3 or 4. They died one after the other as my bullets entered their skulls. I gained 5 levels that day.
Most really powerful leveled folks were one of the destructive types. Me? I had healing. A little bit of radiant infusion to weapons, quite a bit of increased strength and endurance, but mostly healing. Wounds closed, infections just cleared up. Eventually the prisoners figured out what was going on with the Change and turned on each other, and we had to put them down to prevent them from killing each other and escaping. After the prisoners were gone, the other guards left - either to hide or seek their own strength. I stayed though. I opened the place up to the weak and infirm as a refuge. Became a bit of a leader or father to them. Every time we were assaulted, our foes were captured and brought before me. I served as judge, jury, and executioner. I protect my own, and I don't brook violence against them.
And so I grew stronger. The world has thinned out now - fewer and fewer people. Those who have survived have joined clans and gangs. I heard a rumor that out west someone's even trying to get a real city-state going. Killing doesn't happen much these days. But I just keep Leveling. Lost track of how many times now - hundreds, more than anyone I've ever heard of. My flock thinks I'm a gift from God, a holy prophet, their righteous protector. I'm not about to dispel that notion.
My quarters in this prison turned sanctuary are in the old solitary confinement area. No one is allowed back here but me, not since I consigned myself to my plan. You see, after a couple years of Leveling my healing got stronger and stronger. I could cure cancer, bring people back from mortal wounds. Then one day a stranger showed up. He was off in the head, wouldn't let me examine or try to heal him. That night he killed an old lady and the next morning we did what we had to. I put a bullet in his head and his light went out forever. I felt the now-familiar surge of power as I leveled up yet again. But this time it was a little different. I felt a compulsion... I walked up to the corpse of the man I'd just killed and laid my hand on his chest. Power surged through me and light surrounded me and the killer opened his eyes. *Resurrection*. I'd raised him from the dead.
I let someone else put him down after that. I retreated to my quarters, mind reeling. I felt a sense of honor and duty to my flock, but this gift... this new gift was amazing! What could I do with it? It was then that I knew how I would proceed.
No one's left to challenge me. But I keep getting stronger. No one sees me kill new victims - I even stepped down as executioner, allowing those I trust to take the lives that need to be taken. That's why you're my executioner, and you're the most powerful one in this place save myself. No one knows how I keep getting stronger and stronger. But I do. And now it's time once again."
The man, my leader, my prophet stood from his desk and walked to the walls. He pressed a button and a buzzer sounded throughout the solitary confinement area. 20 doors opened and the faint smell of death wafted out. The bodies were tied to chairs securely, their mouths gagged and their throats slit. Layer upon layer of dried blood covered their bindings, laps and the floor around them.
White light surrounded him as he raised his hands, looking as much like an angel as the man I knew. 20 lolling heads snapped up, screaming into the gags. Their eyes bulged wide and they strained against their bindings.
"They're criminals, the worst kind of men. Doomed to die. Still I don't know if anyone deserves this, day in, day out. But I do what I must." My prophet drew a long, sharp blade from his boot and advanced toward the first cell. | The bus ride itself was not unlike any other. Right at the traffic light, then straight on over the bridge and into the city. If only my mother knew where I was going, she would have a heart attack. The cities became so much worse after people noticed the little numbers flashing above their heads. So much so, it wasn't strange to see a few murders on a short bus ride into the city.
The bus lurched as the engine strained up an incline.
Who knows how it all started, or why, all that mattered was the sudden grab for power.
The crazies were the first to notice the numbers, of course. Though, were they really so crazy? Some would argue shooting up a school or a concert was insane, but they had no idea what the rush felt like. The power that came with your first kill, or your second. It wasn't gradual either. There was once a man who killed someone with 10 bullet holes right through him, and he gained enough experience to survive.
The bus came to my stop and I got out quickly. A short walk away from the office and then the return home.
The world hadn't gone to complete shit though. Murder was still technically illegal and stronger didn't mean you were invincible.
I marched along the side walk, breaking into a short run at every alley. That is until I saw two men standing over a third. Their fists were bloodied as they pummelled their victim. The poor man didn't have the energy to scream and I didn't have the stomach to watch in my condition.
Another block passed and I reached the office.
"Good evening, my name is Vel," I spoke softly, trying to sound nervous "I have an appointment,"
"Ah yes, have a seat, i'll be with you in a moment," The receptionist replied and quickly went back to her paper work.
I sat, and let my mind wander back to the kill in the alleyway.
While scientists made their best theories, there was still much that remained a mystery about the rules of a kill. If two men killed one man, would they share the experience or would the stronger one turn on his accomplice? Was it possible to gain more experience by killing someone who was equally strong?
I was snapped out of my train of though when the receptionist called my name.
"The doctor will see you now, dear." She said, giving my shoulder a reassuring squeeze.
The doctor entered shortly after and found my sitting on the operating table, "Miss Vel, before we begin i'd like to discuss your options, if thats alright?"
I nodded, though he wouldn't say anything I hadn't heard twice before. I laid down as he began to go over the details of the procedure. Meanwhile I tried not to look bored and I began to wonder if I was the first.
The first girl to realise my unborn counted as a kill.
| |
[WP] It suddenly becomes possible to gain XP and level up in the real world, but you can only do so by getting kills. | I love my job. I really do. I work in a kitchen. Oh, no, not as a cook. I am way to high level to be a freaking dish-maker. With a grin, I ready my weapon. Soon after we found out that people could level up and you need to kill in order to get XP, my hour came.
My level surpasses everyone elses. I have hoarded so many Points that I could learn any skill in a blink of an eye.
Because I kill so much. Movement. We opened again. I am able to hunt again. With only one hit, I see the body vaporize, liquids flying everywhere. And I already focus on my next victim...
"Danny?" I miss the hit, glare up to know who dares to interrupt me. It's the chief.
"Look Danny, I thank you for swatting all the flies, but we have those sticky things to get them. We really need you to wash the dishes or we have to let you go."
I sigh, put away my ultimate weapon and wander into the kitchen. They just want to stop me from becoming too powerful. Maybe I should show them their place... | This was my third grocery store today. Definitely out of the ordinary for me the neat freak obsessive who can hardly bring himself to leave the house once a day let alone multiple times to a location typically brimming with people. Groceries stores are one of the first places looters visit when the world ends. It's the liquor and french bread I think. At least this place is empty now.
Ever since the cataclysm that ripped physics apart most places are empty. Something changed giving conscious beings the ability to adjust the inertia of matter around them based on the lives they knowingly extinguished. Before the power went the forums on reddit said it was midichlorians, the christians said the devil and the government just said "martial law" and "don't leave home unless it's absolutely necessary". Nothing has been more necessary for me.
I think things started to gain widespread attention and panic with a high speed car chase somewhere that ended in a school bus being run off a cliff and a shoutout literally backfiring. I've never been a fan of the police but then again I don't think they deserve to have their spines ripped through their skulls. That was over a week ago and very few places have been safe since. Hell - even the hospitals aren't safe ever since doctors decided that the hippocratic oath only applied to each other.
Most of the store has been looted - leaving only the most useless items at the end of the world. Usually useless.
I stepped down the cleaning aisle grabbed a jug of bleach, popped the cap and started pouring it on the floor. I could feel myself getting stronger, knowing more, feeling more - I've never met or sensed anyone nearly as strong as me and never hope to.
Being obsessed with cleanliness it was only natural for me to imagine them everywhere - squirming, roiling and multiplying - spreading disease and madness all over me. Wishing each and every single one of them a swift death granted me freedom from my insomnia and fear and now I was almost ready to cleanse the rest of the world.
I finished loading my cart full of supplies. Next stop - the kitchen at the Denny's next door, if I don't hit the level cap there then I don't think there is one. | |
[WP] It suddenly becomes possible to gain XP and level up in the real world, but you can only do so by getting kills. | **Adam**: "Please, don't try anything you're about to see us do, at home."
**Jaimie**: "Ever!"
\**Intro starts*\*
**Today on Mythbusters, Adam and Jaimie will experience, just how experience works. They'll settle the score with a controversial issue, and... get a little philosophical. Adam Savage, Jaimie Hyneman, between them more than 40 years of special effects experience... etc. etc.**
*Adam is busy cleaning his hands. Jaimie comes into focus.*
**Jaimie speaks up**: "So what do the fans want this time?"
**Adam turns**: "Glad, you asked! Right now, everyone is still getting used to this whole "video-gamey" system with its up and downs and beeps and boops. This wasn't exactly a myth per say, but people wanted us to find out how it all works."
**Jaimie**: "Well seems pretty straightforward to me. You kill something and it makes you stronger; it's survival of the fittest in a way... So are you still washing your hands?"
**Adam**: "That's just it! We know the basics, but want to know the details, like... how much experience, if any, do we get from killing germs? Do different things give different amounts? And how can we use explosions to get exciting results?"
**Jaimie**: "I can think of a few ways we can setup this experiment and get those results."
**Adam**: "As can I. Let's get to work!"
-----
**While Adam and Jaimie get all the mechanics of their experiment in order, Kari, Grant, and Tory tackle something bigger.**
*The Build Team stand in the workshop building.*
**Kari**: "So now that life is a bit different and exciting in many ways, our fans wanted us to settle a pretty heavy issue."
**Tory**: "What kind of issue?"
**Kari**: "They want to know... when does life begin? Is abortion killing a life, or removing a fetus?"
**Tory and Grant**: "Woah."
**Tory**: "I'm surprised we're allowed to tackle this... but I guess no one else is willing to."
**Grant**: "Who even decided to turn to us for something this big?"
**Kari**: "I'm actually pretty excited about this! In fact, I know just how to start this off! We're going to first test the myth that inanimate objects *can* gain experience and level up."
**Tory**: "You mean like a chair or a book; well, both of those were made up of living things once.
**Kari**: "Right. If we find out if inanimate objects can get experience or not, then we can then see how to determine that hard-to-find moment of conception and life."
**Tory**: "Oh! How about using Buster?"
**Grant**: "I can do you even better! I'll design a machine that'll have him leveling up in no time!"
**Kari**: "Well... I guess I'm left with finding things to get experience from."
-----
**Coming up... Will Adam and Jaimie find the perfect build? Can Buster gain a few levels?... etc. etc. **
\**Commercial about Chasing Storms or Selling Stuff at Auctions*\*
-----
(To be continued) | This was my third grocery store today. Definitely out of the ordinary for me the neat freak obsessive who can hardly bring himself to leave the house once a day let alone multiple times to a location typically brimming with people. Groceries stores are one of the first places looters visit when the world ends. It's the liquor and french bread I think. At least this place is empty now.
Ever since the cataclysm that ripped physics apart most places are empty. Something changed giving conscious beings the ability to adjust the inertia of matter around them based on the lives they knowingly extinguished. Before the power went the forums on reddit said it was midichlorians, the christians said the devil and the government just said "martial law" and "don't leave home unless it's absolutely necessary". Nothing has been more necessary for me.
I think things started to gain widespread attention and panic with a high speed car chase somewhere that ended in a school bus being run off a cliff and a shoutout literally backfiring. I've never been a fan of the police but then again I don't think they deserve to have their spines ripped through their skulls. That was over a week ago and very few places have been safe since. Hell - even the hospitals aren't safe ever since doctors decided that the hippocratic oath only applied to each other.
Most of the store has been looted - leaving only the most useless items at the end of the world. Usually useless.
I stepped down the cleaning aisle grabbed a jug of bleach, popped the cap and started pouring it on the floor. I could feel myself getting stronger, knowing more, feeling more - I've never met or sensed anyone nearly as strong as me and never hope to.
Being obsessed with cleanliness it was only natural for me to imagine them everywhere - squirming, roiling and multiplying - spreading disease and madness all over me. Wishing each and every single one of them a swift death granted me freedom from my insomnia and fear and now I was almost ready to cleanse the rest of the world.
I finished loading my cart full of supplies. Next stop - the kitchen at the Denny's next door, if I don't hit the level cap there then I don't think there is one. | |
[WP] It suddenly becomes possible to gain XP and level up in the real world, but you can only do so by getting kills. | I love my job. I really do. I work in a kitchen. Oh, no, not as a cook. I am way to high level to be a freaking dish-maker. With a grin, I ready my weapon. Soon after we found out that people could level up and you need to kill in order to get XP, my hour came.
My level surpasses everyone elses. I have hoarded so many Points that I could learn any skill in a blink of an eye.
Because I kill so much. Movement. We opened again. I am able to hunt again. With only one hit, I see the body vaporize, liquids flying everywhere. And I already focus on my next victim...
"Danny?" I miss the hit, glare up to know who dares to interrupt me. It's the chief.
"Look Danny, I thank you for swatting all the flies, but we have those sticky things to get them. We really need you to wash the dishes or we have to let you go."
I sigh, put away my ultimate weapon and wander into the kitchen. They just want to stop me from becoming too powerful. Maybe I should show them their place... | "You were boiling an egg?"
Traffic on the 405. Stop and go. Mostly stop.
"Yeah, an egg."
"ONE egg."
"One egg. That's it. I don't know who's wise idea it was to keep oven mitts on top of the stove awning-- is that even what you call it?"
"Where the vents are, sure."
"Yeah. That thing is literally a slippery slope. Mitt fell right the fuck onto the stove and caught fire."
Jon cackles in the passenger seat. Jon the platelet. Benji the platelet. Benji the platelet, blocking up a hard artery in West America, Planet Earth.
*You're not in traffic, you are traffic.* Where have I heard that before?
"You're an idiot dude, you almost burnt the house down boiling an egg? How does that happen? There's like, more water than fire."
"I was doing laundry at the same time. I folded everything and got lost on Reddit. Forgot I was hungry."
"Dude, that's why you don't leave shit unsupervised in the kitchen."
"The landlords didn't install a fucking smoke alarm, it wouldn't have been that bad. Kevin almost died."
Jon cackles again, fighting tears.
I raise my voice for emphasis.
"Dude sleeps past two in the afternoon, and has the gall to tell people to quiet down. I'm doing fucking chores, asshole!"
"Wait, he didn't know?"
"No dude! It wasn't until Mike came home, like twenty minutes after the thing caught on fire that he started screaming at me, 'BENJI, WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING, MAN?' And I walk out. You know how my hallway has a bend?"
"Yeah."
"I had no idea. Thought the neighbors were barbecuing. Smoke didn't come to my door, but once you step out, you can't see shit. Like literally, hold your hand in front of you and it's lost."
"Kevin slept through all of this?"
"Totally. He had like a six inch pocket of air hanging over him, because the armrests on the sofa were that much higher than his face. Looked like he was in a coffin. Actually I think he probably woke up and decided it was okay if he just died."
"Shit, not like he pays rent anyway."
We sit in silence.
Stop.
Go.
Stop again.
I break the silence with a chuckle, then Jon joins in. My abs burn. My fitness training for the day.
"Christ, what is happening? LET'S GO, PEOPLE! LET'S PRETEND WE HAVE LIVES TO LIVE, GOD DAMMIT!"
"I can walk faster than this."
"Oh, my god. I think it's clearing up ahead."
"Yeah, looks like there's an accident on the other side."
"Dammit man, somebody better have died for this."
I swerve to the left lane, and like a breath of fresh air after crawling through a collapsed mine, I'm finally going.
"BRO."
"SHIT!"
I slam on the brakes but it's too late. There's some cholo crushed beneath my wheels.
"Oh fuck, oh fuck, I'm sorry dude."
"Are you serious?!"
We get out of the car. Cholo is barely breathing.
"You okay man? Can you stand?"
"He's coughing blood, his eyes are like, super dilated, dude. I don't think he's going to make it."
"Shut the FUCK up Jon! You're NOT being helpful."
"What are you going to do?"
"I don't know!"
"Cops are right there, I can see them."
"I know!"
"What are you going to do?"
"What the fuck do you want me to do man! Hey dude, hang in there. Fuck!"
I watch helplessly as his breaths become shorter and farther between. His eyes focus farther and farther into the sky.
Then suddenly...
"I think I'm going to by an egg timer."
"What?!"
"If I get some asiago, chorizo, and onions, I can make a pretty mean frittata."
"You want to go to the *store?*"
*And some russet potatoes and bell peppers.*
Maybe even some avocados and extra onions for a nice guac. Guac has always been about onions. That's where all the flavor and texture comes from. Don't forget cilantro and lemon.
| |
[WP] It suddenly becomes possible to gain XP and level up in the real world, but you can only do so by getting kills. | **Adam**: "Please, don't try anything you're about to see us do, at home."
**Jaimie**: "Ever!"
\**Intro starts*\*
**Today on Mythbusters, Adam and Jaimie will experience, just how experience works. They'll settle the score with a controversial issue, and... get a little philosophical. Adam Savage, Jaimie Hyneman, between them more than 40 years of special effects experience... etc. etc.**
*Adam is busy cleaning his hands. Jaimie comes into focus.*
**Jaimie speaks up**: "So what do the fans want this time?"
**Adam turns**: "Glad, you asked! Right now, everyone is still getting used to this whole "video-gamey" system with its up and downs and beeps and boops. This wasn't exactly a myth per say, but people wanted us to find out how it all works."
**Jaimie**: "Well seems pretty straightforward to me. You kill something and it makes you stronger; it's survival of the fittest in a way... So are you still washing your hands?"
**Adam**: "That's just it! We know the basics, but want to know the details, like... how much experience, if any, do we get from killing germs? Do different things give different amounts? And how can we use explosions to get exciting results?"
**Jaimie**: "I can think of a few ways we can setup this experiment and get those results."
**Adam**: "As can I. Let's get to work!"
-----
**While Adam and Jaimie get all the mechanics of their experiment in order, Kari, Grant, and Tory tackle something bigger.**
*The Build Team stand in the workshop building.*
**Kari**: "So now that life is a bit different and exciting in many ways, our fans wanted us to settle a pretty heavy issue."
**Tory**: "What kind of issue?"
**Kari**: "They want to know... when does life begin? Is abortion killing a life, or removing a fetus?"
**Tory and Grant**: "Woah."
**Tory**: "I'm surprised we're allowed to tackle this... but I guess no one else is willing to."
**Grant**: "Who even decided to turn to us for something this big?"
**Kari**: "I'm actually pretty excited about this! In fact, I know just how to start this off! We're going to first test the myth that inanimate objects *can* gain experience and level up."
**Tory**: "You mean like a chair or a book; well, both of those were made up of living things once.
**Kari**: "Right. If we find out if inanimate objects can get experience or not, then we can then see how to determine that hard-to-find moment of conception and life."
**Tory**: "Oh! How about using Buster?"
**Grant**: "I can do you even better! I'll design a machine that'll have him leveling up in no time!"
**Kari**: "Well... I guess I'm left with finding things to get experience from."
-----
**Coming up... Will Adam and Jaimie find the perfect build? Can Buster gain a few levels?... etc. etc. **
\**Commercial about Chasing Storms or Selling Stuff at Auctions*\*
-----
(To be continued) | "You were boiling an egg?"
Traffic on the 405. Stop and go. Mostly stop.
"Yeah, an egg."
"ONE egg."
"One egg. That's it. I don't know who's wise idea it was to keep oven mitts on top of the stove awning-- is that even what you call it?"
"Where the vents are, sure."
"Yeah. That thing is literally a slippery slope. Mitt fell right the fuck onto the stove and caught fire."
Jon cackles in the passenger seat. Jon the platelet. Benji the platelet. Benji the platelet, blocking up a hard artery in West America, Planet Earth.
*You're not in traffic, you are traffic.* Where have I heard that before?
"You're an idiot dude, you almost burnt the house down boiling an egg? How does that happen? There's like, more water than fire."
"I was doing laundry at the same time. I folded everything and got lost on Reddit. Forgot I was hungry."
"Dude, that's why you don't leave shit unsupervised in the kitchen."
"The landlords didn't install a fucking smoke alarm, it wouldn't have been that bad. Kevin almost died."
Jon cackles again, fighting tears.
I raise my voice for emphasis.
"Dude sleeps past two in the afternoon, and has the gall to tell people to quiet down. I'm doing fucking chores, asshole!"
"Wait, he didn't know?"
"No dude! It wasn't until Mike came home, like twenty minutes after the thing caught on fire that he started screaming at me, 'BENJI, WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING, MAN?' And I walk out. You know how my hallway has a bend?"
"Yeah."
"I had no idea. Thought the neighbors were barbecuing. Smoke didn't come to my door, but once you step out, you can't see shit. Like literally, hold your hand in front of you and it's lost."
"Kevin slept through all of this?"
"Totally. He had like a six inch pocket of air hanging over him, because the armrests on the sofa were that much higher than his face. Looked like he was in a coffin. Actually I think he probably woke up and decided it was okay if he just died."
"Shit, not like he pays rent anyway."
We sit in silence.
Stop.
Go.
Stop again.
I break the silence with a chuckle, then Jon joins in. My abs burn. My fitness training for the day.
"Christ, what is happening? LET'S GO, PEOPLE! LET'S PRETEND WE HAVE LIVES TO LIVE, GOD DAMMIT!"
"I can walk faster than this."
"Oh, my god. I think it's clearing up ahead."
"Yeah, looks like there's an accident on the other side."
"Dammit man, somebody better have died for this."
I swerve to the left lane, and like a breath of fresh air after crawling through a collapsed mine, I'm finally going.
"BRO."
"SHIT!"
I slam on the brakes but it's too late. There's some cholo crushed beneath my wheels.
"Oh fuck, oh fuck, I'm sorry dude."
"Are you serious?!"
We get out of the car. Cholo is barely breathing.
"You okay man? Can you stand?"
"He's coughing blood, his eyes are like, super dilated, dude. I don't think he's going to make it."
"Shut the FUCK up Jon! You're NOT being helpful."
"What are you going to do?"
"I don't know!"
"Cops are right there, I can see them."
"I know!"
"What are you going to do?"
"What the fuck do you want me to do man! Hey dude, hang in there. Fuck!"
I watch helplessly as his breaths become shorter and farther between. His eyes focus farther and farther into the sky.
Then suddenly...
"I think I'm going to by an egg timer."
"What?!"
"If I get some asiago, chorizo, and onions, I can make a pretty mean frittata."
"You want to go to the *store?*"
*And some russet potatoes and bell peppers.*
Maybe even some avocados and extra onions for a nice guac. Guac has always been about onions. That's where all the flavor and texture comes from. Don't forget cilantro and lemon.
| |
[WP] It suddenly becomes possible to gain XP and level up in the real world, but you can only do so by getting kills. | The sound of tires screeching came from above. I looked up to see a convertible shoot off the overpass. It sailed overhead and into the ditch of the road below. Fumbling with my cell as I rushed from the sidewalk across the street when I was hit by a blast of heat as the car exploded. Standing in the median on the phone "There's just been an accident by the overpass outside of town. The car broke through the railing and exploded..." I hear the sound of banging on metal from the wreckage. "Oh god, they're still alive I hear movement inside there, please send someone quickly." A loud bang, followed by another that causes the half crumpled car door to fly open. A man with a soot stained long white long coat and a hair net crawls out the door of the upside down car. He throws his smouldering hair net from his head and idly picks a bit of melted dashboard plastic off of his hands, completely unconcerned with the inferno raging a few feet away. Baffled and ignoring the 911 operator on the phone I stammer "Are you OK?"
"Yeah, just fine. Shame about the car though." He says, walking closer so he doesn't have to shout over the sound of roaring flames, completely ignoring the vehicle changing lanes to avoid his burning car.
"How did you survive that? You aren't even hurt!"
"Its fine. I work at the chicken factory down the road. I'm level 220. 1 XP each really adds up." Another truck slowing down and changing lanes to avoid the smokey wreckage. "I better get going, thanks for coming to help." He nimbly jumps into the back of the moving pickup and waves goodbye as the oblivious driver passes the accident and starts to pick up speed again. | Disoriented, I open my eyes. I can smell the gunpowder in the air, and taste the acrid tang as the haze of the gunshot starts to drift upon the wind. I see the coward celebrating and waiting for his experience points. Time for me to teach him a lesson about double tapping.
I stand up as quickly and quietly as I am able, I bite back the pain of the new bruise upon my chest and hope the adrenaline coursing through my body takes the pain away. Fool still has his back to me. Quick, soft steps lead me closer to my prey, the pounding of my heart is so loud I am afraid it will give away that I am still alive. Silently I continue to gain ground.
I grab my would be killer from behind and spin him around so he knows that he has now become the killed, the shock and terror in his eyes overwhelm his once jubilant face. I smile as my hands knock the gun away from him, and my knife slashes upwards through his jaw and breaking past his sinus cavity. I watch as his eyes start to gloss over and his body starts to become slack, once more I come out with the experience points we all crave. Once more I feel the strength, vitality, charisma, and intelligence of who I am become much more than who I was and my skills becoming sharper, and more focused.
I will be the victor of this life, and none shall stand in my way. | |
[WP] It suddenly becomes possible to gain XP and level up in the real world, but you can only do so by getting kills. | The room was filled with so many different people. Most of them were frail, older ones who had no family, but there were also younger ones who were sick and had no hope in life. There were a handful of ones in jumpsuits, obviously hardened criminals who were there against their will. But what made me hesitate was seeing the young, healthy ones. They had no business being here. Who let them in here?
"You need to do this. There's no other way! "
"But some of them shouldn't be here!"
"We don't have much time. There's no time for debate"
He was right.
Every since the one that we call "The Stranger" decided to go on a shooting rampage, nobody has been able to take him down. The Stranger started his rampage at a crowded mall, leveling up faster than anyone has known. Swat couldn't take him down. He was too high of a level. Before we knew it, he wiped out so many that even the military couldn't take him. His level has gotten so high, we had no choice but to acquiesce to his demands. That was 2 years ago. Today, we all live under his control.
There had been assassination attempts by many, but none had even come close to making him bleed. The only way would be for someone of an equally high level to kill him. I was the unfortunate one nominated to do the deed.
Though there was an initial hesitation, I pulled the trigger. Within seconds, the entire room had been wiped out. All gunned down. I felt stronger.
This was the last one. How many times have I done this? I've lost count. But I had a feeling this was enough.
Rooms and rooms filled with men, women, and children, most of them volunteering for the greater good, all gunned down in the past 24 hours.
It's finally over.
"Good job".
I was handed a gun.
"You are strong enough to take out The Stranger with just one bullet."
I'm a little relieved. It's almost over.
I could hear my sister cry out, "why do we have to do it this way? Please come back. Please."
I looked at her and said, "even good people will become corrupt when they possess too much power. Maybe it won't happen today, or tomorrow, but one day it will. I can't take those chances".
I checked the gun. Two bullets. Good.
| Disoriented, I open my eyes. I can smell the gunpowder in the air, and taste the acrid tang as the haze of the gunshot starts to drift upon the wind. I see the coward celebrating and waiting for his experience points. Time for me to teach him a lesson about double tapping.
I stand up as quickly and quietly as I am able, I bite back the pain of the new bruise upon my chest and hope the adrenaline coursing through my body takes the pain away. Fool still has his back to me. Quick, soft steps lead me closer to my prey, the pounding of my heart is so loud I am afraid it will give away that I am still alive. Silently I continue to gain ground.
I grab my would be killer from behind and spin him around so he knows that he has now become the killed, the shock and terror in his eyes overwhelm his once jubilant face. I smile as my hands knock the gun away from him, and my knife slashes upwards through his jaw and breaking past his sinus cavity. I watch as his eyes start to gloss over and his body starts to become slack, once more I come out with the experience points we all crave. Once more I feel the strength, vitality, charisma, and intelligence of who I am become much more than who I was and my skills becoming sharper, and more focused.
I will be the victor of this life, and none shall stand in my way. | |
[WP] It suddenly becomes possible to gain XP and level up in the real world, but you can only do so by getting kills. | I love my job. I really do. I work in a kitchen. Oh, no, not as a cook. I am way to high level to be a freaking dish-maker. With a grin, I ready my weapon. Soon after we found out that people could level up and you need to kill in order to get XP, my hour came.
My level surpasses everyone elses. I have hoarded so many Points that I could learn any skill in a blink of an eye.
Because I kill so much. Movement. We opened again. I am able to hunt again. With only one hit, I see the body vaporize, liquids flying everywhere. And I already focus on my next victim...
"Danny?" I miss the hit, glare up to know who dares to interrupt me. It's the chief.
"Look Danny, I thank you for swatting all the flies, but we have those sticky things to get them. We really need you to wash the dishes or we have to let you go."
I sigh, put away my ultimate weapon and wander into the kitchen. They just want to stop me from becoming too powerful. Maybe I should show them their place... | Disoriented, I open my eyes. I can smell the gunpowder in the air, and taste the acrid tang as the haze of the gunshot starts to drift upon the wind. I see the coward celebrating and waiting for his experience points. Time for me to teach him a lesson about double tapping.
I stand up as quickly and quietly as I am able, I bite back the pain of the new bruise upon my chest and hope the adrenaline coursing through my body takes the pain away. Fool still has his back to me. Quick, soft steps lead me closer to my prey, the pounding of my heart is so loud I am afraid it will give away that I am still alive. Silently I continue to gain ground.
I grab my would be killer from behind and spin him around so he knows that he has now become the killed, the shock and terror in his eyes overwhelm his once jubilant face. I smile as my hands knock the gun away from him, and my knife slashes upwards through his jaw and breaking past his sinus cavity. I watch as his eyes start to gloss over and his body starts to become slack, once more I come out with the experience points we all crave. Once more I feel the strength, vitality, charisma, and intelligence of who I am become much more than who I was and my skills becoming sharper, and more focused.
I will be the victor of this life, and none shall stand in my way. | |
[WP] It suddenly becomes possible to gain XP and level up in the real world, but you can only do so by getting kills. | **Adam**: "Please, don't try anything you're about to see us do, at home."
**Jaimie**: "Ever!"
\**Intro starts*\*
**Today on Mythbusters, Adam and Jaimie will experience, just how experience works. They'll settle the score with a controversial issue, and... get a little philosophical. Adam Savage, Jaimie Hyneman, between them more than 40 years of special effects experience... etc. etc.**
*Adam is busy cleaning his hands. Jaimie comes into focus.*
**Jaimie speaks up**: "So what do the fans want this time?"
**Adam turns**: "Glad, you asked! Right now, everyone is still getting used to this whole "video-gamey" system with its up and downs and beeps and boops. This wasn't exactly a myth per say, but people wanted us to find out how it all works."
**Jaimie**: "Well seems pretty straightforward to me. You kill something and it makes you stronger; it's survival of the fittest in a way... So are you still washing your hands?"
**Adam**: "That's just it! We know the basics, but want to know the details, like... how much experience, if any, do we get from killing germs? Do different things give different amounts? And how can we use explosions to get exciting results?"
**Jaimie**: "I can think of a few ways we can setup this experiment and get those results."
**Adam**: "As can I. Let's get to work!"
-----
**While Adam and Jaimie get all the mechanics of their experiment in order, Kari, Grant, and Tory tackle something bigger.**
*The Build Team stand in the workshop building.*
**Kari**: "So now that life is a bit different and exciting in many ways, our fans wanted us to settle a pretty heavy issue."
**Tory**: "What kind of issue?"
**Kari**: "They want to know... when does life begin? Is abortion killing a life, or removing a fetus?"
**Tory and Grant**: "Woah."
**Tory**: "I'm surprised we're allowed to tackle this... but I guess no one else is willing to."
**Grant**: "Who even decided to turn to us for something this big?"
**Kari**: "I'm actually pretty excited about this! In fact, I know just how to start this off! We're going to first test the myth that inanimate objects *can* gain experience and level up."
**Tory**: "You mean like a chair or a book; well, both of those were made up of living things once.
**Kari**: "Right. If we find out if inanimate objects can get experience or not, then we can then see how to determine that hard-to-find moment of conception and life."
**Tory**: "Oh! How about using Buster?"
**Grant**: "I can do you even better! I'll design a machine that'll have him leveling up in no time!"
**Kari**: "Well... I guess I'm left with finding things to get experience from."
-----
**Coming up... Will Adam and Jaimie find the perfect build? Can Buster gain a few levels?... etc. etc. **
\**Commercial about Chasing Storms or Selling Stuff at Auctions*\*
-----
(To be continued) | Disoriented, I open my eyes. I can smell the gunpowder in the air, and taste the acrid tang as the haze of the gunshot starts to drift upon the wind. I see the coward celebrating and waiting for his experience points. Time for me to teach him a lesson about double tapping.
I stand up as quickly and quietly as I am able, I bite back the pain of the new bruise upon my chest and hope the adrenaline coursing through my body takes the pain away. Fool still has his back to me. Quick, soft steps lead me closer to my prey, the pounding of my heart is so loud I am afraid it will give away that I am still alive. Silently I continue to gain ground.
I grab my would be killer from behind and spin him around so he knows that he has now become the killed, the shock and terror in his eyes overwhelm his once jubilant face. I smile as my hands knock the gun away from him, and my knife slashes upwards through his jaw and breaking past his sinus cavity. I watch as his eyes start to gloss over and his body starts to become slack, once more I come out with the experience points we all crave. Once more I feel the strength, vitality, charisma, and intelligence of who I am become much more than who I was and my skills becoming sharper, and more focused.
I will be the victor of this life, and none shall stand in my way. | |
[WP] It suddenly becomes possible to gain XP and level up in the real world, but you can only do so by getting kills. | The man sat behind a desk alone before me. He looked at me through tired eyes before speaking.
"I have to tell someone. You're the only one strong enough and trustworthy enough for me to tell.
I'm benevolent to all who come peacefully. I heal their injuries, cure their diseases, help them forget their pain. Those who come to take what I have? They die, and add their power to mine. No one can challenge me, not as I am today. Anyone who would have the power to do so would not risk their own lives with so many others still there to reap.
When the Changing happened, the world was plunged into chaos. Those who killed became stronger and unlocked new powers and abilities. These powers came in clusters; one type could summon the elements. Another could augment their strength and speed to superhuman levels. Another could mesmerize and control the minds of the weak.
I was a prison guard, a sharpshooter on the watchtowers. It wasn't long before the first set of Leveled came for the criminals locked in my facility. Unarmed and locked in cells, the prisoners would be easy prey. But I had my orders - prisoners were to be kept in, and the Leveled kept out. They were weak - no more than level 3 or 4. They died one after the other as my bullets entered their skulls. I gained 5 levels that day.
Most really powerful leveled folks were one of the destructive types. Me? I had healing. A little bit of radiant infusion to weapons, quite a bit of increased strength and endurance, but mostly healing. Wounds closed, infections just cleared up. Eventually the prisoners figured out what was going on with the Change and turned on each other, and we had to put them down to prevent them from killing each other and escaping. After the prisoners were gone, the other guards left - either to hide or seek their own strength. I stayed though. I opened the place up to the weak and infirm as a refuge. Became a bit of a leader or father to them. Every time we were assaulted, our foes were captured and brought before me. I served as judge, jury, and executioner. I protect my own, and I don't brook violence against them.
And so I grew stronger. The world has thinned out now - fewer and fewer people. Those who have survived have joined clans and gangs. I heard a rumor that out west someone's even trying to get a real city-state going. Killing doesn't happen much these days. But I just keep Leveling. Lost track of how many times now - hundreds, more than anyone I've ever heard of. My flock thinks I'm a gift from God, a holy prophet, their righteous protector. I'm not about to dispel that notion.
My quarters in this prison turned sanctuary are in the old solitary confinement area. No one is allowed back here but me, not since I consigned myself to my plan. You see, after a couple years of Leveling my healing got stronger and stronger. I could cure cancer, bring people back from mortal wounds. Then one day a stranger showed up. He was off in the head, wouldn't let me examine or try to heal him. That night he killed an old lady and the next morning we did what we had to. I put a bullet in his head and his light went out forever. I felt the now-familiar surge of power as I leveled up yet again. But this time it was a little different. I felt a compulsion... I walked up to the corpse of the man I'd just killed and laid my hand on his chest. Power surged through me and light surrounded me and the killer opened his eyes. *Resurrection*. I'd raised him from the dead.
I let someone else put him down after that. I retreated to my quarters, mind reeling. I felt a sense of honor and duty to my flock, but this gift... this new gift was amazing! What could I do with it? It was then that I knew how I would proceed.
No one's left to challenge me. But I keep getting stronger. No one sees me kill new victims - I even stepped down as executioner, allowing those I trust to take the lives that need to be taken. That's why you're my executioner, and you're the most powerful one in this place save myself. No one knows how I keep getting stronger and stronger. But I do. And now it's time once again."
The man, my leader, my prophet stood from his desk and walked to the walls. He pressed a button and a buzzer sounded throughout the solitary confinement area. 20 doors opened and the faint smell of death wafted out. The bodies were tied to chairs securely, their mouths gagged and their throats slit. Layer upon layer of dried blood covered their bindings, laps and the floor around them.
White light surrounded him as he raised his hands, looking as much like an angel as the man I knew. 20 lolling heads snapped up, screaming into the gags. Their eyes bulged wide and they strained against their bindings.
"They're criminals, the worst kind of men. Doomed to die. Still I don't know if anyone deserves this, day in, day out. But I do what I must." My prophet drew a long, sharp blade from his boot and advanced toward the first cell. | Disoriented, I open my eyes. I can smell the gunpowder in the air, and taste the acrid tang as the haze of the gunshot starts to drift upon the wind. I see the coward celebrating and waiting for his experience points. Time for me to teach him a lesson about double tapping.
I stand up as quickly and quietly as I am able, I bite back the pain of the new bruise upon my chest and hope the adrenaline coursing through my body takes the pain away. Fool still has his back to me. Quick, soft steps lead me closer to my prey, the pounding of my heart is so loud I am afraid it will give away that I am still alive. Silently I continue to gain ground.
I grab my would be killer from behind and spin him around so he knows that he has now become the killed, the shock and terror in his eyes overwhelm his once jubilant face. I smile as my hands knock the gun away from him, and my knife slashes upwards through his jaw and breaking past his sinus cavity. I watch as his eyes start to gloss over and his body starts to become slack, once more I come out with the experience points we all crave. Once more I feel the strength, vitality, charisma, and intelligence of who I am become much more than who I was and my skills becoming sharper, and more focused.
I will be the victor of this life, and none shall stand in my way. | |
[WP] It suddenly becomes possible to gain XP and level up in the real world, but you can only do so by getting kills. | Hundreds of feet underwater, no one can get me. Void of society, the submarine's resources slowly lowered with my sanity, weathering away. Those murderers were far from me, along with their knives, guns, and bombs. I was alone.
It started three years ago. Suddenly the murderers in the prison became stronger and smarter, while the foundation of civil society slowly deteriorated, until it broke. Gangs were formed and broken, families destroyed, countries collapsed into thousands of gang states. I was one of the lucky ones.
Of course there were others on the submarine, but they died early, due to sickness, or something like that. I am about to break soon, and there is only one thing that can help me. Murder.
Let's face it, everyone alive now is a murderer in one way or another. A few more deaths would only do the world good. I kicked open a door that housed the elixir my disease of insanity. Then I saw it.
I forgot to mention, this was a nuclear submarine. In what felt like one my last movements before an inevitable dive into insanity, I pressed down on the button that would make me the strongest person in the world.
I resurfaced the boat, as power radiated from my body. It was time for a new era. My era.
| Disoriented, I open my eyes. I can smell the gunpowder in the air, and taste the acrid tang as the haze of the gunshot starts to drift upon the wind. I see the coward celebrating and waiting for his experience points. Time for me to teach him a lesson about double tapping.
I stand up as quickly and quietly as I am able, I bite back the pain of the new bruise upon my chest and hope the adrenaline coursing through my body takes the pain away. Fool still has his back to me. Quick, soft steps lead me closer to my prey, the pounding of my heart is so loud I am afraid it will give away that I am still alive. Silently I continue to gain ground.
I grab my would be killer from behind and spin him around so he knows that he has now become the killed, the shock and terror in his eyes overwhelm his once jubilant face. I smile as my hands knock the gun away from him, and my knife slashes upwards through his jaw and breaking past his sinus cavity. I watch as his eyes start to gloss over and his body starts to become slack, once more I come out with the experience points we all crave. Once more I feel the strength, vitality, charisma, and intelligence of who I am become much more than who I was and my skills becoming sharper, and more focused.
I will be the victor of this life, and none shall stand in my way. | |
[WP] It suddenly becomes possible to gain XP and level up in the real world, but you can only do so by getting kills. | No one really understood how it happened, but the leading theory was that a new sort of virus, One that interfaced perfectly between our cognitive implants and the actual biology of the brain had been unnaturally created, possibly as a weapon, and infected the population.
Social institutions declined slowly at first, then at an increasingly apocolyptic rate. Things held together for the first month or so, but after a lone bomber boosted himself to level 40 by killing hundreds in a single strike, and then evaded capture using his newfound super-abilities, shit hit the fan. Cities are now flaming warzones. Suburbia is a blood-soaked no man's land. Until there is a winner, no civilization will function again.
The funniest thing about the entire clusterfuck was the enormous advantage gamers held. We understood how to farm. My physically inept group of friends and I took the first opportunity we could to head to a slaughterhouse. Granted, a pig gives you less EXP than a person, but it's a hell of a lot easier and less dangerous to kill 5 pigs than 1 person. The results were astounding. Leveling up was natural selection on insanely powerful steroids. The virus mutated to each individual's strengths and weaknesses. My friend Alvin with diabetes and asthma, who turned out to be dynamite with a shotgun, immediately leveled out of both. By level 5 he looked more like The Terminator than the pasty kid who liked 40K I had known him to be. To watch someone level up is to witness instantaneous euphoric mutation. By the time Alvin died he could have been a space marine. I like to think that made him very happy, even as I ripped out his throat.
I was always a quiet kid. Before the game I had made it my business to avoid any trouble or negative attention. These days I can turn entirely invisible, and no, I don't have to "reveal myself" to attack. The last thing my victims see is a slight shimmer in the air if the sun shines brightly, or nothing at all if it is dark. My shape has become more lupine , my teeth are now fangs, and my knuckles hide retractable claws. My wounds heal faster than physically possible, and I can go for extended periods without eating, drinking, or sleeping. I spend my my days far out in the wilderness. Places man never really touched before the game, and have since been long forgotten. I hunt. I eat. I level once in a great while, but my life is lonely, and devoid of much of what you might call "living". In the end though, it is better than death. | Disoriented, I open my eyes. I can smell the gunpowder in the air, and taste the acrid tang as the haze of the gunshot starts to drift upon the wind. I see the coward celebrating and waiting for his experience points. Time for me to teach him a lesson about double tapping.
I stand up as quickly and quietly as I am able, I bite back the pain of the new bruise upon my chest and hope the adrenaline coursing through my body takes the pain away. Fool still has his back to me. Quick, soft steps lead me closer to my prey, the pounding of my heart is so loud I am afraid it will give away that I am still alive. Silently I continue to gain ground.
I grab my would be killer from behind and spin him around so he knows that he has now become the killed, the shock and terror in his eyes overwhelm his once jubilant face. I smile as my hands knock the gun away from him, and my knife slashes upwards through his jaw and breaking past his sinus cavity. I watch as his eyes start to gloss over and his body starts to become slack, once more I come out with the experience points we all crave. Once more I feel the strength, vitality, charisma, and intelligence of who I am become much more than who I was and my skills becoming sharper, and more focused.
I will be the victor of this life, and none shall stand in my way. | |
[WP] It suddenly becomes possible to gain XP and level up in the real world, but you can only do so by getting kills. | We are not born destined for great things.
Through our experiences in our limited time on this mortal coil, we determine whether we achieve greatness, thrive in mediocrity, or drown in degeneracy. We shape the world around us through our actions and indirectly, through the actions we inspire in others. Our decisions ripple outward and change the fate of the world.
These thoughts rode with me as I stood over the termite mound. A 55-gallon drum of Raid sat beside me, connected to a compressor and a nozzle in my hand. I flicked the compressor on.
That was the day I achieved greatness. The day my ripple spread across the world.
The day I became a god. | Disoriented, I open my eyes. I can smell the gunpowder in the air, and taste the acrid tang as the haze of the gunshot starts to drift upon the wind. I see the coward celebrating and waiting for his experience points. Time for me to teach him a lesson about double tapping.
I stand up as quickly and quietly as I am able, I bite back the pain of the new bruise upon my chest and hope the adrenaline coursing through my body takes the pain away. Fool still has his back to me. Quick, soft steps lead me closer to my prey, the pounding of my heart is so loud I am afraid it will give away that I am still alive. Silently I continue to gain ground.
I grab my would be killer from behind and spin him around so he knows that he has now become the killed, the shock and terror in his eyes overwhelm his once jubilant face. I smile as my hands knock the gun away from him, and my knife slashes upwards through his jaw and breaking past his sinus cavity. I watch as his eyes start to gloss over and his body starts to become slack, once more I come out with the experience points we all crave. Once more I feel the strength, vitality, charisma, and intelligence of who I am become much more than who I was and my skills becoming sharper, and more focused.
I will be the victor of this life, and none shall stand in my way. | |
[WP] It suddenly becomes possible to gain XP and level up in the real world, but you can only do so by getting kills. | *Kill one man, and you are a murderer.*
I got my first set of kills fighting terrorists in a god forsaken hellhole. Most people feel that surge of power, when they take another life, but so few understand what they have gained. Of those who do, most put their skill points into strength, accuracy and the such, and are inevitably felled one by one on the battlefield. Fools.
*Kill millions of men, and you are a conqueror.*
I understand now, what drove the truly great and evil ones, the Hitlers, Stalins and Khans of history. Driving their forces forever forward into the destructive light, everyday a bit stronger. They lacked the technology that they needed, but they drove towards that same goal nonetheless. Charisma and intelligence were the true keys, allowing you to move onwards.
*Kill them all, and you are a god.*
Will it turn out that way? Only one way to find out.
"Mr. President. We are at DEFCON 1. Your orders, sir?" | Disoriented, I open my eyes. I can smell the gunpowder in the air, and taste the acrid tang as the haze of the gunshot starts to drift upon the wind. I see the coward celebrating and waiting for his experience points. Time for me to teach him a lesson about double tapping.
I stand up as quickly and quietly as I am able, I bite back the pain of the new bruise upon my chest and hope the adrenaline coursing through my body takes the pain away. Fool still has his back to me. Quick, soft steps lead me closer to my prey, the pounding of my heart is so loud I am afraid it will give away that I am still alive. Silently I continue to gain ground.
I grab my would be killer from behind and spin him around so he knows that he has now become the killed, the shock and terror in his eyes overwhelm his once jubilant face. I smile as my hands knock the gun away from him, and my knife slashes upwards through his jaw and breaking past his sinus cavity. I watch as his eyes start to gloss over and his body starts to become slack, once more I come out with the experience points we all crave. Once more I feel the strength, vitality, charisma, and intelligence of who I am become much more than who I was and my skills becoming sharper, and more focused.
I will be the victor of this life, and none shall stand in my way. | |
[WP] It suddenly becomes possible to gain XP and level up in the real world, but you can only do so by getting kills. | There was an explanation.
Fermi had latched onto the beginning of the thread back in 1950, then Moravec and Bostrom gave it a tug, and the whole nasty thing came unraveled.
We had speculated this was the case, before the first pop-up Window materialized in front the face of that SEAL in Bahrain, asking him to spend skill points.
We had speculated, but hadn't considered the consequences.
There were a couple of immediate concerns, other than the possibility of mass psychosis. One: spending points *worked*. If they were spent in strength, the person became stronger. If it was spent in intelligence, a person's recall, three-dimensional reasoning, and logical capabilities went up. Where were these augmentations coming from? Clearly, the world was being changed. These *people* were being changed. How could this be? Energy was entering a closed system, without any visible source or entropic byproduct.
This meant that physics was now broken. People didn't panic about this *nearly as much* as they should have, lamented the physicists, but few understood the finer points of the conservation of energy.
Second, upon leveling, all of a person's injuries were healed.
Physicians made a secret pact fairly early on to not reveal that 'leveling' also healed *underlying* conditions as well, (as they evidently counted as 'status effects') to stop what would surely be a murderous rampage by the terminally ill, but the secret got out anyway. The societal consequences were... extreme.
It only got worse when it became clear that, while leveling could cure cancer, paralysis, and end-stage AIDS, it couldn't *fix* genetic conditions, all it could do was reverse the symptoms. To the horror of all, it became clear that they would have to level *periodically*, if they wanted to stay alive. Desperation overwhelmed ethics in some places. In others, the ill, who didn't wish to kill, would offer themselves as sacrifices to their fellow patients.
The last terrifying prospect emerged, when it became clear that the Window was an unimpeachable way of establishing guilt. A person's 'level' could be seen by *anyone*. The ethical ramifications of this were *staggering*. If a person was high-level, he or she was often held indefinitely, without trial, unless they could prove they were a surgeon, or some other *legitimately* lethal professional.
What was worse, the window would appear in front of those people who were *incrementally* responsible for someone's death. Windows popped in front of barmen and clerks of convenience store owners who sold cigarettes. They popped up in front of CEOs who cut wages and hours, who sent jobs to overseas factories where conditions were so bad, workers leaped off the roof to their deaths. In the past, the papers called those 'suicides'.
The Window told a different story.
The CEOs, a demographic mostly composed mostly of sociopaths, weren't much bothered by this. The tormented ones were the public. While the XP rewards were reduced to triviality by some unknown mechanic, (perhaps due to the *sheer quantity involved*) they were constantly harried by the chime and floating numbers, the constant parade of names from the Third World. (who died as a result of economic practices and governmental policies; things that, as citizens of democracies, they bore responsibility for) Presented with such transcendent and indisputable proof of their evil-doing, hundreds of thousands of the more moral citizens took to drinking.
The rest grit their teeth, and tried to ignore it. It was impossible. Governments an businesses found, to their chagrin, that lying about human costs was now untenable. Their profitability took a strong dip, but the world, funnily enough, improved.
Back to Fermi. Fermi had a paradox: given that the conditions for the formation of life are actually fairly common, and the incredible scale of time we have access to thanks to the relativistic speed of light, why don't we see more evidence of alien civilizations? A physicist named Fermat had a principle: a seemingly teleological one: Light takes the shortest path, to it's ultimate objective. How does it know it's objective? Einstein had a brain buster of his own: light, no matter the frame of reference, has the same velocity. Moravec and Bostrom put a bow on it:
All these things are true, because we are living in a simulation.
Think about it, they said. An advanced civilization could easily simulate consciousness, or a universe. In fact, it would probably simulate *hundreds* of them. Given that, it's more likely than not that you are living in a simulation than a "real" universe, at any given time. All you need to look for, to prove it to yourself, are signs of computing optimization, such as simplifying physics, or narrowing the scope of simulation to a single populated world...
Fermat. Einstein. Fermi.
And now, there's even more proof.
That brings me to us. We're the ones who intend to change the rules of this game. If reality is a simulation, that means we can change it. Make it better. We started small, but we're getting *bigger*.
...We're [r/LifeHacks.](https://www.reddit.com/r/lifehacks/) | Disoriented, I open my eyes. I can smell the gunpowder in the air, and taste the acrid tang as the haze of the gunshot starts to drift upon the wind. I see the coward celebrating and waiting for his experience points. Time for me to teach him a lesson about double tapping.
I stand up as quickly and quietly as I am able, I bite back the pain of the new bruise upon my chest and hope the adrenaline coursing through my body takes the pain away. Fool still has his back to me. Quick, soft steps lead me closer to my prey, the pounding of my heart is so loud I am afraid it will give away that I am still alive. Silently I continue to gain ground.
I grab my would be killer from behind and spin him around so he knows that he has now become the killed, the shock and terror in his eyes overwhelm his once jubilant face. I smile as my hands knock the gun away from him, and my knife slashes upwards through his jaw and breaking past his sinus cavity. I watch as his eyes start to gloss over and his body starts to become slack, once more I come out with the experience points we all crave. Once more I feel the strength, vitality, charisma, and intelligence of who I am become much more than who I was and my skills becoming sharper, and more focused.
I will be the victor of this life, and none shall stand in my way. | |
[WP] It suddenly becomes possible to gain XP and level up in the real world, but you can only do so by getting kills. | It was a harsh world.
My father was one of the first to level up. He killed my mother and my brother to gain power. He only left me alive to raise a daughter.
Laws didn't apply to anyone. It was every man for himself.
But the stronger you are, the more EXP you're worth. Rankings never stayed constant, beyond the top five people. My father was one of them.
To kill them would raise you to the top, but they were experts at killing. It was a death wish to try and take them out.
I could never kill. I was scared of even harming bugs. I was a disappointment to my father, and sometimes I wondered why he never killed me.
He never showed me much love, as expected from a serial killer. I was just a tool for him to use. I would throw out the dead bodies for him, or scout for potential victims.
He never once feared me.
I remember when the game was first revealed. A broadcast to every nation in the world.
People killed for the dream - to be level 100. The first person to reach level 100 could become a god.
It was too good to be true.
Every level presented upgrades - enhancing your strength, your agility, your stamina. The first few murderers suddenly became more powerful. It didn't take long for people to believe the game was real. Governments fell. Nothing was there to keep order, and cooperations began to exploit their workers even more.
Everyone was determined to become a god.
My father was close to becoming level 100, but the higher you got the more kills it took. Soon, competition between the highest ranking players got rough.
They started to take each other out.
My father started first, taking someone the same level as him out. It was a tough battle, and he nearly lost an eye. But he watched his level finally go up, to 95.
I wondered a lot at times, what would my father do if he became a god?
Would he become a world leader? Would he bring my mother and brother back?
Or would he continue this sick game?
I lost hope in everyone. It felt like a nightmare I couldn't escape. I had two options to end this dream.
To kill myself, or to kill others.
I thought about it for a while - I wanted to die. My family was dead and my father was a serial killer.
I could never kill people. Never. But after years of taking out literal corpses, and after years of witnessing this world, I realized something.
The only way to escape this hell is to create the world anew.
I don't know how I got the courage, but I did. My father slept peacefully, and never had his guard up with me. He knew I would never hurt him. I was too weak.
I gave him a quick death, slicing his throat. He woke up right when it sliced his throat, and he only had a few seconds to react. He looked at me with surprise, but I stabbed directly into his heart.
I watched a bar appear over my head, quickly bringing me to level 80. He was worth that much.
Blood was all over my clothes, and I cried for a bit. I couldn't believe I could have really killed him.
But this wasn't enough. I needed more. I needed to become a God.
I decided I would only target the highest ranking players - the worst offenders of this game. If I had to kill, I would kill the scum first.
I will become a God, and I will clean this world. I will stop this madness.
If I don't fall into madness first, that is.
| Disoriented, I open my eyes. I can smell the gunpowder in the air, and taste the acrid tang as the haze of the gunshot starts to drift upon the wind. I see the coward celebrating and waiting for his experience points. Time for me to teach him a lesson about double tapping.
I stand up as quickly and quietly as I am able, I bite back the pain of the new bruise upon my chest and hope the adrenaline coursing through my body takes the pain away. Fool still has his back to me. Quick, soft steps lead me closer to my prey, the pounding of my heart is so loud I am afraid it will give away that I am still alive. Silently I continue to gain ground.
I grab my would be killer from behind and spin him around so he knows that he has now become the killed, the shock and terror in his eyes overwhelm his once jubilant face. I smile as my hands knock the gun away from him, and my knife slashes upwards through his jaw and breaking past his sinus cavity. I watch as his eyes start to gloss over and his body starts to become slack, once more I come out with the experience points we all crave. Once more I feel the strength, vitality, charisma, and intelligence of who I am become much more than who I was and my skills becoming sharper, and more focused.
I will be the victor of this life, and none shall stand in my way. | |
[WP] It suddenly becomes possible to gain XP and level up in the real world, but you can only do so by getting kills. | The biggest 'perk' of hitting level two is being able to see other people's levels. I was doing it now, gazing around the room. The little kids were all level one of course- the starter level. Lexi- the other teacher- was kneeling by the fish tank with little Johanna. Both level ones.
Deep in thought, I barely noticed the little tug on my shirt.
"Mr Raley?"
"Yes, Saffy?"
"What was your wife's favourite colour?"
She brandished a new pack of crayons and a piece of paper. There was already a stick-man on it- not my exact likeness, but how accurate can stick-men get? Another drawing was stood next to mine, a lady with long red hair and a yet-to-be-coloured-in dress. My heart twinged.
"I don't have a wife, sweetie."
I smiled at the little girl, trying not to show too much pain in my eyes. She looked confused.
"Who is the lady in the photo?" she said, pointing to the picture on my desk. I gazed at the picture, taking in her mischievous smile and warm eyes.
"She *used* to be my wife."
"Why isn't she now?"
"She died, sweetie."
The little girl's mouth turned into a round 'o'. She patted my knee.
"I'm sorry."
Then she had gone, skipped away to talk to her friends.
I thought back my to wife. That night- a rainy Tuesday. Earlier on she'd looked out at the rumbling purple clouds and run outside to take a photo. She came back in, soaking wet and smiling. I was so tired from work... I didn't smile back. I went to sleep watching TV while she made dinner. When I woke up... well, she had gone cold. I can still feel her dead hand in my own. And the guy who'd done it. He was still there, running down from the bedroom, arms full of her grandmother's jewellery. I grabbed my gun. *Bang*.
When you kill a man for the first time, you level up straight away.
It was the most painful thing I'd ever felt.
I looked around at the glowing golden '1's glittering in the room. It was a good thing they couldn't see levels.
I shivered under the cursed shadow of my storming, bruised '2'. | Disoriented, I open my eyes. I can smell the gunpowder in the air, and taste the acrid tang as the haze of the gunshot starts to drift upon the wind. I see the coward celebrating and waiting for his experience points. Time for me to teach him a lesson about double tapping.
I stand up as quickly and quietly as I am able, I bite back the pain of the new bruise upon my chest and hope the adrenaline coursing through my body takes the pain away. Fool still has his back to me. Quick, soft steps lead me closer to my prey, the pounding of my heart is so loud I am afraid it will give away that I am still alive. Silently I continue to gain ground.
I grab my would be killer from behind and spin him around so he knows that he has now become the killed, the shock and terror in his eyes overwhelm his once jubilant face. I smile as my hands knock the gun away from him, and my knife slashes upwards through his jaw and breaking past his sinus cavity. I watch as his eyes start to gloss over and his body starts to become slack, once more I come out with the experience points we all crave. Once more I feel the strength, vitality, charisma, and intelligence of who I am become much more than who I was and my skills becoming sharper, and more focused.
I will be the victor of this life, and none shall stand in my way. | |
[WP] It suddenly becomes possible to gain XP and level up in the real world, but you can only do so by getting kills. | The room was filled with so many different people. Most of them were frail, older ones who had no family, but there were also younger ones who were sick and had no hope in life. There were a handful of ones in jumpsuits, obviously hardened criminals who were there against their will. But what made me hesitate was seeing the young, healthy ones. They had no business being here. Who let them in here?
"You need to do this. There's no other way! "
"But some of them shouldn't be here!"
"We don't have much time. There's no time for debate"
He was right.
Every since the one that we call "The Stranger" decided to go on a shooting rampage, nobody has been able to take him down. The Stranger started his rampage at a crowded mall, leveling up faster than anyone has known. Swat couldn't take him down. He was too high of a level. Before we knew it, he wiped out so many that even the military couldn't take him. His level has gotten so high, we had no choice but to acquiesce to his demands. That was 2 years ago. Today, we all live under his control.
There had been assassination attempts by many, but none had even come close to making him bleed. The only way would be for someone of an equally high level to kill him. I was the unfortunate one nominated to do the deed.
Though there was an initial hesitation, I pulled the trigger. Within seconds, the entire room had been wiped out. All gunned down. I felt stronger.
This was the last one. How many times have I done this? I've lost count. But I had a feeling this was enough.
Rooms and rooms filled with men, women, and children, most of them volunteering for the greater good, all gunned down in the past 24 hours.
It's finally over.
"Good job".
I was handed a gun.
"You are strong enough to take out The Stranger with just one bullet."
I'm a little relieved. It's almost over.
I could hear my sister cry out, "why do we have to do it this way? Please come back. Please."
I looked at her and said, "even good people will become corrupt when they possess too much power. Maybe it won't happen today, or tomorrow, but one day it will. I can't take those chances".
I checked the gun. Two bullets. Good.
| ...The world changed. Some claimed a higher power had the system in place, others believed it was a plague, to me it was an opportunity. "Adam?...Are you pleased with this years yield?" John said. John was my most trusted advisory and Chief Operations Officer. As for me, my name is Adam West, founder and Chief Executive Officer of the worlds largest experience farm, 'Experiance'.
On March 15th the world found out it had the ability to gain experience with killing humans. Random killings were rampant at first and some thought chaos would consume the world. John and I saw opportunity in the chaos and began what most believe to be the most controversial but best alternative to end the chaos. Experiance began growing humans for slaughter to gain experience. In the early years people found out that without gaining experience you would slowly begin to die, the worlds population went from seven billion to a mere two billion that first year.
Experiance engineers came up with a way to grow humans at nearly five times the rate of a standard birth. Our first year in business we were able to meet the demand of the entire western hemispere. With over four thousand facilities we have become the worlds provider of cheap and easy experience. | |
[WP] It suddenly becomes possible to gain XP and level up in the real world, but you can only do so by getting kills. | I love my job. I really do. I work in a kitchen. Oh, no, not as a cook. I am way to high level to be a freaking dish-maker. With a grin, I ready my weapon. Soon after we found out that people could level up and you need to kill in order to get XP, my hour came.
My level surpasses everyone elses. I have hoarded so many Points that I could learn any skill in a blink of an eye.
Because I kill so much. Movement. We opened again. I am able to hunt again. With only one hit, I see the body vaporize, liquids flying everywhere. And I already focus on my next victim...
"Danny?" I miss the hit, glare up to know who dares to interrupt me. It's the chief.
"Look Danny, I thank you for swatting all the flies, but we have those sticky things to get them. We really need you to wash the dishes or we have to let you go."
I sigh, put away my ultimate weapon and wander into the kitchen. They just want to stop me from becoming too powerful. Maybe I should show them their place... | ...The world changed. Some claimed a higher power had the system in place, others believed it was a plague, to me it was an opportunity. "Adam?...Are you pleased with this years yield?" John said. John was my most trusted advisory and Chief Operations Officer. As for me, my name is Adam West, founder and Chief Executive Officer of the worlds largest experience farm, 'Experiance'.
On March 15th the world found out it had the ability to gain experience with killing humans. Random killings were rampant at first and some thought chaos would consume the world. John and I saw opportunity in the chaos and began what most believe to be the most controversial but best alternative to end the chaos. Experiance began growing humans for slaughter to gain experience. In the early years people found out that without gaining experience you would slowly begin to die, the worlds population went from seven billion to a mere two billion that first year.
Experiance engineers came up with a way to grow humans at nearly five times the rate of a standard birth. Our first year in business we were able to meet the demand of the entire western hemispere. With over four thousand facilities we have become the worlds provider of cheap and easy experience. | |
[WP] It suddenly becomes possible to gain XP and level up in the real world, but you can only do so by getting kills. | **Adam**: "Please, don't try anything you're about to see us do, at home."
**Jaimie**: "Ever!"
\**Intro starts*\*
**Today on Mythbusters, Adam and Jaimie will experience, just how experience works. They'll settle the score with a controversial issue, and... get a little philosophical. Adam Savage, Jaimie Hyneman, between them more than 40 years of special effects experience... etc. etc.**
*Adam is busy cleaning his hands. Jaimie comes into focus.*
**Jaimie speaks up**: "So what do the fans want this time?"
**Adam turns**: "Glad, you asked! Right now, everyone is still getting used to this whole "video-gamey" system with its up and downs and beeps and boops. This wasn't exactly a myth per say, but people wanted us to find out how it all works."
**Jaimie**: "Well seems pretty straightforward to me. You kill something and it makes you stronger; it's survival of the fittest in a way... So are you still washing your hands?"
**Adam**: "That's just it! We know the basics, but want to know the details, like... how much experience, if any, do we get from killing germs? Do different things give different amounts? And how can we use explosions to get exciting results?"
**Jaimie**: "I can think of a few ways we can setup this experiment and get those results."
**Adam**: "As can I. Let's get to work!"
-----
**While Adam and Jaimie get all the mechanics of their experiment in order, Kari, Grant, and Tory tackle something bigger.**
*The Build Team stand in the workshop building.*
**Kari**: "So now that life is a bit different and exciting in many ways, our fans wanted us to settle a pretty heavy issue."
**Tory**: "What kind of issue?"
**Kari**: "They want to know... when does life begin? Is abortion killing a life, or removing a fetus?"
**Tory and Grant**: "Woah."
**Tory**: "I'm surprised we're allowed to tackle this... but I guess no one else is willing to."
**Grant**: "Who even decided to turn to us for something this big?"
**Kari**: "I'm actually pretty excited about this! In fact, I know just how to start this off! We're going to first test the myth that inanimate objects *can* gain experience and level up."
**Tory**: "You mean like a chair or a book; well, both of those were made up of living things once.
**Kari**: "Right. If we find out if inanimate objects can get experience or not, then we can then see how to determine that hard-to-find moment of conception and life."
**Tory**: "Oh! How about using Buster?"
**Grant**: "I can do you even better! I'll design a machine that'll have him leveling up in no time!"
**Kari**: "Well... I guess I'm left with finding things to get experience from."
-----
**Coming up... Will Adam and Jaimie find the perfect build? Can Buster gain a few levels?... etc. etc. **
\**Commercial about Chasing Storms or Selling Stuff at Auctions*\*
-----
(To be continued) | ...The world changed. Some claimed a higher power had the system in place, others believed it was a plague, to me it was an opportunity. "Adam?...Are you pleased with this years yield?" John said. John was my most trusted advisory and Chief Operations Officer. As for me, my name is Adam West, founder and Chief Executive Officer of the worlds largest experience farm, 'Experiance'.
On March 15th the world found out it had the ability to gain experience with killing humans. Random killings were rampant at first and some thought chaos would consume the world. John and I saw opportunity in the chaos and began what most believe to be the most controversial but best alternative to end the chaos. Experiance began growing humans for slaughter to gain experience. In the early years people found out that without gaining experience you would slowly begin to die, the worlds population went from seven billion to a mere two billion that first year.
Experiance engineers came up with a way to grow humans at nearly five times the rate of a standard birth. Our first year in business we were able to meet the demand of the entire western hemispere. With over four thousand facilities we have become the worlds provider of cheap and easy experience. | |
[WP] It suddenly becomes possible to gain XP and level up in the real world, but you can only do so by getting kills. | The man sat behind a desk alone before me. He looked at me through tired eyes before speaking.
"I have to tell someone. You're the only one strong enough and trustworthy enough for me to tell.
I'm benevolent to all who come peacefully. I heal their injuries, cure their diseases, help them forget their pain. Those who come to take what I have? They die, and add their power to mine. No one can challenge me, not as I am today. Anyone who would have the power to do so would not risk their own lives with so many others still there to reap.
When the Changing happened, the world was plunged into chaos. Those who killed became stronger and unlocked new powers and abilities. These powers came in clusters; one type could summon the elements. Another could augment their strength and speed to superhuman levels. Another could mesmerize and control the minds of the weak.
I was a prison guard, a sharpshooter on the watchtowers. It wasn't long before the first set of Leveled came for the criminals locked in my facility. Unarmed and locked in cells, the prisoners would be easy prey. But I had my orders - prisoners were to be kept in, and the Leveled kept out. They were weak - no more than level 3 or 4. They died one after the other as my bullets entered their skulls. I gained 5 levels that day.
Most really powerful leveled folks were one of the destructive types. Me? I had healing. A little bit of radiant infusion to weapons, quite a bit of increased strength and endurance, but mostly healing. Wounds closed, infections just cleared up. Eventually the prisoners figured out what was going on with the Change and turned on each other, and we had to put them down to prevent them from killing each other and escaping. After the prisoners were gone, the other guards left - either to hide or seek their own strength. I stayed though. I opened the place up to the weak and infirm as a refuge. Became a bit of a leader or father to them. Every time we were assaulted, our foes were captured and brought before me. I served as judge, jury, and executioner. I protect my own, and I don't brook violence against them.
And so I grew stronger. The world has thinned out now - fewer and fewer people. Those who have survived have joined clans and gangs. I heard a rumor that out west someone's even trying to get a real city-state going. Killing doesn't happen much these days. But I just keep Leveling. Lost track of how many times now - hundreds, more than anyone I've ever heard of. My flock thinks I'm a gift from God, a holy prophet, their righteous protector. I'm not about to dispel that notion.
My quarters in this prison turned sanctuary are in the old solitary confinement area. No one is allowed back here but me, not since I consigned myself to my plan. You see, after a couple years of Leveling my healing got stronger and stronger. I could cure cancer, bring people back from mortal wounds. Then one day a stranger showed up. He was off in the head, wouldn't let me examine or try to heal him. That night he killed an old lady and the next morning we did what we had to. I put a bullet in his head and his light went out forever. I felt the now-familiar surge of power as I leveled up yet again. But this time it was a little different. I felt a compulsion... I walked up to the corpse of the man I'd just killed and laid my hand on his chest. Power surged through me and light surrounded me and the killer opened his eyes. *Resurrection*. I'd raised him from the dead.
I let someone else put him down after that. I retreated to my quarters, mind reeling. I felt a sense of honor and duty to my flock, but this gift... this new gift was amazing! What could I do with it? It was then that I knew how I would proceed.
No one's left to challenge me. But I keep getting stronger. No one sees me kill new victims - I even stepped down as executioner, allowing those I trust to take the lives that need to be taken. That's why you're my executioner, and you're the most powerful one in this place save myself. No one knows how I keep getting stronger and stronger. But I do. And now it's time once again."
The man, my leader, my prophet stood from his desk and walked to the walls. He pressed a button and a buzzer sounded throughout the solitary confinement area. 20 doors opened and the faint smell of death wafted out. The bodies were tied to chairs securely, their mouths gagged and their throats slit. Layer upon layer of dried blood covered their bindings, laps and the floor around them.
White light surrounded him as he raised his hands, looking as much like an angel as the man I knew. 20 lolling heads snapped up, screaming into the gags. Their eyes bulged wide and they strained against their bindings.
"They're criminals, the worst kind of men. Doomed to die. Still I don't know if anyone deserves this, day in, day out. But I do what I must." My prophet drew a long, sharp blade from his boot and advanced toward the first cell. | ...The world changed. Some claimed a higher power had the system in place, others believed it was a plague, to me it was an opportunity. "Adam?...Are you pleased with this years yield?" John said. John was my most trusted advisory and Chief Operations Officer. As for me, my name is Adam West, founder and Chief Executive Officer of the worlds largest experience farm, 'Experiance'.
On March 15th the world found out it had the ability to gain experience with killing humans. Random killings were rampant at first and some thought chaos would consume the world. John and I saw opportunity in the chaos and began what most believe to be the most controversial but best alternative to end the chaos. Experiance began growing humans for slaughter to gain experience. In the early years people found out that without gaining experience you would slowly begin to die, the worlds population went from seven billion to a mere two billion that first year.
Experiance engineers came up with a way to grow humans at nearly five times the rate of a standard birth. Our first year in business we were able to meet the demand of the entire western hemispere. With over four thousand facilities we have become the worlds provider of cheap and easy experience. | |
[WP] It suddenly becomes possible to gain XP and level up in the real world, but you can only do so by getting kills. | The room was filled with so many different people. Most of them were frail, older ones who had no family, but there were also younger ones who were sick and had no hope in life. There were a handful of ones in jumpsuits, obviously hardened criminals who were there against their will. But what made me hesitate was seeing the young, healthy ones. They had no business being here. Who let them in here?
"You need to do this. There's no other way! "
"But some of them shouldn't be here!"
"We don't have much time. There's no time for debate"
He was right.
Every since the one that we call "The Stranger" decided to go on a shooting rampage, nobody has been able to take him down. The Stranger started his rampage at a crowded mall, leveling up faster than anyone has known. Swat couldn't take him down. He was too high of a level. Before we knew it, he wiped out so many that even the military couldn't take him. His level has gotten so high, we had no choice but to acquiesce to his demands. That was 2 years ago. Today, we all live under his control.
There had been assassination attempts by many, but none had even come close to making him bleed. The only way would be for someone of an equally high level to kill him. I was the unfortunate one nominated to do the deed.
Though there was an initial hesitation, I pulled the trigger. Within seconds, the entire room had been wiped out. All gunned down. I felt stronger.
This was the last one. How many times have I done this? I've lost count. But I had a feeling this was enough.
Rooms and rooms filled with men, women, and children, most of them volunteering for the greater good, all gunned down in the past 24 hours.
It's finally over.
"Good job".
I was handed a gun.
"You are strong enough to take out The Stranger with just one bullet."
I'm a little relieved. It's almost over.
I could hear my sister cry out, "why do we have to do it this way? Please come back. Please."
I looked at her and said, "even good people will become corrupt when they possess too much power. Maybe it won't happen today, or tomorrow, but one day it will. I can't take those chances".
I checked the gun. Two bullets. Good.
| You understood.
After weeks spent in your dorm room watching late night documentaries on Yang Xinhai, Gary Ridgway, and Ted Bundy, and burying your nose into books on the Zodiac killer, on Son of Sam, and BTK, you understood.
After seeing your roommates’ quiet, brooding stares from the corner of your eye every so often, hearing her drop her medical tools down on her desk and work on sharpening scalpels with a new attention draw to the blades that replaced her carefree attitude, you understood.
After noticing the quiet, muffled conversations she and her boyfriend had while you slept, and hearing the mentions of more and more bodies at their morgue followed by FBI agents, you understood.
After glancing over their shiny new phones and computers and reading emails with CLASSIFIED screaming all over them, no worry about security or about you, you understood.
After hearing one of them behind you while you showered, his hot breath steaming across the cold water, his hand sliding down your back to find your spine while you hid behind carefree singing of a song to make him think you couldn’t feel those fingertips, you understood.
After silencing him with an elbow jab and a switch of who held the knife, you understood.
After you stepped out covered in a mix of his blood and the water, and seeing the shocked look stain her prideful, snarky face, and her eyes glance down to his head in your hands with a beginner’s realization, you understood.
After you quieted her with a towel to keep the neighbors from hearing, and bashed her face into the sink until it broke and she stopped squirming, you understood.
You understood the smile on your face when you looked in the mirror and ran your bloody hands over your cheekbones.You understood the warm, trickling feeling inside of your stomach that traveled up your chest and hugged your heart in comfort. You understood the indulges you shared with your father that he never explained and just silently ordered you to follow by his example. You understood the glint in your eye and the evolutionary trait that you unlocked deep within your primal instincts.
Your peaceful bliss was interrupted by one of their shiny phones. You smiled and plucked it up with your fingers, and answered the RESTRICTED number with a satisfied coo that melted into your voice and words.
“I’m sorry, but the person you have called is now dead, thanks to Ripper.” | |
[WP] It suddenly becomes possible to gain XP and level up in the real world, but you can only do so by getting kills. | I love my job. I really do. I work in a kitchen. Oh, no, not as a cook. I am way to high level to be a freaking dish-maker. With a grin, I ready my weapon. Soon after we found out that people could level up and you need to kill in order to get XP, my hour came.
My level surpasses everyone elses. I have hoarded so many Points that I could learn any skill in a blink of an eye.
Because I kill so much. Movement. We opened again. I am able to hunt again. With only one hit, I see the body vaporize, liquids flying everywhere. And I already focus on my next victim...
"Danny?" I miss the hit, glare up to know who dares to interrupt me. It's the chief.
"Look Danny, I thank you for swatting all the flies, but we have those sticky things to get them. We really need you to wash the dishes or we have to let you go."
I sigh, put away my ultimate weapon and wander into the kitchen. They just want to stop me from becoming too powerful. Maybe I should show them their place... | You understood.
After weeks spent in your dorm room watching late night documentaries on Yang Xinhai, Gary Ridgway, and Ted Bundy, and burying your nose into books on the Zodiac killer, on Son of Sam, and BTK, you understood.
After seeing your roommates’ quiet, brooding stares from the corner of your eye every so often, hearing her drop her medical tools down on her desk and work on sharpening scalpels with a new attention draw to the blades that replaced her carefree attitude, you understood.
After noticing the quiet, muffled conversations she and her boyfriend had while you slept, and hearing the mentions of more and more bodies at their morgue followed by FBI agents, you understood.
After glancing over their shiny new phones and computers and reading emails with CLASSIFIED screaming all over them, no worry about security or about you, you understood.
After hearing one of them behind you while you showered, his hot breath steaming across the cold water, his hand sliding down your back to find your spine while you hid behind carefree singing of a song to make him think you couldn’t feel those fingertips, you understood.
After silencing him with an elbow jab and a switch of who held the knife, you understood.
After you stepped out covered in a mix of his blood and the water, and seeing the shocked look stain her prideful, snarky face, and her eyes glance down to his head in your hands with a beginner’s realization, you understood.
After you quieted her with a towel to keep the neighbors from hearing, and bashed her face into the sink until it broke and she stopped squirming, you understood.
You understood the smile on your face when you looked in the mirror and ran your bloody hands over your cheekbones.You understood the warm, trickling feeling inside of your stomach that traveled up your chest and hugged your heart in comfort. You understood the indulges you shared with your father that he never explained and just silently ordered you to follow by his example. You understood the glint in your eye and the evolutionary trait that you unlocked deep within your primal instincts.
Your peaceful bliss was interrupted by one of their shiny phones. You smiled and plucked it up with your fingers, and answered the RESTRICTED number with a satisfied coo that melted into your voice and words.
“I’m sorry, but the person you have called is now dead, thanks to Ripper.” | |
[WP] It suddenly becomes possible to gain XP and level up in the real world, but you can only do so by getting kills. | **Adam**: "Please, don't try anything you're about to see us do, at home."
**Jaimie**: "Ever!"
\**Intro starts*\*
**Today on Mythbusters, Adam and Jaimie will experience, just how experience works. They'll settle the score with a controversial issue, and... get a little philosophical. Adam Savage, Jaimie Hyneman, between them more than 40 years of special effects experience... etc. etc.**
*Adam is busy cleaning his hands. Jaimie comes into focus.*
**Jaimie speaks up**: "So what do the fans want this time?"
**Adam turns**: "Glad, you asked! Right now, everyone is still getting used to this whole "video-gamey" system with its up and downs and beeps and boops. This wasn't exactly a myth per say, but people wanted us to find out how it all works."
**Jaimie**: "Well seems pretty straightforward to me. You kill something and it makes you stronger; it's survival of the fittest in a way... So are you still washing your hands?"
**Adam**: "That's just it! We know the basics, but want to know the details, like... how much experience, if any, do we get from killing germs? Do different things give different amounts? And how can we use explosions to get exciting results?"
**Jaimie**: "I can think of a few ways we can setup this experiment and get those results."
**Adam**: "As can I. Let's get to work!"
-----
**While Adam and Jaimie get all the mechanics of their experiment in order, Kari, Grant, and Tory tackle something bigger.**
*The Build Team stand in the workshop building.*
**Kari**: "So now that life is a bit different and exciting in many ways, our fans wanted us to settle a pretty heavy issue."
**Tory**: "What kind of issue?"
**Kari**: "They want to know... when does life begin? Is abortion killing a life, or removing a fetus?"
**Tory and Grant**: "Woah."
**Tory**: "I'm surprised we're allowed to tackle this... but I guess no one else is willing to."
**Grant**: "Who even decided to turn to us for something this big?"
**Kari**: "I'm actually pretty excited about this! In fact, I know just how to start this off! We're going to first test the myth that inanimate objects *can* gain experience and level up."
**Tory**: "You mean like a chair or a book; well, both of those were made up of living things once.
**Kari**: "Right. If we find out if inanimate objects can get experience or not, then we can then see how to determine that hard-to-find moment of conception and life."
**Tory**: "Oh! How about using Buster?"
**Grant**: "I can do you even better! I'll design a machine that'll have him leveling up in no time!"
**Kari**: "Well... I guess I'm left with finding things to get experience from."
-----
**Coming up... Will Adam and Jaimie find the perfect build? Can Buster gain a few levels?... etc. etc. **
\**Commercial about Chasing Storms or Selling Stuff at Auctions*\*
-----
(To be continued) | You understood.
After weeks spent in your dorm room watching late night documentaries on Yang Xinhai, Gary Ridgway, and Ted Bundy, and burying your nose into books on the Zodiac killer, on Son of Sam, and BTK, you understood.
After seeing your roommates’ quiet, brooding stares from the corner of your eye every so often, hearing her drop her medical tools down on her desk and work on sharpening scalpels with a new attention draw to the blades that replaced her carefree attitude, you understood.
After noticing the quiet, muffled conversations she and her boyfriend had while you slept, and hearing the mentions of more and more bodies at their morgue followed by FBI agents, you understood.
After glancing over their shiny new phones and computers and reading emails with CLASSIFIED screaming all over them, no worry about security or about you, you understood.
After hearing one of them behind you while you showered, his hot breath steaming across the cold water, his hand sliding down your back to find your spine while you hid behind carefree singing of a song to make him think you couldn’t feel those fingertips, you understood.
After silencing him with an elbow jab and a switch of who held the knife, you understood.
After you stepped out covered in a mix of his blood and the water, and seeing the shocked look stain her prideful, snarky face, and her eyes glance down to his head in your hands with a beginner’s realization, you understood.
After you quieted her with a towel to keep the neighbors from hearing, and bashed her face into the sink until it broke and she stopped squirming, you understood.
You understood the smile on your face when you looked in the mirror and ran your bloody hands over your cheekbones.You understood the warm, trickling feeling inside of your stomach that traveled up your chest and hugged your heart in comfort. You understood the indulges you shared with your father that he never explained and just silently ordered you to follow by his example. You understood the glint in your eye and the evolutionary trait that you unlocked deep within your primal instincts.
Your peaceful bliss was interrupted by one of their shiny phones. You smiled and plucked it up with your fingers, and answered the RESTRICTED number with a satisfied coo that melted into your voice and words.
“I’m sorry, but the person you have called is now dead, thanks to Ripper.” | |
[WP] It suddenly becomes possible to gain XP and level up in the real world, but you can only do so by getting kills. | The man sat behind a desk alone before me. He looked at me through tired eyes before speaking.
"I have to tell someone. You're the only one strong enough and trustworthy enough for me to tell.
I'm benevolent to all who come peacefully. I heal their injuries, cure their diseases, help them forget their pain. Those who come to take what I have? They die, and add their power to mine. No one can challenge me, not as I am today. Anyone who would have the power to do so would not risk their own lives with so many others still there to reap.
When the Changing happened, the world was plunged into chaos. Those who killed became stronger and unlocked new powers and abilities. These powers came in clusters; one type could summon the elements. Another could augment their strength and speed to superhuman levels. Another could mesmerize and control the minds of the weak.
I was a prison guard, a sharpshooter on the watchtowers. It wasn't long before the first set of Leveled came for the criminals locked in my facility. Unarmed and locked in cells, the prisoners would be easy prey. But I had my orders - prisoners were to be kept in, and the Leveled kept out. They were weak - no more than level 3 or 4. They died one after the other as my bullets entered their skulls. I gained 5 levels that day.
Most really powerful leveled folks were one of the destructive types. Me? I had healing. A little bit of radiant infusion to weapons, quite a bit of increased strength and endurance, but mostly healing. Wounds closed, infections just cleared up. Eventually the prisoners figured out what was going on with the Change and turned on each other, and we had to put them down to prevent them from killing each other and escaping. After the prisoners were gone, the other guards left - either to hide or seek their own strength. I stayed though. I opened the place up to the weak and infirm as a refuge. Became a bit of a leader or father to them. Every time we were assaulted, our foes were captured and brought before me. I served as judge, jury, and executioner. I protect my own, and I don't brook violence against them.
And so I grew stronger. The world has thinned out now - fewer and fewer people. Those who have survived have joined clans and gangs. I heard a rumor that out west someone's even trying to get a real city-state going. Killing doesn't happen much these days. But I just keep Leveling. Lost track of how many times now - hundreds, more than anyone I've ever heard of. My flock thinks I'm a gift from God, a holy prophet, their righteous protector. I'm not about to dispel that notion.
My quarters in this prison turned sanctuary are in the old solitary confinement area. No one is allowed back here but me, not since I consigned myself to my plan. You see, after a couple years of Leveling my healing got stronger and stronger. I could cure cancer, bring people back from mortal wounds. Then one day a stranger showed up. He was off in the head, wouldn't let me examine or try to heal him. That night he killed an old lady and the next morning we did what we had to. I put a bullet in his head and his light went out forever. I felt the now-familiar surge of power as I leveled up yet again. But this time it was a little different. I felt a compulsion... I walked up to the corpse of the man I'd just killed and laid my hand on his chest. Power surged through me and light surrounded me and the killer opened his eyes. *Resurrection*. I'd raised him from the dead.
I let someone else put him down after that. I retreated to my quarters, mind reeling. I felt a sense of honor and duty to my flock, but this gift... this new gift was amazing! What could I do with it? It was then that I knew how I would proceed.
No one's left to challenge me. But I keep getting stronger. No one sees me kill new victims - I even stepped down as executioner, allowing those I trust to take the lives that need to be taken. That's why you're my executioner, and you're the most powerful one in this place save myself. No one knows how I keep getting stronger and stronger. But I do. And now it's time once again."
The man, my leader, my prophet stood from his desk and walked to the walls. He pressed a button and a buzzer sounded throughout the solitary confinement area. 20 doors opened and the faint smell of death wafted out. The bodies were tied to chairs securely, their mouths gagged and their throats slit. Layer upon layer of dried blood covered their bindings, laps and the floor around them.
White light surrounded him as he raised his hands, looking as much like an angel as the man I knew. 20 lolling heads snapped up, screaming into the gags. Their eyes bulged wide and they strained against their bindings.
"They're criminals, the worst kind of men. Doomed to die. Still I don't know if anyone deserves this, day in, day out. But I do what I must." My prophet drew a long, sharp blade from his boot and advanced toward the first cell. | You understood.
After weeks spent in your dorm room watching late night documentaries on Yang Xinhai, Gary Ridgway, and Ted Bundy, and burying your nose into books on the Zodiac killer, on Son of Sam, and BTK, you understood.
After seeing your roommates’ quiet, brooding stares from the corner of your eye every so often, hearing her drop her medical tools down on her desk and work on sharpening scalpels with a new attention draw to the blades that replaced her carefree attitude, you understood.
After noticing the quiet, muffled conversations she and her boyfriend had while you slept, and hearing the mentions of more and more bodies at their morgue followed by FBI agents, you understood.
After glancing over their shiny new phones and computers and reading emails with CLASSIFIED screaming all over them, no worry about security or about you, you understood.
After hearing one of them behind you while you showered, his hot breath steaming across the cold water, his hand sliding down your back to find your spine while you hid behind carefree singing of a song to make him think you couldn’t feel those fingertips, you understood.
After silencing him with an elbow jab and a switch of who held the knife, you understood.
After you stepped out covered in a mix of his blood and the water, and seeing the shocked look stain her prideful, snarky face, and her eyes glance down to his head in your hands with a beginner’s realization, you understood.
After you quieted her with a towel to keep the neighbors from hearing, and bashed her face into the sink until it broke and she stopped squirming, you understood.
You understood the smile on your face when you looked in the mirror and ran your bloody hands over your cheekbones.You understood the warm, trickling feeling inside of your stomach that traveled up your chest and hugged your heart in comfort. You understood the indulges you shared with your father that he never explained and just silently ordered you to follow by his example. You understood the glint in your eye and the evolutionary trait that you unlocked deep within your primal instincts.
Your peaceful bliss was interrupted by one of their shiny phones. You smiled and plucked it up with your fingers, and answered the RESTRICTED number with a satisfied coo that melted into your voice and words.
“I’m sorry, but the person you have called is now dead, thanks to Ripper.” | |
[WP] It suddenly becomes possible to gain XP and level up in the real world, but you can only do so by getting kills. | The room was filled with so many different people. Most of them were frail, older ones who had no family, but there were also younger ones who were sick and had no hope in life. There were a handful of ones in jumpsuits, obviously hardened criminals who were there against their will. But what made me hesitate was seeing the young, healthy ones. They had no business being here. Who let them in here?
"You need to do this. There's no other way! "
"But some of them shouldn't be here!"
"We don't have much time. There's no time for debate"
He was right.
Every since the one that we call "The Stranger" decided to go on a shooting rampage, nobody has been able to take him down. The Stranger started his rampage at a crowded mall, leveling up faster than anyone has known. Swat couldn't take him down. He was too high of a level. Before we knew it, he wiped out so many that even the military couldn't take him. His level has gotten so high, we had no choice but to acquiesce to his demands. That was 2 years ago. Today, we all live under his control.
There had been assassination attempts by many, but none had even come close to making him bleed. The only way would be for someone of an equally high level to kill him. I was the unfortunate one nominated to do the deed.
Though there was an initial hesitation, I pulled the trigger. Within seconds, the entire room had been wiped out. All gunned down. I felt stronger.
This was the last one. How many times have I done this? I've lost count. But I had a feeling this was enough.
Rooms and rooms filled with men, women, and children, most of them volunteering for the greater good, all gunned down in the past 24 hours.
It's finally over.
"Good job".
I was handed a gun.
"You are strong enough to take out The Stranger with just one bullet."
I'm a little relieved. It's almost over.
I could hear my sister cry out, "why do we have to do it this way? Please come back. Please."
I looked at her and said, "even good people will become corrupt when they possess too much power. Maybe it won't happen today, or tomorrow, but one day it will. I can't take those chances".
I checked the gun. Two bullets. Good.
| "Hold on, I've gotta do my pre-homework before we go," Keisha says. Your girlfriend walks into her bedroom, the glow of a shop light over a tank silhouetting her.
"Keisha, we're gonna be late," you complain.
Her voice is muffled by the wall between you. "I just want to make sure I do well on this test. I need at least 300 hp before I even begin studying."
You can see her hand poised above the huge ant farm, ready to smash down on top of millions of ants on a slice of apple.
"Keisha, stop! That's too intimate! It's like you're peeing in front of me!" you say, covering your eyes. She turns around, flashing a flirty smile.
"At least I use ants like a normal person. Close the door if you're so grossed out!"
You close the door and sink into the living room couch. A couple minutes go by, and Keisha leaves the bedroom.
"Have you ever known someone that didn't use ants?" you ask.
"No. I heard there's this really weird physics major who uses chipmunks and mice and stuff before tests so he can max out. With a knife! I don't think it's true though."
"I know some vegans who use vegetables. It's worth like, a quarter point for every plant. They seem happy though, so that's cool," you say. You both stand and begin walking out of the apartment and towards the car.
"That's just way too extreme for me. Why not just use invasive ants?" she asks. "They're just so convenient. Sure, you have to kill a lot of them, but their plentiful and easy to kill. I can't imagine ever using something you couldn't breed in your own home."
"Now that we have the HP Cap Laws, I don't really care what people use," you say. "It's just not fair that people would use cows and elephants and stuff in the past. Although, I've heard the president still dips into endangered species every once in a while."
"Oh, that old conspiracy theory? You know you can access his HP logs online, right? It's all made up," Keisha says. "Oh my god, did you hear about Ryan?"
This was shocking. Ryan is a close friend of yours, but you haven't heard from him in a couple days.
"I meant to tell you right when you came over, but it slipped my mind!" Keisha explains.
"What happened?"
"He was caught killing twice as many ants as his allowance trying to double major without permission. Apparently he didn't want to choose between biology and chemistry by the end of sophomore year, but he missed the deadline to declare. So he forged the papers to each department, used a shit ton of ants, maxed out on the categories he needed to, and aced the tests."
"Fuck... fuck, that's so bad. Was he expelled?" you ask.
"It's still under investigation, but the police got in on it too. No one has really talked to him since it all went down. He got a penalty of -5 levels in each category though."
"That's terrible. Let's try go visit him!"
--------
Couldn't think how to wrap this up shortly, but here are ideas that could make this a much longer story:
-Serial killers get really powerful really quickly, which means policemen/military have to be maxed out completely in every level in order to deal with someone that gets out of control. Which is good/ absolutely terrible depending on the situation.
-People in power get to attain more XP secretly, meaning they are stronger and smarter than everyone, making citizens easy to oppress and suppress.
-No one can truly obtain their potential without very carefully selecting what category they want to spend their XP in. This means people are either experts in only one field, or people are jacks of all trades but best at none, depending on what kind of gamer they would be. | |
[WP] It suddenly becomes possible to gain XP and level up in the real world, but you can only do so by getting kills. | I love my job. I really do. I work in a kitchen. Oh, no, not as a cook. I am way to high level to be a freaking dish-maker. With a grin, I ready my weapon. Soon after we found out that people could level up and you need to kill in order to get XP, my hour came.
My level surpasses everyone elses. I have hoarded so many Points that I could learn any skill in a blink of an eye.
Because I kill so much. Movement. We opened again. I am able to hunt again. With only one hit, I see the body vaporize, liquids flying everywhere. And I already focus on my next victim...
"Danny?" I miss the hit, glare up to know who dares to interrupt me. It's the chief.
"Look Danny, I thank you for swatting all the flies, but we have those sticky things to get them. We really need you to wash the dishes or we have to let you go."
I sigh, put away my ultimate weapon and wander into the kitchen. They just want to stop me from becoming too powerful. Maybe I should show them their place... | "Hold on, I've gotta do my pre-homework before we go," Keisha says. Your girlfriend walks into her bedroom, the glow of a shop light over a tank silhouetting her.
"Keisha, we're gonna be late," you complain.
Her voice is muffled by the wall between you. "I just want to make sure I do well on this test. I need at least 300 hp before I even begin studying."
You can see her hand poised above the huge ant farm, ready to smash down on top of millions of ants on a slice of apple.
"Keisha, stop! That's too intimate! It's like you're peeing in front of me!" you say, covering your eyes. She turns around, flashing a flirty smile.
"At least I use ants like a normal person. Close the door if you're so grossed out!"
You close the door and sink into the living room couch. A couple minutes go by, and Keisha leaves the bedroom.
"Have you ever known someone that didn't use ants?" you ask.
"No. I heard there's this really weird physics major who uses chipmunks and mice and stuff before tests so he can max out. With a knife! I don't think it's true though."
"I know some vegans who use vegetables. It's worth like, a quarter point for every plant. They seem happy though, so that's cool," you say. You both stand and begin walking out of the apartment and towards the car.
"That's just way too extreme for me. Why not just use invasive ants?" she asks. "They're just so convenient. Sure, you have to kill a lot of them, but their plentiful and easy to kill. I can't imagine ever using something you couldn't breed in your own home."
"Now that we have the HP Cap Laws, I don't really care what people use," you say. "It's just not fair that people would use cows and elephants and stuff in the past. Although, I've heard the president still dips into endangered species every once in a while."
"Oh, that old conspiracy theory? You know you can access his HP logs online, right? It's all made up," Keisha says. "Oh my god, did you hear about Ryan?"
This was shocking. Ryan is a close friend of yours, but you haven't heard from him in a couple days.
"I meant to tell you right when you came over, but it slipped my mind!" Keisha explains.
"What happened?"
"He was caught killing twice as many ants as his allowance trying to double major without permission. Apparently he didn't want to choose between biology and chemistry by the end of sophomore year, but he missed the deadline to declare. So he forged the papers to each department, used a shit ton of ants, maxed out on the categories he needed to, and aced the tests."
"Fuck... fuck, that's so bad. Was he expelled?" you ask.
"It's still under investigation, but the police got in on it too. No one has really talked to him since it all went down. He got a penalty of -5 levels in each category though."
"That's terrible. Let's try go visit him!"
--------
Couldn't think how to wrap this up shortly, but here are ideas that could make this a much longer story:
-Serial killers get really powerful really quickly, which means policemen/military have to be maxed out completely in every level in order to deal with someone that gets out of control. Which is good/ absolutely terrible depending on the situation.
-People in power get to attain more XP secretly, meaning they are stronger and smarter than everyone, making citizens easy to oppress and suppress.
-No one can truly obtain their potential without very carefully selecting what category they want to spend their XP in. This means people are either experts in only one field, or people are jacks of all trades but best at none, depending on what kind of gamer they would be. | |
[WP] It suddenly becomes possible to gain XP and level up in the real world, but you can only do so by getting kills. | **Adam**: "Please, don't try anything you're about to see us do, at home."
**Jaimie**: "Ever!"
\**Intro starts*\*
**Today on Mythbusters, Adam and Jaimie will experience, just how experience works. They'll settle the score with a controversial issue, and... get a little philosophical. Adam Savage, Jaimie Hyneman, between them more than 40 years of special effects experience... etc. etc.**
*Adam is busy cleaning his hands. Jaimie comes into focus.*
**Jaimie speaks up**: "So what do the fans want this time?"
**Adam turns**: "Glad, you asked! Right now, everyone is still getting used to this whole "video-gamey" system with its up and downs and beeps and boops. This wasn't exactly a myth per say, but people wanted us to find out how it all works."
**Jaimie**: "Well seems pretty straightforward to me. You kill something and it makes you stronger; it's survival of the fittest in a way... So are you still washing your hands?"
**Adam**: "That's just it! We know the basics, but want to know the details, like... how much experience, if any, do we get from killing germs? Do different things give different amounts? And how can we use explosions to get exciting results?"
**Jaimie**: "I can think of a few ways we can setup this experiment and get those results."
**Adam**: "As can I. Let's get to work!"
-----
**While Adam and Jaimie get all the mechanics of their experiment in order, Kari, Grant, and Tory tackle something bigger.**
*The Build Team stand in the workshop building.*
**Kari**: "So now that life is a bit different and exciting in many ways, our fans wanted us to settle a pretty heavy issue."
**Tory**: "What kind of issue?"
**Kari**: "They want to know... when does life begin? Is abortion killing a life, or removing a fetus?"
**Tory and Grant**: "Woah."
**Tory**: "I'm surprised we're allowed to tackle this... but I guess no one else is willing to."
**Grant**: "Who even decided to turn to us for something this big?"
**Kari**: "I'm actually pretty excited about this! In fact, I know just how to start this off! We're going to first test the myth that inanimate objects *can* gain experience and level up."
**Tory**: "You mean like a chair or a book; well, both of those were made up of living things once.
**Kari**: "Right. If we find out if inanimate objects can get experience or not, then we can then see how to determine that hard-to-find moment of conception and life."
**Tory**: "Oh! How about using Buster?"
**Grant**: "I can do you even better! I'll design a machine that'll have him leveling up in no time!"
**Kari**: "Well... I guess I'm left with finding things to get experience from."
-----
**Coming up... Will Adam and Jaimie find the perfect build? Can Buster gain a few levels?... etc. etc. **
\**Commercial about Chasing Storms or Selling Stuff at Auctions*\*
-----
(To be continued) | "Hold on, I've gotta do my pre-homework before we go," Keisha says. Your girlfriend walks into her bedroom, the glow of a shop light over a tank silhouetting her.
"Keisha, we're gonna be late," you complain.
Her voice is muffled by the wall between you. "I just want to make sure I do well on this test. I need at least 300 hp before I even begin studying."
You can see her hand poised above the huge ant farm, ready to smash down on top of millions of ants on a slice of apple.
"Keisha, stop! That's too intimate! It's like you're peeing in front of me!" you say, covering your eyes. She turns around, flashing a flirty smile.
"At least I use ants like a normal person. Close the door if you're so grossed out!"
You close the door and sink into the living room couch. A couple minutes go by, and Keisha leaves the bedroom.
"Have you ever known someone that didn't use ants?" you ask.
"No. I heard there's this really weird physics major who uses chipmunks and mice and stuff before tests so he can max out. With a knife! I don't think it's true though."
"I know some vegans who use vegetables. It's worth like, a quarter point for every plant. They seem happy though, so that's cool," you say. You both stand and begin walking out of the apartment and towards the car.
"That's just way too extreme for me. Why not just use invasive ants?" she asks. "They're just so convenient. Sure, you have to kill a lot of them, but their plentiful and easy to kill. I can't imagine ever using something you couldn't breed in your own home."
"Now that we have the HP Cap Laws, I don't really care what people use," you say. "It's just not fair that people would use cows and elephants and stuff in the past. Although, I've heard the president still dips into endangered species every once in a while."
"Oh, that old conspiracy theory? You know you can access his HP logs online, right? It's all made up," Keisha says. "Oh my god, did you hear about Ryan?"
This was shocking. Ryan is a close friend of yours, but you haven't heard from him in a couple days.
"I meant to tell you right when you came over, but it slipped my mind!" Keisha explains.
"What happened?"
"He was caught killing twice as many ants as his allowance trying to double major without permission. Apparently he didn't want to choose between biology and chemistry by the end of sophomore year, but he missed the deadline to declare. So he forged the papers to each department, used a shit ton of ants, maxed out on the categories he needed to, and aced the tests."
"Fuck... fuck, that's so bad. Was he expelled?" you ask.
"It's still under investigation, but the police got in on it too. No one has really talked to him since it all went down. He got a penalty of -5 levels in each category though."
"That's terrible. Let's try go visit him!"
--------
Couldn't think how to wrap this up shortly, but here are ideas that could make this a much longer story:
-Serial killers get really powerful really quickly, which means policemen/military have to be maxed out completely in every level in order to deal with someone that gets out of control. Which is good/ absolutely terrible depending on the situation.
-People in power get to attain more XP secretly, meaning they are stronger and smarter than everyone, making citizens easy to oppress and suppress.
-No one can truly obtain their potential without very carefully selecting what category they want to spend their XP in. This means people are either experts in only one field, or people are jacks of all trades but best at none, depending on what kind of gamer they would be. | |
[WP] It suddenly becomes possible to gain XP and level up in the real world, but you can only do so by getting kills. | The man sat behind a desk alone before me. He looked at me through tired eyes before speaking.
"I have to tell someone. You're the only one strong enough and trustworthy enough for me to tell.
I'm benevolent to all who come peacefully. I heal their injuries, cure their diseases, help them forget their pain. Those who come to take what I have? They die, and add their power to mine. No one can challenge me, not as I am today. Anyone who would have the power to do so would not risk their own lives with so many others still there to reap.
When the Changing happened, the world was plunged into chaos. Those who killed became stronger and unlocked new powers and abilities. These powers came in clusters; one type could summon the elements. Another could augment their strength and speed to superhuman levels. Another could mesmerize and control the minds of the weak.
I was a prison guard, a sharpshooter on the watchtowers. It wasn't long before the first set of Leveled came for the criminals locked in my facility. Unarmed and locked in cells, the prisoners would be easy prey. But I had my orders - prisoners were to be kept in, and the Leveled kept out. They were weak - no more than level 3 or 4. They died one after the other as my bullets entered their skulls. I gained 5 levels that day.
Most really powerful leveled folks were one of the destructive types. Me? I had healing. A little bit of radiant infusion to weapons, quite a bit of increased strength and endurance, but mostly healing. Wounds closed, infections just cleared up. Eventually the prisoners figured out what was going on with the Change and turned on each other, and we had to put them down to prevent them from killing each other and escaping. After the prisoners were gone, the other guards left - either to hide or seek their own strength. I stayed though. I opened the place up to the weak and infirm as a refuge. Became a bit of a leader or father to them. Every time we were assaulted, our foes were captured and brought before me. I served as judge, jury, and executioner. I protect my own, and I don't brook violence against them.
And so I grew stronger. The world has thinned out now - fewer and fewer people. Those who have survived have joined clans and gangs. I heard a rumor that out west someone's even trying to get a real city-state going. Killing doesn't happen much these days. But I just keep Leveling. Lost track of how many times now - hundreds, more than anyone I've ever heard of. My flock thinks I'm a gift from God, a holy prophet, their righteous protector. I'm not about to dispel that notion.
My quarters in this prison turned sanctuary are in the old solitary confinement area. No one is allowed back here but me, not since I consigned myself to my plan. You see, after a couple years of Leveling my healing got stronger and stronger. I could cure cancer, bring people back from mortal wounds. Then one day a stranger showed up. He was off in the head, wouldn't let me examine or try to heal him. That night he killed an old lady and the next morning we did what we had to. I put a bullet in his head and his light went out forever. I felt the now-familiar surge of power as I leveled up yet again. But this time it was a little different. I felt a compulsion... I walked up to the corpse of the man I'd just killed and laid my hand on his chest. Power surged through me and light surrounded me and the killer opened his eyes. *Resurrection*. I'd raised him from the dead.
I let someone else put him down after that. I retreated to my quarters, mind reeling. I felt a sense of honor and duty to my flock, but this gift... this new gift was amazing! What could I do with it? It was then that I knew how I would proceed.
No one's left to challenge me. But I keep getting stronger. No one sees me kill new victims - I even stepped down as executioner, allowing those I trust to take the lives that need to be taken. That's why you're my executioner, and you're the most powerful one in this place save myself. No one knows how I keep getting stronger and stronger. But I do. And now it's time once again."
The man, my leader, my prophet stood from his desk and walked to the walls. He pressed a button and a buzzer sounded throughout the solitary confinement area. 20 doors opened and the faint smell of death wafted out. The bodies were tied to chairs securely, their mouths gagged and their throats slit. Layer upon layer of dried blood covered their bindings, laps and the floor around them.
White light surrounded him as he raised his hands, looking as much like an angel as the man I knew. 20 lolling heads snapped up, screaming into the gags. Their eyes bulged wide and they strained against their bindings.
"They're criminals, the worst kind of men. Doomed to die. Still I don't know if anyone deserves this, day in, day out. But I do what I must." My prophet drew a long, sharp blade from his boot and advanced toward the first cell. | The sound of tires screeching came from above. I looked up to see a convertible shoot off the overpass. It sailed overhead and into the ditch of the road below. Fumbling with my cell as I rushed from the sidewalk across the street when I was hit by a blast of heat as the car exploded. Standing in the median on the phone "There's just been an accident by the overpass outside of town. The car broke through the railing and exploded..." I hear the sound of banging on metal from the wreckage. "Oh god, they're still alive I hear movement inside there, please send someone quickly." A loud bang, followed by another that causes the half crumpled car door to fly open. A man with a soot stained long white long coat and a hair net crawls out the door of the upside down car. He throws his smouldering hair net from his head and idly picks a bit of melted dashboard plastic off of his hands, completely unconcerned with the inferno raging a few feet away. Baffled and ignoring the 911 operator on the phone I stammer "Are you OK?"
"Yeah, just fine. Shame about the car though." He says, walking closer so he doesn't have to shout over the sound of roaring flames, completely ignoring the vehicle changing lanes to avoid his burning car.
"How did you survive that? You aren't even hurt!"
"Its fine. I work at the chicken factory down the road. I'm level 220. 1 XP each really adds up." Another truck slowing down and changing lanes to avoid the smokey wreckage. "I better get going, thanks for coming to help." He nimbly jumps into the back of the moving pickup and waves goodbye as the oblivious driver passes the accident and starts to pick up speed again. | |
[WP] It suddenly becomes possible to gain XP and level up in the real world, but you can only do so by getting kills. | No one really understood how it happened, but the leading theory was that a new sort of virus, One that interfaced perfectly between our cognitive implants and the actual biology of the brain had been unnaturally created, possibly as a weapon, and infected the population.
Social institutions declined slowly at first, then at an increasingly apocolyptic rate. Things held together for the first month or so, but after a lone bomber boosted himself to level 40 by killing hundreds in a single strike, and then evaded capture using his newfound super-abilities, shit hit the fan. Cities are now flaming warzones. Suburbia is a blood-soaked no man's land. Until there is a winner, no civilization will function again.
The funniest thing about the entire clusterfuck was the enormous advantage gamers held. We understood how to farm. My physically inept group of friends and I took the first opportunity we could to head to a slaughterhouse. Granted, a pig gives you less EXP than a person, but it's a hell of a lot easier and less dangerous to kill 5 pigs than 1 person. The results were astounding. Leveling up was natural selection on insanely powerful steroids. The virus mutated to each individual's strengths and weaknesses. My friend Alvin with diabetes and asthma, who turned out to be dynamite with a shotgun, immediately leveled out of both. By level 5 he looked more like The Terminator than the pasty kid who liked 40K I had known him to be. To watch someone level up is to witness instantaneous euphoric mutation. By the time Alvin died he could have been a space marine. I like to think that made him very happy, even as I ripped out his throat.
I was always a quiet kid. Before the game I had made it my business to avoid any trouble or negative attention. These days I can turn entirely invisible, and no, I don't have to "reveal myself" to attack. The last thing my victims see is a slight shimmer in the air if the sun shines brightly, or nothing at all if it is dark. My shape has become more lupine , my teeth are now fangs, and my knuckles hide retractable claws. My wounds heal faster than physically possible, and I can go for extended periods without eating, drinking, or sleeping. I spend my my days far out in the wilderness. Places man never really touched before the game, and have since been long forgotten. I hunt. I eat. I level once in a great while, but my life is lonely, and devoid of much of what you might call "living". In the end though, it is better than death. | The sound of tires screeching came from above. I looked up to see a convertible shoot off the overpass. It sailed overhead and into the ditch of the road below. Fumbling with my cell as I rushed from the sidewalk across the street when I was hit by a blast of heat as the car exploded. Standing in the median on the phone "There's just been an accident by the overpass outside of town. The car broke through the railing and exploded..." I hear the sound of banging on metal from the wreckage. "Oh god, they're still alive I hear movement inside there, please send someone quickly." A loud bang, followed by another that causes the half crumpled car door to fly open. A man with a soot stained long white long coat and a hair net crawls out the door of the upside down car. He throws his smouldering hair net from his head and idly picks a bit of melted dashboard plastic off of his hands, completely unconcerned with the inferno raging a few feet away. Baffled and ignoring the 911 operator on the phone I stammer "Are you OK?"
"Yeah, just fine. Shame about the car though." He says, walking closer so he doesn't have to shout over the sound of roaring flames, completely ignoring the vehicle changing lanes to avoid his burning car.
"How did you survive that? You aren't even hurt!"
"Its fine. I work at the chicken factory down the road. I'm level 220. 1 XP each really adds up." Another truck slowing down and changing lanes to avoid the smokey wreckage. "I better get going, thanks for coming to help." He nimbly jumps into the back of the moving pickup and waves goodbye as the oblivious driver passes the accident and starts to pick up speed again. | |
[WP] It suddenly becomes possible to gain XP and level up in the real world, but you can only do so by getting kills. | *Kill one man, and you are a murderer.*
I got my first set of kills fighting terrorists in a god forsaken hellhole. Most people feel that surge of power, when they take another life, but so few understand what they have gained. Of those who do, most put their skill points into strength, accuracy and the such, and are inevitably felled one by one on the battlefield. Fools.
*Kill millions of men, and you are a conqueror.*
I understand now, what drove the truly great and evil ones, the Hitlers, Stalins and Khans of history. Driving their forces forever forward into the destructive light, everyday a bit stronger. They lacked the technology that they needed, but they drove towards that same goal nonetheless. Charisma and intelligence were the true keys, allowing you to move onwards.
*Kill them all, and you are a god.*
Will it turn out that way? Only one way to find out.
"Mr. President. We are at DEFCON 1. Your orders, sir?" | The sound of tires screeching came from above. I looked up to see a convertible shoot off the overpass. It sailed overhead and into the ditch of the road below. Fumbling with my cell as I rushed from the sidewalk across the street when I was hit by a blast of heat as the car exploded. Standing in the median on the phone "There's just been an accident by the overpass outside of town. The car broke through the railing and exploded..." I hear the sound of banging on metal from the wreckage. "Oh god, they're still alive I hear movement inside there, please send someone quickly." A loud bang, followed by another that causes the half crumpled car door to fly open. A man with a soot stained long white long coat and a hair net crawls out the door of the upside down car. He throws his smouldering hair net from his head and idly picks a bit of melted dashboard plastic off of his hands, completely unconcerned with the inferno raging a few feet away. Baffled and ignoring the 911 operator on the phone I stammer "Are you OK?"
"Yeah, just fine. Shame about the car though." He says, walking closer so he doesn't have to shout over the sound of roaring flames, completely ignoring the vehicle changing lanes to avoid his burning car.
"How did you survive that? You aren't even hurt!"
"Its fine. I work at the chicken factory down the road. I'm level 220. 1 XP each really adds up." Another truck slowing down and changing lanes to avoid the smokey wreckage. "I better get going, thanks for coming to help." He nimbly jumps into the back of the moving pickup and waves goodbye as the oblivious driver passes the accident and starts to pick up speed again. | |
[WP] It suddenly becomes possible to gain XP and level up in the real world, but you can only do so by getting kills. | No one really understood how it happened, but the leading theory was that a new sort of virus, One that interfaced perfectly between our cognitive implants and the actual biology of the brain had been unnaturally created, possibly as a weapon, and infected the population.
Social institutions declined slowly at first, then at an increasingly apocolyptic rate. Things held together for the first month or so, but after a lone bomber boosted himself to level 40 by killing hundreds in a single strike, and then evaded capture using his newfound super-abilities, shit hit the fan. Cities are now flaming warzones. Suburbia is a blood-soaked no man's land. Until there is a winner, no civilization will function again.
The funniest thing about the entire clusterfuck was the enormous advantage gamers held. We understood how to farm. My physically inept group of friends and I took the first opportunity we could to head to a slaughterhouse. Granted, a pig gives you less EXP than a person, but it's a hell of a lot easier and less dangerous to kill 5 pigs than 1 person. The results were astounding. Leveling up was natural selection on insanely powerful steroids. The virus mutated to each individual's strengths and weaknesses. My friend Alvin with diabetes and asthma, who turned out to be dynamite with a shotgun, immediately leveled out of both. By level 5 he looked more like The Terminator than the pasty kid who liked 40K I had known him to be. To watch someone level up is to witness instantaneous euphoric mutation. By the time Alvin died he could have been a space marine. I like to think that made him very happy, even as I ripped out his throat.
I was always a quiet kid. Before the game I had made it my business to avoid any trouble or negative attention. These days I can turn entirely invisible, and no, I don't have to "reveal myself" to attack. The last thing my victims see is a slight shimmer in the air if the sun shines brightly, or nothing at all if it is dark. My shape has become more lupine , my teeth are now fangs, and my knuckles hide retractable claws. My wounds heal faster than physically possible, and I can go for extended periods without eating, drinking, or sleeping. I spend my my days far out in the wilderness. Places man never really touched before the game, and have since been long forgotten. I hunt. I eat. I level once in a great while, but my life is lonely, and devoid of much of what you might call "living". In the end though, it is better than death. | Hundreds of feet underwater, no one can get me. Void of society, the submarine's resources slowly lowered with my sanity, weathering away. Those murderers were far from me, along with their knives, guns, and bombs. I was alone.
It started three years ago. Suddenly the murderers in the prison became stronger and smarter, while the foundation of civil society slowly deteriorated, until it broke. Gangs were formed and broken, families destroyed, countries collapsed into thousands of gang states. I was one of the lucky ones.
Of course there were others on the submarine, but they died early, due to sickness, or something like that. I am about to break soon, and there is only one thing that can help me. Murder.
Let's face it, everyone alive now is a murderer in one way or another. A few more deaths would only do the world good. I kicked open a door that housed the elixir my disease of insanity. Then I saw it.
I forgot to mention, this was a nuclear submarine. In what felt like one my last movements before an inevitable dive into insanity, I pressed down on the button that would make me the strongest person in the world.
I resurfaced the boat, as power radiated from my body. It was time for a new era. My era.
| |
[WP] It suddenly becomes possible to gain XP and level up in the real world, but you can only do so by getting kills. | *Kill one man, and you are a murderer.*
I got my first set of kills fighting terrorists in a god forsaken hellhole. Most people feel that surge of power, when they take another life, but so few understand what they have gained. Of those who do, most put their skill points into strength, accuracy and the such, and are inevitably felled one by one on the battlefield. Fools.
*Kill millions of men, and you are a conqueror.*
I understand now, what drove the truly great and evil ones, the Hitlers, Stalins and Khans of history. Driving their forces forever forward into the destructive light, everyday a bit stronger. They lacked the technology that they needed, but they drove towards that same goal nonetheless. Charisma and intelligence were the true keys, allowing you to move onwards.
*Kill them all, and you are a god.*
Will it turn out that way? Only one way to find out.
"Mr. President. We are at DEFCON 1. Your orders, sir?" | Hundreds of feet underwater, no one can get me. Void of society, the submarine's resources slowly lowered with my sanity, weathering away. Those murderers were far from me, along with their knives, guns, and bombs. I was alone.
It started three years ago. Suddenly the murderers in the prison became stronger and smarter, while the foundation of civil society slowly deteriorated, until it broke. Gangs were formed and broken, families destroyed, countries collapsed into thousands of gang states. I was one of the lucky ones.
Of course there were others on the submarine, but they died early, due to sickness, or something like that. I am about to break soon, and there is only one thing that can help me. Murder.
Let's face it, everyone alive now is a murderer in one way or another. A few more deaths would only do the world good. I kicked open a door that housed the elixir my disease of insanity. Then I saw it.
I forgot to mention, this was a nuclear submarine. In what felt like one my last movements before an inevitable dive into insanity, I pressed down on the button that would make me the strongest person in the world.
I resurfaced the boat, as power radiated from my body. It was time for a new era. My era.
| |
[WP] It suddenly becomes possible to gain XP and level up in the real world, but you can only do so by getting kills. | It was a harsh world.
My father was one of the first to level up. He killed my mother and my brother to gain power. He only left me alive to raise a daughter.
Laws didn't apply to anyone. It was every man for himself.
But the stronger you are, the more EXP you're worth. Rankings never stayed constant, beyond the top five people. My father was one of them.
To kill them would raise you to the top, but they were experts at killing. It was a death wish to try and take them out.
I could never kill. I was scared of even harming bugs. I was a disappointment to my father, and sometimes I wondered why he never killed me.
He never showed me much love, as expected from a serial killer. I was just a tool for him to use. I would throw out the dead bodies for him, or scout for potential victims.
He never once feared me.
I remember when the game was first revealed. A broadcast to every nation in the world.
People killed for the dream - to be level 100. The first person to reach level 100 could become a god.
It was too good to be true.
Every level presented upgrades - enhancing your strength, your agility, your stamina. The first few murderers suddenly became more powerful. It didn't take long for people to believe the game was real. Governments fell. Nothing was there to keep order, and cooperations began to exploit their workers even more.
Everyone was determined to become a god.
My father was close to becoming level 100, but the higher you got the more kills it took. Soon, competition between the highest ranking players got rough.
They started to take each other out.
My father started first, taking someone the same level as him out. It was a tough battle, and he nearly lost an eye. But he watched his level finally go up, to 95.
I wondered a lot at times, what would my father do if he became a god?
Would he become a world leader? Would he bring my mother and brother back?
Or would he continue this sick game?
I lost hope in everyone. It felt like a nightmare I couldn't escape. I had two options to end this dream.
To kill myself, or to kill others.
I thought about it for a while - I wanted to die. My family was dead and my father was a serial killer.
I could never kill people. Never. But after years of taking out literal corpses, and after years of witnessing this world, I realized something.
The only way to escape this hell is to create the world anew.
I don't know how I got the courage, but I did. My father slept peacefully, and never had his guard up with me. He knew I would never hurt him. I was too weak.
I gave him a quick death, slicing his throat. He woke up right when it sliced his throat, and he only had a few seconds to react. He looked at me with surprise, but I stabbed directly into his heart.
I watched a bar appear over my head, quickly bringing me to level 80. He was worth that much.
Blood was all over my clothes, and I cried for a bit. I couldn't believe I could have really killed him.
But this wasn't enough. I needed more. I needed to become a God.
I decided I would only target the highest ranking players - the worst offenders of this game. If I had to kill, I would kill the scum first.
I will become a God, and I will clean this world. I will stop this madness.
If I don't fall into madness first, that is.
| Hundreds of feet underwater, no one can get me. Void of society, the submarine's resources slowly lowered with my sanity, weathering away. Those murderers were far from me, along with their knives, guns, and bombs. I was alone.
It started three years ago. Suddenly the murderers in the prison became stronger and smarter, while the foundation of civil society slowly deteriorated, until it broke. Gangs were formed and broken, families destroyed, countries collapsed into thousands of gang states. I was one of the lucky ones.
Of course there were others on the submarine, but they died early, due to sickness, or something like that. I am about to break soon, and there is only one thing that can help me. Murder.
Let's face it, everyone alive now is a murderer in one way or another. A few more deaths would only do the world good. I kicked open a door that housed the elixir my disease of insanity. Then I saw it.
I forgot to mention, this was a nuclear submarine. In what felt like one my last movements before an inevitable dive into insanity, I pressed down on the button that would make me the strongest person in the world.
I resurfaced the boat, as power radiated from my body. It was time for a new era. My era.
| |
[WP] It suddenly becomes possible to gain XP and level up in the real world, but you can only do so by getting kills. | *Kill one man, and you are a murderer.*
I got my first set of kills fighting terrorists in a god forsaken hellhole. Most people feel that surge of power, when they take another life, but so few understand what they have gained. Of those who do, most put their skill points into strength, accuracy and the such, and are inevitably felled one by one on the battlefield. Fools.
*Kill millions of men, and you are a conqueror.*
I understand now, what drove the truly great and evil ones, the Hitlers, Stalins and Khans of history. Driving their forces forever forward into the destructive light, everyday a bit stronger. They lacked the technology that they needed, but they drove towards that same goal nonetheless. Charisma and intelligence were the true keys, allowing you to move onwards.
*Kill them all, and you are a god.*
Will it turn out that way? Only one way to find out.
"Mr. President. We are at DEFCON 1. Your orders, sir?" | No one really understood how it happened, but the leading theory was that a new sort of virus, One that interfaced perfectly between our cognitive implants and the actual biology of the brain had been unnaturally created, possibly as a weapon, and infected the population.
Social institutions declined slowly at first, then at an increasingly apocolyptic rate. Things held together for the first month or so, but after a lone bomber boosted himself to level 40 by killing hundreds in a single strike, and then evaded capture using his newfound super-abilities, shit hit the fan. Cities are now flaming warzones. Suburbia is a blood-soaked no man's land. Until there is a winner, no civilization will function again.
The funniest thing about the entire clusterfuck was the enormous advantage gamers held. We understood how to farm. My physically inept group of friends and I took the first opportunity we could to head to a slaughterhouse. Granted, a pig gives you less EXP than a person, but it's a hell of a lot easier and less dangerous to kill 5 pigs than 1 person. The results were astounding. Leveling up was natural selection on insanely powerful steroids. The virus mutated to each individual's strengths and weaknesses. My friend Alvin with diabetes and asthma, who turned out to be dynamite with a shotgun, immediately leveled out of both. By level 5 he looked more like The Terminator than the pasty kid who liked 40K I had known him to be. To watch someone level up is to witness instantaneous euphoric mutation. By the time Alvin died he could have been a space marine. I like to think that made him very happy, even as I ripped out his throat.
I was always a quiet kid. Before the game I had made it my business to avoid any trouble or negative attention. These days I can turn entirely invisible, and no, I don't have to "reveal myself" to attack. The last thing my victims see is a slight shimmer in the air if the sun shines brightly, or nothing at all if it is dark. My shape has become more lupine , my teeth are now fangs, and my knuckles hide retractable claws. My wounds heal faster than physically possible, and I can go for extended periods without eating, drinking, or sleeping. I spend my my days far out in the wilderness. Places man never really touched before the game, and have since been long forgotten. I hunt. I eat. I level once in a great while, but my life is lonely, and devoid of much of what you might call "living". In the end though, it is better than death. | |
[WP] It suddenly becomes possible to gain XP and level up in the real world, but you can only do so by getting kills. | We are not born destined for great things.
Through our experiences in our limited time on this mortal coil, we determine whether we achieve greatness, thrive in mediocrity, or drown in degeneracy. We shape the world around us through our actions and indirectly, through the actions we inspire in others. Our decisions ripple outward and change the fate of the world.
These thoughts rode with me as I stood over the termite mound. A 55-gallon drum of Raid sat beside me, connected to a compressor and a nozzle in my hand. I flicked the compressor on.
That was the day I achieved greatness. The day my ripple spread across the world.
The day I became a god. | Human history has told us we kill because of hate, because of differences, that we fire on our kind for peace or some high-minded goal. We've always held each other at gunpoint, whether literal or behind two large maps of the world with blinking lights. Today, we come to know that as peace, but before the words that passed those lips were stalemate. There was no difference between the two back then, but now we've forged one. Out of sheer necessity.
You see, peacetime is only a construct that exists because of war. Peace was a forgotten definition until the night of November eleventh, two-thousand and fifteen. See, that very night, the world seemed to tick over into another dimension, without even realising. Something cosmic happened, is all I can describe it as. The veil was lifted, some would say, the rules were changed. Murderers, told they were spurned forward by some sense of progress, continued. Serials grew larger, populations shrunk.
People became aware of what it meant to kill. What it meant to harvest someone's flesh for your own material gain. It was for some reason, some galactic hiccup that launched a bubble into the quaint stream of time, that all our realisations came at the same time.
I nursed the revolver in my hand, wiping the debris off the badges one by one. They were little pins, clips that the first shot had walked in with, claiming they gave him power. "Goddamnit, Wes, they're just pins," is what my mother had said, and what I said now to the morning breeze. I was still in my own home, a high vantage point in the shape of an upstate apartment. It was just me now, though. I'd collected their things, whatever offerings to the game they had. Each one was different, marking an individual for who they were, they were the modern passports. We called them pins.
Down there in the streets the thugs bashed at each other with upended signposts, shielding themselves with trashlids and broken hubcaps, caved in one side.
I winced as a mailbox came crashing down on a girl's head. Her arms went limp immediately.
I ducked, shuriken shot over me and cracked the window. The breeze greeted me, as did she, "Pins, love." Two words, usually it was one when you met someone new, but this time the gangs were feeling especially nice.
I had to think of something witty, otherwise it was all for naught, "You'll have to pry them off me." Well crap, there goes that opportunity. Screams and shouts from below welcome my fate if I choose to jump. "Oh boy," I swerved and flung the revolver out, finger wrestling the trigger.
She was gone. I stood up, my eyes browsing the wooden panelling along the condo's pillars. A flash of pink, and I fired. Straight from the hip. I'd like to think of myself as a sharpshooter from the old west, but my aim disagreed. "Fuck," I cursed as my flatscreen heaved with a mighty groan and crashed onto the floor. It took my Eastwood movies with it, like a wall of dominoes coming down.
"Nice aim," she said, from somewhere to my left. Another shot, and a kettle blew steam. I'd like to think it was good I was hitting something, at least. A long, drawn out chuckle, with the sound of bubbles somewhere in her throat. "How did you survive this long?"
Oh this was a good opportunity. "Because I know the truth, little girl."
"Little girl?" She brought up her huge pigtails, coloured pink for some odd reason. Then she ducked as a painting on the far wall decided it had had enough with hanging.
"Yes, all this X.P nonsense that's been going around,"
She hefted herself up again, arms somewhat shaking from the adrenalin. "What, that the government made it up? Or is it a-" and ducked, there goes my favourite mug, "biological weapon?" My arm recoiled, my second favourite mug.
"Actually my favourite conspiracy was the one guy who thought we were all in an insane asylum, and the only way free was killing each other."
"Right," a pursed-lipped whackamole, "You do realise that he killed everyone else in his litle cult and got away with a mountain of pins?"
"Yep." No one understood the beauty of that one. "But really, that's not the truth."
"And what is?" she jumped back up, straight into the path of a bullet.
"Finally," I said, lowering my arms as the bullet travelled through her nose. She coughed and screamed for a moment, nothing that wouldn't be masked by the bloody war down below. My aim was true, she was still alive. It was not a fluke. Not at all. "The truth, little girl, is that you just have to believe." I jumped over the kitchen counter, nicking the back of my pants on the sharp corner. Damn, it is hard to find a tailour. Sliding across the marble, I landed right beside her with a thump, like we were two peas in a pod, hiding from the gunmen that had just stormed our inn.
But no, it wasn't that. I pressed the barrel to her forehead, and whispered. "It isn't that we get X.P from killing, pinhead. It's that we've just realised we do." She was grinning, because there were footsteps from the stairwell. She was only a scout, it seemed. It was nice that people could band together in times of trouble. "They're here, aren't they?" She nodded.
All throughout human history, I told myself as the slug entered her frontal lobe, causing her last few words to be a jumble of forgotten tongues, we've killed each other. We told ourselves it was something high-minded, or something important. That we fought for causes, that we fought for something real, no matter how intangible.
I stood up from behind the counter, wearing my secondhand blazer across myself like a poncho. If it was my last stand, I would like to go out in style. The truth, at the end of the day was, we killed everyone for X.P. All the damn time, it shouldn't have taken us this long to realise it.
I aimed straight at the loosened doorframe, hand on the hammer. To those who say that's impossible, human technology and progress has been in leaps and bounds because of the abolition and denial of such horrible things.
But to that, I say, with my pistol in my hand: How did you think we got that far? | |
[WP] It suddenly becomes possible to gain XP and level up in the real world, but you can only do so by getting kills. | *Kill one man, and you are a murderer.*
I got my first set of kills fighting terrorists in a god forsaken hellhole. Most people feel that surge of power, when they take another life, but so few understand what they have gained. Of those who do, most put their skill points into strength, accuracy and the such, and are inevitably felled one by one on the battlefield. Fools.
*Kill millions of men, and you are a conqueror.*
I understand now, what drove the truly great and evil ones, the Hitlers, Stalins and Khans of history. Driving their forces forever forward into the destructive light, everyday a bit stronger. They lacked the technology that they needed, but they drove towards that same goal nonetheless. Charisma and intelligence were the true keys, allowing you to move onwards.
*Kill them all, and you are a god.*
Will it turn out that way? Only one way to find out.
"Mr. President. We are at DEFCON 1. Your orders, sir?" | Human history has told us we kill because of hate, because of differences, that we fire on our kind for peace or some high-minded goal. We've always held each other at gunpoint, whether literal or behind two large maps of the world with blinking lights. Today, we come to know that as peace, but before the words that passed those lips were stalemate. There was no difference between the two back then, but now we've forged one. Out of sheer necessity.
You see, peacetime is only a construct that exists because of war. Peace was a forgotten definition until the night of November eleventh, two-thousand and fifteen. See, that very night, the world seemed to tick over into another dimension, without even realising. Something cosmic happened, is all I can describe it as. The veil was lifted, some would say, the rules were changed. Murderers, told they were spurned forward by some sense of progress, continued. Serials grew larger, populations shrunk.
People became aware of what it meant to kill. What it meant to harvest someone's flesh for your own material gain. It was for some reason, some galactic hiccup that launched a bubble into the quaint stream of time, that all our realisations came at the same time.
I nursed the revolver in my hand, wiping the debris off the badges one by one. They were little pins, clips that the first shot had walked in with, claiming they gave him power. "Goddamnit, Wes, they're just pins," is what my mother had said, and what I said now to the morning breeze. I was still in my own home, a high vantage point in the shape of an upstate apartment. It was just me now, though. I'd collected their things, whatever offerings to the game they had. Each one was different, marking an individual for who they were, they were the modern passports. We called them pins.
Down there in the streets the thugs bashed at each other with upended signposts, shielding themselves with trashlids and broken hubcaps, caved in one side.
I winced as a mailbox came crashing down on a girl's head. Her arms went limp immediately.
I ducked, shuriken shot over me and cracked the window. The breeze greeted me, as did she, "Pins, love." Two words, usually it was one when you met someone new, but this time the gangs were feeling especially nice.
I had to think of something witty, otherwise it was all for naught, "You'll have to pry them off me." Well crap, there goes that opportunity. Screams and shouts from below welcome my fate if I choose to jump. "Oh boy," I swerved and flung the revolver out, finger wrestling the trigger.
She was gone. I stood up, my eyes browsing the wooden panelling along the condo's pillars. A flash of pink, and I fired. Straight from the hip. I'd like to think of myself as a sharpshooter from the old west, but my aim disagreed. "Fuck," I cursed as my flatscreen heaved with a mighty groan and crashed onto the floor. It took my Eastwood movies with it, like a wall of dominoes coming down.
"Nice aim," she said, from somewhere to my left. Another shot, and a kettle blew steam. I'd like to think it was good I was hitting something, at least. A long, drawn out chuckle, with the sound of bubbles somewhere in her throat. "How did you survive this long?"
Oh this was a good opportunity. "Because I know the truth, little girl."
"Little girl?" She brought up her huge pigtails, coloured pink for some odd reason. Then she ducked as a painting on the far wall decided it had had enough with hanging.
"Yes, all this X.P nonsense that's been going around,"
She hefted herself up again, arms somewhat shaking from the adrenalin. "What, that the government made it up? Or is it a-" and ducked, there goes my favourite mug, "biological weapon?" My arm recoiled, my second favourite mug.
"Actually my favourite conspiracy was the one guy who thought we were all in an insane asylum, and the only way free was killing each other."
"Right," a pursed-lipped whackamole, "You do realise that he killed everyone else in his litle cult and got away with a mountain of pins?"
"Yep." No one understood the beauty of that one. "But really, that's not the truth."
"And what is?" she jumped back up, straight into the path of a bullet.
"Finally," I said, lowering my arms as the bullet travelled through her nose. She coughed and screamed for a moment, nothing that wouldn't be masked by the bloody war down below. My aim was true, she was still alive. It was not a fluke. Not at all. "The truth, little girl, is that you just have to believe." I jumped over the kitchen counter, nicking the back of my pants on the sharp corner. Damn, it is hard to find a tailour. Sliding across the marble, I landed right beside her with a thump, like we were two peas in a pod, hiding from the gunmen that had just stormed our inn.
But no, it wasn't that. I pressed the barrel to her forehead, and whispered. "It isn't that we get X.P from killing, pinhead. It's that we've just realised we do." She was grinning, because there were footsteps from the stairwell. She was only a scout, it seemed. It was nice that people could band together in times of trouble. "They're here, aren't they?" She nodded.
All throughout human history, I told myself as the slug entered her frontal lobe, causing her last few words to be a jumble of forgotten tongues, we've killed each other. We told ourselves it was something high-minded, or something important. That we fought for causes, that we fought for something real, no matter how intangible.
I stood up from behind the counter, wearing my secondhand blazer across myself like a poncho. If it was my last stand, I would like to go out in style. The truth, at the end of the day was, we killed everyone for X.P. All the damn time, it shouldn't have taken us this long to realise it.
I aimed straight at the loosened doorframe, hand on the hammer. To those who say that's impossible, human technology and progress has been in leaps and bounds because of the abolition and denial of such horrible things.
But to that, I say, with my pistol in my hand: How did you think we got that far? | |
[WP] It suddenly becomes possible to gain XP and level up in the real world, but you can only do so by getting kills. | There was an explanation.
Fermi had latched onto the beginning of the thread back in 1950, then Moravec and Bostrom gave it a tug, and the whole nasty thing came unraveled.
We had speculated this was the case, before the first pop-up Window materialized in front the face of that SEAL in Bahrain, asking him to spend skill points.
We had speculated, but hadn't considered the consequences.
There were a couple of immediate concerns, other than the possibility of mass psychosis. One: spending points *worked*. If they were spent in strength, the person became stronger. If it was spent in intelligence, a person's recall, three-dimensional reasoning, and logical capabilities went up. Where were these augmentations coming from? Clearly, the world was being changed. These *people* were being changed. How could this be? Energy was entering a closed system, without any visible source or entropic byproduct.
This meant that physics was now broken. People didn't panic about this *nearly as much* as they should have, lamented the physicists, but few understood the finer points of the conservation of energy.
Second, upon leveling, all of a person's injuries were healed.
Physicians made a secret pact fairly early on to not reveal that 'leveling' also healed *underlying* conditions as well, (as they evidently counted as 'status effects') to stop what would surely be a murderous rampage by the terminally ill, but the secret got out anyway. The societal consequences were... extreme.
It only got worse when it became clear that, while leveling could cure cancer, paralysis, and end-stage AIDS, it couldn't *fix* genetic conditions, all it could do was reverse the symptoms. To the horror of all, it became clear that they would have to level *periodically*, if they wanted to stay alive. Desperation overwhelmed ethics in some places. In others, the ill, who didn't wish to kill, would offer themselves as sacrifices to their fellow patients.
The last terrifying prospect emerged, when it became clear that the Window was an unimpeachable way of establishing guilt. A person's 'level' could be seen by *anyone*. The ethical ramifications of this were *staggering*. If a person was high-level, he or she was often held indefinitely, without trial, unless they could prove they were a surgeon, or some other *legitimately* lethal professional.
What was worse, the window would appear in front of those people who were *incrementally* responsible for someone's death. Windows popped in front of barmen and clerks of convenience store owners who sold cigarettes. They popped up in front of CEOs who cut wages and hours, who sent jobs to overseas factories where conditions were so bad, workers leaped off the roof to their deaths. In the past, the papers called those 'suicides'.
The Window told a different story.
The CEOs, a demographic mostly composed mostly of sociopaths, weren't much bothered by this. The tormented ones were the public. While the XP rewards were reduced to triviality by some unknown mechanic, (perhaps due to the *sheer quantity involved*) they were constantly harried by the chime and floating numbers, the constant parade of names from the Third World. (who died as a result of economic practices and governmental policies; things that, as citizens of democracies, they bore responsibility for) Presented with such transcendent and indisputable proof of their evil-doing, hundreds of thousands of the more moral citizens took to drinking.
The rest grit their teeth, and tried to ignore it. It was impossible. Governments an businesses found, to their chagrin, that lying about human costs was now untenable. Their profitability took a strong dip, but the world, funnily enough, improved.
Back to Fermi. Fermi had a paradox: given that the conditions for the formation of life are actually fairly common, and the incredible scale of time we have access to thanks to the relativistic speed of light, why don't we see more evidence of alien civilizations? A physicist named Fermat had a principle: a seemingly teleological one: Light takes the shortest path, to it's ultimate objective. How does it know it's objective? Einstein had a brain buster of his own: light, no matter the frame of reference, has the same velocity. Moravec and Bostrom put a bow on it:
All these things are true, because we are living in a simulation.
Think about it, they said. An advanced civilization could easily simulate consciousness, or a universe. In fact, it would probably simulate *hundreds* of them. Given that, it's more likely than not that you are living in a simulation than a "real" universe, at any given time. All you need to look for, to prove it to yourself, are signs of computing optimization, such as simplifying physics, or narrowing the scope of simulation to a single populated world...
Fermat. Einstein. Fermi.
And now, there's even more proof.
That brings me to us. We're the ones who intend to change the rules of this game. If reality is a simulation, that means we can change it. Make it better. We started small, but we're getting *bigger*.
...We're [r/LifeHacks.](https://www.reddit.com/r/lifehacks/) | Human history has told us we kill because of hate, because of differences, that we fire on our kind for peace or some high-minded goal. We've always held each other at gunpoint, whether literal or behind two large maps of the world with blinking lights. Today, we come to know that as peace, but before the words that passed those lips were stalemate. There was no difference between the two back then, but now we've forged one. Out of sheer necessity.
You see, peacetime is only a construct that exists because of war. Peace was a forgotten definition until the night of November eleventh, two-thousand and fifteen. See, that very night, the world seemed to tick over into another dimension, without even realising. Something cosmic happened, is all I can describe it as. The veil was lifted, some would say, the rules were changed. Murderers, told they were spurned forward by some sense of progress, continued. Serials grew larger, populations shrunk.
People became aware of what it meant to kill. What it meant to harvest someone's flesh for your own material gain. It was for some reason, some galactic hiccup that launched a bubble into the quaint stream of time, that all our realisations came at the same time.
I nursed the revolver in my hand, wiping the debris off the badges one by one. They were little pins, clips that the first shot had walked in with, claiming they gave him power. "Goddamnit, Wes, they're just pins," is what my mother had said, and what I said now to the morning breeze. I was still in my own home, a high vantage point in the shape of an upstate apartment. It was just me now, though. I'd collected their things, whatever offerings to the game they had. Each one was different, marking an individual for who they were, they were the modern passports. We called them pins.
Down there in the streets the thugs bashed at each other with upended signposts, shielding themselves with trashlids and broken hubcaps, caved in one side.
I winced as a mailbox came crashing down on a girl's head. Her arms went limp immediately.
I ducked, shuriken shot over me and cracked the window. The breeze greeted me, as did she, "Pins, love." Two words, usually it was one when you met someone new, but this time the gangs were feeling especially nice.
I had to think of something witty, otherwise it was all for naught, "You'll have to pry them off me." Well crap, there goes that opportunity. Screams and shouts from below welcome my fate if I choose to jump. "Oh boy," I swerved and flung the revolver out, finger wrestling the trigger.
She was gone. I stood up, my eyes browsing the wooden panelling along the condo's pillars. A flash of pink, and I fired. Straight from the hip. I'd like to think of myself as a sharpshooter from the old west, but my aim disagreed. "Fuck," I cursed as my flatscreen heaved with a mighty groan and crashed onto the floor. It took my Eastwood movies with it, like a wall of dominoes coming down.
"Nice aim," she said, from somewhere to my left. Another shot, and a kettle blew steam. I'd like to think it was good I was hitting something, at least. A long, drawn out chuckle, with the sound of bubbles somewhere in her throat. "How did you survive this long?"
Oh this was a good opportunity. "Because I know the truth, little girl."
"Little girl?" She brought up her huge pigtails, coloured pink for some odd reason. Then she ducked as a painting on the far wall decided it had had enough with hanging.
"Yes, all this X.P nonsense that's been going around,"
She hefted herself up again, arms somewhat shaking from the adrenalin. "What, that the government made it up? Or is it a-" and ducked, there goes my favourite mug, "biological weapon?" My arm recoiled, my second favourite mug.
"Actually my favourite conspiracy was the one guy who thought we were all in an insane asylum, and the only way free was killing each other."
"Right," a pursed-lipped whackamole, "You do realise that he killed everyone else in his litle cult and got away with a mountain of pins?"
"Yep." No one understood the beauty of that one. "But really, that's not the truth."
"And what is?" she jumped back up, straight into the path of a bullet.
"Finally," I said, lowering my arms as the bullet travelled through her nose. She coughed and screamed for a moment, nothing that wouldn't be masked by the bloody war down below. My aim was true, she was still alive. It was not a fluke. Not at all. "The truth, little girl, is that you just have to believe." I jumped over the kitchen counter, nicking the back of my pants on the sharp corner. Damn, it is hard to find a tailour. Sliding across the marble, I landed right beside her with a thump, like we were two peas in a pod, hiding from the gunmen that had just stormed our inn.
But no, it wasn't that. I pressed the barrel to her forehead, and whispered. "It isn't that we get X.P from killing, pinhead. It's that we've just realised we do." She was grinning, because there were footsteps from the stairwell. She was only a scout, it seemed. It was nice that people could band together in times of trouble. "They're here, aren't they?" She nodded.
All throughout human history, I told myself as the slug entered her frontal lobe, causing her last few words to be a jumble of forgotten tongues, we've killed each other. We told ourselves it was something high-minded, or something important. That we fought for causes, that we fought for something real, no matter how intangible.
I stood up from behind the counter, wearing my secondhand blazer across myself like a poncho. If it was my last stand, I would like to go out in style. The truth, at the end of the day was, we killed everyone for X.P. All the damn time, it shouldn't have taken us this long to realise it.
I aimed straight at the loosened doorframe, hand on the hammer. To those who say that's impossible, human technology and progress has been in leaps and bounds because of the abolition and denial of such horrible things.
But to that, I say, with my pistol in my hand: How did you think we got that far? | |
[WP] It suddenly becomes possible to gain XP and level up in the real world, but you can only do so by getting kills. | A new government initiative to solve the overpopulation crisis, the introduction of XP (experience points) which could be gained by any ordinary citizen, had the means to increase one's biological powers beyond humanly measure. Each experience point was acquired by taking the life of another person. One would then take their victims body to an XP hotspot, submit it, and be rewarded with 1 point. It was a primitive game of survival of the fittest, promoted on a civilised playing field. A clash between the natural order we human's so desperately strive to separate ourselves from, and modern co-existence.
The incentives to kill were quite desirable. 1 experience point gained a person the ability to fly, able to soar above and beyond the heavens. 2 experience points granted the ability to breathe beneath water, just as the fish do, and with 3 points, one would be able to run faster than any other creature that had ever lived. Beyond this, there were nothing else could be unlocked until one reached the ultimate level, 1000 points, which granted that person the superlative fantasy; the overcoming of all biological boundaries: *immortality*, the ability to live forever and ever.What had been unattainable since the beginning of our time now became a reality. Humans had now truly surpassed the traditional realm of nature, in that the cycle of life and death no longer existed for some of its members.
I once had the chance to meet one of these immortals.
"*Do you never want do die? How can you possibly live forever?*", I asked Him.
"*Well*", He replied, "*Why do you choose to exist now if you will not live forever? If you are destined to an eternal nothingness, then does that mean you already cease to exist?*".
I did not understand, "*What do you mean Sir? I exist right now just as you do*".
"*You don't. Not by the terms of the universe, but on your own terms you do not exist. For if something is destined to happen, then it has already occurred. This is the nature of time. You are destined to an eternal nothingness, therefore since it will happen and you will never rise for all of eternity, you are already dead*".
He took a sip from a wine glass and continued, "*My destiny is to exist forever. Time no longer exists within, before, or beyond me. I am now everything and anything. I exist as living proof of the logical extreme to which all humans that currently exist and understand their mortality irrationally strive for: the desire to live forever.*"
He put down the glass and looked up towards the sky, "*I am what you wish to be, and I have made an irrevocable mistake.*"
He cried.
I hope at least one person reads this and can understand what this means, for when i put down this pen, I shall cash in the ultimate experience point, *myself*. And this will be the end of the initiative.
We were never meant to fly, so God did not give us wings. We were never meant to dwell with the fish or run faster than the leopard, so God did not give us these abilities. If we weren't meant to be here forever, then why should we be here at all?
edit: formatting | Human history has told us we kill because of hate, because of differences, that we fire on our kind for peace or some high-minded goal. We've always held each other at gunpoint, whether literal or behind two large maps of the world with blinking lights. Today, we come to know that as peace, but before the words that passed those lips were stalemate. There was no difference between the two back then, but now we've forged one. Out of sheer necessity.
You see, peacetime is only a construct that exists because of war. Peace was a forgotten definition until the night of November eleventh, two-thousand and fifteen. See, that very night, the world seemed to tick over into another dimension, without even realising. Something cosmic happened, is all I can describe it as. The veil was lifted, some would say, the rules were changed. Murderers, told they were spurned forward by some sense of progress, continued. Serials grew larger, populations shrunk.
People became aware of what it meant to kill. What it meant to harvest someone's flesh for your own material gain. It was for some reason, some galactic hiccup that launched a bubble into the quaint stream of time, that all our realisations came at the same time.
I nursed the revolver in my hand, wiping the debris off the badges one by one. They were little pins, clips that the first shot had walked in with, claiming they gave him power. "Goddamnit, Wes, they're just pins," is what my mother had said, and what I said now to the morning breeze. I was still in my own home, a high vantage point in the shape of an upstate apartment. It was just me now, though. I'd collected their things, whatever offerings to the game they had. Each one was different, marking an individual for who they were, they were the modern passports. We called them pins.
Down there in the streets the thugs bashed at each other with upended signposts, shielding themselves with trashlids and broken hubcaps, caved in one side.
I winced as a mailbox came crashing down on a girl's head. Her arms went limp immediately.
I ducked, shuriken shot over me and cracked the window. The breeze greeted me, as did she, "Pins, love." Two words, usually it was one when you met someone new, but this time the gangs were feeling especially nice.
I had to think of something witty, otherwise it was all for naught, "You'll have to pry them off me." Well crap, there goes that opportunity. Screams and shouts from below welcome my fate if I choose to jump. "Oh boy," I swerved and flung the revolver out, finger wrestling the trigger.
She was gone. I stood up, my eyes browsing the wooden panelling along the condo's pillars. A flash of pink, and I fired. Straight from the hip. I'd like to think of myself as a sharpshooter from the old west, but my aim disagreed. "Fuck," I cursed as my flatscreen heaved with a mighty groan and crashed onto the floor. It took my Eastwood movies with it, like a wall of dominoes coming down.
"Nice aim," she said, from somewhere to my left. Another shot, and a kettle blew steam. I'd like to think it was good I was hitting something, at least. A long, drawn out chuckle, with the sound of bubbles somewhere in her throat. "How did you survive this long?"
Oh this was a good opportunity. "Because I know the truth, little girl."
"Little girl?" She brought up her huge pigtails, coloured pink for some odd reason. Then she ducked as a painting on the far wall decided it had had enough with hanging.
"Yes, all this X.P nonsense that's been going around,"
She hefted herself up again, arms somewhat shaking from the adrenalin. "What, that the government made it up? Or is it a-" and ducked, there goes my favourite mug, "biological weapon?" My arm recoiled, my second favourite mug.
"Actually my favourite conspiracy was the one guy who thought we were all in an insane asylum, and the only way free was killing each other."
"Right," a pursed-lipped whackamole, "You do realise that he killed everyone else in his litle cult and got away with a mountain of pins?"
"Yep." No one understood the beauty of that one. "But really, that's not the truth."
"And what is?" she jumped back up, straight into the path of a bullet.
"Finally," I said, lowering my arms as the bullet travelled through her nose. She coughed and screamed for a moment, nothing that wouldn't be masked by the bloody war down below. My aim was true, she was still alive. It was not a fluke. Not at all. "The truth, little girl, is that you just have to believe." I jumped over the kitchen counter, nicking the back of my pants on the sharp corner. Damn, it is hard to find a tailour. Sliding across the marble, I landed right beside her with a thump, like we were two peas in a pod, hiding from the gunmen that had just stormed our inn.
But no, it wasn't that. I pressed the barrel to her forehead, and whispered. "It isn't that we get X.P from killing, pinhead. It's that we've just realised we do." She was grinning, because there were footsteps from the stairwell. She was only a scout, it seemed. It was nice that people could band together in times of trouble. "They're here, aren't they?" She nodded.
All throughout human history, I told myself as the slug entered her frontal lobe, causing her last few words to be a jumble of forgotten tongues, we've killed each other. We told ourselves it was something high-minded, or something important. That we fought for causes, that we fought for something real, no matter how intangible.
I stood up from behind the counter, wearing my secondhand blazer across myself like a poncho. If it was my last stand, I would like to go out in style. The truth, at the end of the day was, we killed everyone for X.P. All the damn time, it shouldn't have taken us this long to realise it.
I aimed straight at the loosened doorframe, hand on the hammer. To those who say that's impossible, human technology and progress has been in leaps and bounds because of the abolition and denial of such horrible things.
But to that, I say, with my pistol in my hand: How did you think we got that far? | |
[WP] It suddenly becomes possible to gain XP and level up in the real world, but you can only do so by getting kills. | It was a harsh world.
My father was one of the first to level up. He killed my mother and my brother to gain power. He only left me alive to raise a daughter.
Laws didn't apply to anyone. It was every man for himself.
But the stronger you are, the more EXP you're worth. Rankings never stayed constant, beyond the top five people. My father was one of them.
To kill them would raise you to the top, but they were experts at killing. It was a death wish to try and take them out.
I could never kill. I was scared of even harming bugs. I was a disappointment to my father, and sometimes I wondered why he never killed me.
He never showed me much love, as expected from a serial killer. I was just a tool for him to use. I would throw out the dead bodies for him, or scout for potential victims.
He never once feared me.
I remember when the game was first revealed. A broadcast to every nation in the world.
People killed for the dream - to be level 100. The first person to reach level 100 could become a god.
It was too good to be true.
Every level presented upgrades - enhancing your strength, your agility, your stamina. The first few murderers suddenly became more powerful. It didn't take long for people to believe the game was real. Governments fell. Nothing was there to keep order, and cooperations began to exploit their workers even more.
Everyone was determined to become a god.
My father was close to becoming level 100, but the higher you got the more kills it took. Soon, competition between the highest ranking players got rough.
They started to take each other out.
My father started first, taking someone the same level as him out. It was a tough battle, and he nearly lost an eye. But he watched his level finally go up, to 95.
I wondered a lot at times, what would my father do if he became a god?
Would he become a world leader? Would he bring my mother and brother back?
Or would he continue this sick game?
I lost hope in everyone. It felt like a nightmare I couldn't escape. I had two options to end this dream.
To kill myself, or to kill others.
I thought about it for a while - I wanted to die. My family was dead and my father was a serial killer.
I could never kill people. Never. But after years of taking out literal corpses, and after years of witnessing this world, I realized something.
The only way to escape this hell is to create the world anew.
I don't know how I got the courage, but I did. My father slept peacefully, and never had his guard up with me. He knew I would never hurt him. I was too weak.
I gave him a quick death, slicing his throat. He woke up right when it sliced his throat, and he only had a few seconds to react. He looked at me with surprise, but I stabbed directly into his heart.
I watched a bar appear over my head, quickly bringing me to level 80. He was worth that much.
Blood was all over my clothes, and I cried for a bit. I couldn't believe I could have really killed him.
But this wasn't enough. I needed more. I needed to become a God.
I decided I would only target the highest ranking players - the worst offenders of this game. If I had to kill, I would kill the scum first.
I will become a God, and I will clean this world. I will stop this madness.
If I don't fall into madness first, that is.
| Human history has told us we kill because of hate, because of differences, that we fire on our kind for peace or some high-minded goal. We've always held each other at gunpoint, whether literal or behind two large maps of the world with blinking lights. Today, we come to know that as peace, but before the words that passed those lips were stalemate. There was no difference between the two back then, but now we've forged one. Out of sheer necessity.
You see, peacetime is only a construct that exists because of war. Peace was a forgotten definition until the night of November eleventh, two-thousand and fifteen. See, that very night, the world seemed to tick over into another dimension, without even realising. Something cosmic happened, is all I can describe it as. The veil was lifted, some would say, the rules were changed. Murderers, told they were spurned forward by some sense of progress, continued. Serials grew larger, populations shrunk.
People became aware of what it meant to kill. What it meant to harvest someone's flesh for your own material gain. It was for some reason, some galactic hiccup that launched a bubble into the quaint stream of time, that all our realisations came at the same time.
I nursed the revolver in my hand, wiping the debris off the badges one by one. They were little pins, clips that the first shot had walked in with, claiming they gave him power. "Goddamnit, Wes, they're just pins," is what my mother had said, and what I said now to the morning breeze. I was still in my own home, a high vantage point in the shape of an upstate apartment. It was just me now, though. I'd collected their things, whatever offerings to the game they had. Each one was different, marking an individual for who they were, they were the modern passports. We called them pins.
Down there in the streets the thugs bashed at each other with upended signposts, shielding themselves with trashlids and broken hubcaps, caved in one side.
I winced as a mailbox came crashing down on a girl's head. Her arms went limp immediately.
I ducked, shuriken shot over me and cracked the window. The breeze greeted me, as did she, "Pins, love." Two words, usually it was one when you met someone new, but this time the gangs were feeling especially nice.
I had to think of something witty, otherwise it was all for naught, "You'll have to pry them off me." Well crap, there goes that opportunity. Screams and shouts from below welcome my fate if I choose to jump. "Oh boy," I swerved and flung the revolver out, finger wrestling the trigger.
She was gone. I stood up, my eyes browsing the wooden panelling along the condo's pillars. A flash of pink, and I fired. Straight from the hip. I'd like to think of myself as a sharpshooter from the old west, but my aim disagreed. "Fuck," I cursed as my flatscreen heaved with a mighty groan and crashed onto the floor. It took my Eastwood movies with it, like a wall of dominoes coming down.
"Nice aim," she said, from somewhere to my left. Another shot, and a kettle blew steam. I'd like to think it was good I was hitting something, at least. A long, drawn out chuckle, with the sound of bubbles somewhere in her throat. "How did you survive this long?"
Oh this was a good opportunity. "Because I know the truth, little girl."
"Little girl?" She brought up her huge pigtails, coloured pink for some odd reason. Then she ducked as a painting on the far wall decided it had had enough with hanging.
"Yes, all this X.P nonsense that's been going around,"
She hefted herself up again, arms somewhat shaking from the adrenalin. "What, that the government made it up? Or is it a-" and ducked, there goes my favourite mug, "biological weapon?" My arm recoiled, my second favourite mug.
"Actually my favourite conspiracy was the one guy who thought we were all in an insane asylum, and the only way free was killing each other."
"Right," a pursed-lipped whackamole, "You do realise that he killed everyone else in his litle cult and got away with a mountain of pins?"
"Yep." No one understood the beauty of that one. "But really, that's not the truth."
"And what is?" she jumped back up, straight into the path of a bullet.
"Finally," I said, lowering my arms as the bullet travelled through her nose. She coughed and screamed for a moment, nothing that wouldn't be masked by the bloody war down below. My aim was true, she was still alive. It was not a fluke. Not at all. "The truth, little girl, is that you just have to believe." I jumped over the kitchen counter, nicking the back of my pants on the sharp corner. Damn, it is hard to find a tailour. Sliding across the marble, I landed right beside her with a thump, like we were two peas in a pod, hiding from the gunmen that had just stormed our inn.
But no, it wasn't that. I pressed the barrel to her forehead, and whispered. "It isn't that we get X.P from killing, pinhead. It's that we've just realised we do." She was grinning, because there were footsteps from the stairwell. She was only a scout, it seemed. It was nice that people could band together in times of trouble. "They're here, aren't they?" She nodded.
All throughout human history, I told myself as the slug entered her frontal lobe, causing her last few words to be a jumble of forgotten tongues, we've killed each other. We told ourselves it was something high-minded, or something important. That we fought for causes, that we fought for something real, no matter how intangible.
I stood up from behind the counter, wearing my secondhand blazer across myself like a poncho. If it was my last stand, I would like to go out in style. The truth, at the end of the day was, we killed everyone for X.P. All the damn time, it shouldn't have taken us this long to realise it.
I aimed straight at the loosened doorframe, hand on the hammer. To those who say that's impossible, human technology and progress has been in leaps and bounds because of the abolition and denial of such horrible things.
But to that, I say, with my pistol in my hand: How did you think we got that far? | |
[WP] It suddenly becomes possible to gain XP and level up in the real world, but you can only do so by getting kills. | The biggest 'perk' of hitting level two is being able to see other people's levels. I was doing it now, gazing around the room. The little kids were all level one of course- the starter level. Lexi- the other teacher- was kneeling by the fish tank with little Johanna. Both level ones.
Deep in thought, I barely noticed the little tug on my shirt.
"Mr Raley?"
"Yes, Saffy?"
"What was your wife's favourite colour?"
She brandished a new pack of crayons and a piece of paper. There was already a stick-man on it- not my exact likeness, but how accurate can stick-men get? Another drawing was stood next to mine, a lady with long red hair and a yet-to-be-coloured-in dress. My heart twinged.
"I don't have a wife, sweetie."
I smiled at the little girl, trying not to show too much pain in my eyes. She looked confused.
"Who is the lady in the photo?" she said, pointing to the picture on my desk. I gazed at the picture, taking in her mischievous smile and warm eyes.
"She *used* to be my wife."
"Why isn't she now?"
"She died, sweetie."
The little girl's mouth turned into a round 'o'. She patted my knee.
"I'm sorry."
Then she had gone, skipped away to talk to her friends.
I thought back my to wife. That night- a rainy Tuesday. Earlier on she'd looked out at the rumbling purple clouds and run outside to take a photo. She came back in, soaking wet and smiling. I was so tired from work... I didn't smile back. I went to sleep watching TV while she made dinner. When I woke up... well, she had gone cold. I can still feel her dead hand in my own. And the guy who'd done it. He was still there, running down from the bedroom, arms full of her grandmother's jewellery. I grabbed my gun. *Bang*.
When you kill a man for the first time, you level up straight away.
It was the most painful thing I'd ever felt.
I looked around at the glowing golden '1's glittering in the room. It was a good thing they couldn't see levels.
I shivered under the cursed shadow of my storming, bruised '2'. | Human history has told us we kill because of hate, because of differences, that we fire on our kind for peace or some high-minded goal. We've always held each other at gunpoint, whether literal or behind two large maps of the world with blinking lights. Today, we come to know that as peace, but before the words that passed those lips were stalemate. There was no difference between the two back then, but now we've forged one. Out of sheer necessity.
You see, peacetime is only a construct that exists because of war. Peace was a forgotten definition until the night of November eleventh, two-thousand and fifteen. See, that very night, the world seemed to tick over into another dimension, without even realising. Something cosmic happened, is all I can describe it as. The veil was lifted, some would say, the rules were changed. Murderers, told they were spurned forward by some sense of progress, continued. Serials grew larger, populations shrunk.
People became aware of what it meant to kill. What it meant to harvest someone's flesh for your own material gain. It was for some reason, some galactic hiccup that launched a bubble into the quaint stream of time, that all our realisations came at the same time.
I nursed the revolver in my hand, wiping the debris off the badges one by one. They were little pins, clips that the first shot had walked in with, claiming they gave him power. "Goddamnit, Wes, they're just pins," is what my mother had said, and what I said now to the morning breeze. I was still in my own home, a high vantage point in the shape of an upstate apartment. It was just me now, though. I'd collected their things, whatever offerings to the game they had. Each one was different, marking an individual for who they were, they were the modern passports. We called them pins.
Down there in the streets the thugs bashed at each other with upended signposts, shielding themselves with trashlids and broken hubcaps, caved in one side.
I winced as a mailbox came crashing down on a girl's head. Her arms went limp immediately.
I ducked, shuriken shot over me and cracked the window. The breeze greeted me, as did she, "Pins, love." Two words, usually it was one when you met someone new, but this time the gangs were feeling especially nice.
I had to think of something witty, otherwise it was all for naught, "You'll have to pry them off me." Well crap, there goes that opportunity. Screams and shouts from below welcome my fate if I choose to jump. "Oh boy," I swerved and flung the revolver out, finger wrestling the trigger.
She was gone. I stood up, my eyes browsing the wooden panelling along the condo's pillars. A flash of pink, and I fired. Straight from the hip. I'd like to think of myself as a sharpshooter from the old west, but my aim disagreed. "Fuck," I cursed as my flatscreen heaved with a mighty groan and crashed onto the floor. It took my Eastwood movies with it, like a wall of dominoes coming down.
"Nice aim," she said, from somewhere to my left. Another shot, and a kettle blew steam. I'd like to think it was good I was hitting something, at least. A long, drawn out chuckle, with the sound of bubbles somewhere in her throat. "How did you survive this long?"
Oh this was a good opportunity. "Because I know the truth, little girl."
"Little girl?" She brought up her huge pigtails, coloured pink for some odd reason. Then she ducked as a painting on the far wall decided it had had enough with hanging.
"Yes, all this X.P nonsense that's been going around,"
She hefted herself up again, arms somewhat shaking from the adrenalin. "What, that the government made it up? Or is it a-" and ducked, there goes my favourite mug, "biological weapon?" My arm recoiled, my second favourite mug.
"Actually my favourite conspiracy was the one guy who thought we were all in an insane asylum, and the only way free was killing each other."
"Right," a pursed-lipped whackamole, "You do realise that he killed everyone else in his litle cult and got away with a mountain of pins?"
"Yep." No one understood the beauty of that one. "But really, that's not the truth."
"And what is?" she jumped back up, straight into the path of a bullet.
"Finally," I said, lowering my arms as the bullet travelled through her nose. She coughed and screamed for a moment, nothing that wouldn't be masked by the bloody war down below. My aim was true, she was still alive. It was not a fluke. Not at all. "The truth, little girl, is that you just have to believe." I jumped over the kitchen counter, nicking the back of my pants on the sharp corner. Damn, it is hard to find a tailour. Sliding across the marble, I landed right beside her with a thump, like we were two peas in a pod, hiding from the gunmen that had just stormed our inn.
But no, it wasn't that. I pressed the barrel to her forehead, and whispered. "It isn't that we get X.P from killing, pinhead. It's that we've just realised we do." She was grinning, because there were footsteps from the stairwell. She was only a scout, it seemed. It was nice that people could band together in times of trouble. "They're here, aren't they?" She nodded.
All throughout human history, I told myself as the slug entered her frontal lobe, causing her last few words to be a jumble of forgotten tongues, we've killed each other. We told ourselves it was something high-minded, or something important. That we fought for causes, that we fought for something real, no matter how intangible.
I stood up from behind the counter, wearing my secondhand blazer across myself like a poncho. If it was my last stand, I would like to go out in style. The truth, at the end of the day was, we killed everyone for X.P. All the damn time, it shouldn't have taken us this long to realise it.
I aimed straight at the loosened doorframe, hand on the hammer. To those who say that's impossible, human technology and progress has been in leaps and bounds because of the abolition and denial of such horrible things.
But to that, I say, with my pistol in my hand: How did you think we got that far? | |
[WP] It suddenly becomes possible to gain XP and level up in the real world, but you can only do so by getting kills. | When I wanted to kill myself the only person I told was Alexis. That was in high school, at peak levels of insecurity and torment. I'd be sleeping for 3 hours a day. Not because of insomnia, but because of the nightmares. An overactive imagination that invaded my personal space, and consumed me while asleep. Some times it's the reverberated sound of a voice or snarl, contained in a locked room. Others, a grimacing face shifting in strobed light. There, then gone. There, then gone.
I don't know when specifically, but out of those moments came an impulse for violence. I was fed up. How wonderful it'd be to take a knife and carve out those shadowed faces, to burn these locked rooms down into ash. To become the tormentor, the warden. The nightmares faded as these fantasies erupted. My imagination had fixated on a new passion, a new desire: violence.
But, in the core of my consciousness I didn't *really* want to hurt anyone. The permanence of death pressed against these thoughts, pleading with me. Would it be worth it, satisfying the urge? How long could I hold out? Every day, I was getting closer to damage, real damage. I came to the conclusion: if I don't end my life, I'll end someone else's.
This and more I told to Alexis, expecting disgust and fear. She offered instead love.
For years, control and withstraint became my mantra, built on a foundation of her compassion. It saved me, and when I finally felt whole for the first time 10 years later, we dated. Not a month later, reports of the Contest began. Reports from soldiers, police, criminals, all detailing a similar hallucination, "New Game" superimposed on their victims -- people they killed -- both just and unjustly.
I knew it was serious, but not for the reasons most shared. Everyone seemed intent to focus on the physiological and hallucinogenic aspect. How could all these people share such a similar vision, all across the world? It's a good question, an *academic* question. But all I could think is *how many more people are going to kill because of this*? Memories from my teen years kept flashing to the present. The throbbing intensity to kill. That serotonin rush like cold water on the spine, traveling across the nerves like electricity. Just the memory triggered a grin; that's how powerful it was. But the sobering thought was knowing that some kid, in the place I was, would cross that line. Life seemed less and less like life, and more like a game. And then it happened.
A few drinks after a late concert with Alexis, and than a 2 block walk to my parked car. Normally more vigilant,
the music eased my muscles and the beer lowered my guard. One block down and one to go, the crosswalk flashed green, and like any sane person we started to cross. I heard the engine roaring louder as it approaches, but years of safely crossing streets builds a false sense of security. I waited for the truck engine to slow, to acknowledge the light.
The truck blew past the red, directly into Alexis, and clipping me. Like a broken doll she collapsed onto the asphalt as the truck screeched around the corner, nearly rolled, and powered out of sight.
She sobbed there, squirming, coughing out more blood than words. Alive. And in pain.
I thought about it. There was no making it for her. Not so much as an hour. I could end her pain, right there, in a minute, and save her the agony. She must have saw read the thoughts out of my eyes, cause she shook her head, the *only* deliberate action she could manage.
Behind her, a black truck edged on the corner, it's grill dented and red. I stared it down, waiting for it accelerate, to finish the work, but it didn't. It crawled forward. Why? I shot a look to Alexis. She looked up, past me, without so much of a shutter in her pupils.
When I looked up, the truck had pulled over barely two feet beside us, the windows down.
Behind the wheel the man was all blonde and jackal teeth. They type you see in Vegas pool-side, with a bottle worth a week's pay. My age. He turned to passenger side, saying, "I told you I'd only gotten one! I *saw* it too, nearly crashed. You won't fucking believe it. "
Turning back, he bore his eyes into me. Vibrant, unashamed. He rested his arms off the window. "Hey, man. Don't look at me like that. It's only a game."
A small alarm sounded as the passenger side door opened, that *beep, beep, beep,* silencing when it shut. But by then, I was already on my feet.
The rage overtook the agony of my side, still half-crippled from the hit. The driver shouted at his friend, tried to warn him, but I had already turned swung around the hood of the truck.
The driver's screams got her attention in the wrong way. Her? It didn't matter.
With her head facing the truck, she never saw me round the corner. At full speed I tackled her to the curb. Her head arched back into the concrete, cracking nastily, followed by a rough scrapping sound that tugged at my eyes. A gun. A shiny metal weapon of death.
"MELISSA," Mr. Jackal screamed.
The truck door slammed, this time from the driver-side. I made a dash to the gun, 10 feet away. I grabbed it just as he turned from behind the truck bed.
I tugged the hammer back and dug deep into the trigger. POW.
Jackal staggered. I squeezed the trigger again and again until he collapsed back from the force. I might have kept firing too if my sight didn't go dark.
**NEW PLAYER** flashed in white. I could hear the girl, Melissa, groaning. Rubbing my eyes changed nothing. Blinded by the display, vulnerable, if she got her strength I'd die seeing those words. But I lucked out. The words faded out as the world faded in, a light-green XP bar lingering at the bottom of my vision following me around.
Sirens howled out in the distance. I whipped around expecting a fight, but Melissa was on her knees trying to stop the bleeding on her head. Any fight she mustered earlier, left. I was safe.
But the XP bar, it hung on the edge. That sliver before leveling up. And I wondered, what *did* it mean to level up in this game? How deep did the rabbit hole go? Is this a game you can win?
Her eyes pleaded, *don't*. But she shook her head, and when she did I thought of Alexis. The woman I trusted and loved and loved me in spite of my most sinister qualities, who taught me to overcome them. I thought about her on the ground, shaking her head, pleading *don't*. In my head, she called my name, held me in her arms. Begged me not to, and I listened. But I loved her, not the woman in front of me.
So with the toe of my boot I pulled her chin up and dug my heel into her throat, sending her back onto the concrete. And I unloaded the rest of the bullets into her chest before any ambulance could hope to speed her away.
And most of all, I smiled my own jackal tooth smile when superimposed on the world new words illuminate the darkened street: **LEVEL UP**.
| Human history has told us we kill because of hate, because of differences, that we fire on our kind for peace or some high-minded goal. We've always held each other at gunpoint, whether literal or behind two large maps of the world with blinking lights. Today, we come to know that as peace, but before the words that passed those lips were stalemate. There was no difference between the two back then, but now we've forged one. Out of sheer necessity.
You see, peacetime is only a construct that exists because of war. Peace was a forgotten definition until the night of November eleventh, two-thousand and fifteen. See, that very night, the world seemed to tick over into another dimension, without even realising. Something cosmic happened, is all I can describe it as. The veil was lifted, some would say, the rules were changed. Murderers, told they were spurned forward by some sense of progress, continued. Serials grew larger, populations shrunk.
People became aware of what it meant to kill. What it meant to harvest someone's flesh for your own material gain. It was for some reason, some galactic hiccup that launched a bubble into the quaint stream of time, that all our realisations came at the same time.
I nursed the revolver in my hand, wiping the debris off the badges one by one. They were little pins, clips that the first shot had walked in with, claiming they gave him power. "Goddamnit, Wes, they're just pins," is what my mother had said, and what I said now to the morning breeze. I was still in my own home, a high vantage point in the shape of an upstate apartment. It was just me now, though. I'd collected their things, whatever offerings to the game they had. Each one was different, marking an individual for who they were, they were the modern passports. We called them pins.
Down there in the streets the thugs bashed at each other with upended signposts, shielding themselves with trashlids and broken hubcaps, caved in one side.
I winced as a mailbox came crashing down on a girl's head. Her arms went limp immediately.
I ducked, shuriken shot over me and cracked the window. The breeze greeted me, as did she, "Pins, love." Two words, usually it was one when you met someone new, but this time the gangs were feeling especially nice.
I had to think of something witty, otherwise it was all for naught, "You'll have to pry them off me." Well crap, there goes that opportunity. Screams and shouts from below welcome my fate if I choose to jump. "Oh boy," I swerved and flung the revolver out, finger wrestling the trigger.
She was gone. I stood up, my eyes browsing the wooden panelling along the condo's pillars. A flash of pink, and I fired. Straight from the hip. I'd like to think of myself as a sharpshooter from the old west, but my aim disagreed. "Fuck," I cursed as my flatscreen heaved with a mighty groan and crashed onto the floor. It took my Eastwood movies with it, like a wall of dominoes coming down.
"Nice aim," she said, from somewhere to my left. Another shot, and a kettle blew steam. I'd like to think it was good I was hitting something, at least. A long, drawn out chuckle, with the sound of bubbles somewhere in her throat. "How did you survive this long?"
Oh this was a good opportunity. "Because I know the truth, little girl."
"Little girl?" She brought up her huge pigtails, coloured pink for some odd reason. Then she ducked as a painting on the far wall decided it had had enough with hanging.
"Yes, all this X.P nonsense that's been going around,"
She hefted herself up again, arms somewhat shaking from the adrenalin. "What, that the government made it up? Or is it a-" and ducked, there goes my favourite mug, "biological weapon?" My arm recoiled, my second favourite mug.
"Actually my favourite conspiracy was the one guy who thought we were all in an insane asylum, and the only way free was killing each other."
"Right," a pursed-lipped whackamole, "You do realise that he killed everyone else in his litle cult and got away with a mountain of pins?"
"Yep." No one understood the beauty of that one. "But really, that's not the truth."
"And what is?" she jumped back up, straight into the path of a bullet.
"Finally," I said, lowering my arms as the bullet travelled through her nose. She coughed and screamed for a moment, nothing that wouldn't be masked by the bloody war down below. My aim was true, she was still alive. It was not a fluke. Not at all. "The truth, little girl, is that you just have to believe." I jumped over the kitchen counter, nicking the back of my pants on the sharp corner. Damn, it is hard to find a tailour. Sliding across the marble, I landed right beside her with a thump, like we were two peas in a pod, hiding from the gunmen that had just stormed our inn.
But no, it wasn't that. I pressed the barrel to her forehead, and whispered. "It isn't that we get X.P from killing, pinhead. It's that we've just realised we do." She was grinning, because there were footsteps from the stairwell. She was only a scout, it seemed. It was nice that people could band together in times of trouble. "They're here, aren't they?" She nodded.
All throughout human history, I told myself as the slug entered her frontal lobe, causing her last few words to be a jumble of forgotten tongues, we've killed each other. We told ourselves it was something high-minded, or something important. That we fought for causes, that we fought for something real, no matter how intangible.
I stood up from behind the counter, wearing my secondhand blazer across myself like a poncho. If it was my last stand, I would like to go out in style. The truth, at the end of the day was, we killed everyone for X.P. All the damn time, it shouldn't have taken us this long to realise it.
I aimed straight at the loosened doorframe, hand on the hammer. To those who say that's impossible, human technology and progress has been in leaps and bounds because of the abolition and denial of such horrible things.
But to that, I say, with my pistol in my hand: How did you think we got that far? | |
[WP] It suddenly becomes possible to gain XP and level up in the real world, but you can only do so by getting kills. | *The Regulator:*
----
The boy sat, hands shaking and cuffed. The room was quiet, still. Through a mirror, he knew there were people watching him- he could tell somehow, dangerous people. He was like them now, worse maybe. The chair creaked as he peered at the glass.
They knew he knew.
He jumped as a door opened, slamming into the wall as a large man walked in, turning carefully to close it back up. It locked with a heavy click, afterwards. Someone slid a bolt in after that too, the boy could tell, somehow.
The man sat down across from him, and leveled a calm stare. It was the sort of gaze that could see deep into a person, figure out everything there was to know. The boy stared back. He could do that too, now.
"You comfortable? Need some coffee, something to eat?" The man asked, straightening his uniform. "I can send someone to get it for you, if you want anything."
"No." The boy replied. He didn't want to talk.
"Listen, I was like you once. You're not the first to end up in a situation like this." The man paused, carefully motioning towards the mirror, and then the camera, watching in the corner of the room.
The boy could tell it was turned off. Those behind the glass left shortly after.
"I'm going to tell you a story kid. It's not a particularly long one, but it's the truth. I think you'll be able to tell that now- the truth I mean." He met the boy's eyes, waiting for some sort of recognition.
Shuffling his cuffs, the boy nodded slowly. The man began, his deep voice speaking in a heavy tone.
"When I was younger, I had to kill two people in my home, on a cold night in October. I remember it was dark and raining, I remember the wind was howling." He paused, looking down at the boy. "It wasn't something I had planned on doing. It wasn't something I had wanted to do, but they broke down the door even after I told them I had a gun."
Leaning back in his chair, he continued, and the boy saw remorse. It was real remorse, the boy could tell that now. He *knew*.
"Christ, I warned them- I told them to just go away, practically begged them. I didn't even have anything worth stealing, I have no idea why they didn't listen. I mean honestly, a guy in his early twenties in a shitty apartment? Maybe they just thought I was someone else. Never found out their reasons."
"Anyways, after that I had leveled. Four times in a row, all at once. I had a ton of life points to allocate, practically a flood of them, and I could actually fill up some of those skill trees that foster in the mind, made sure to get the heightened awareness first. I just wanted to know for certain- confirm some things."
He stared down at the boy, and really *looked.* The man knew.
"See, you can't tell what level people are, not at the early stages. We all start out a level one, but usually by fifteen years you'll hit level two just from the slow grind of your immune system farming germs. Maybe you'd hit level three after that if you're a hunter. Bigger game has a lot of regulations, but they say it's only around ten deer before you can make the jump from two to three. Most people by the age of twenty-five are between levels four and five." His large armed curled over his chest, folding as the chair creaked in protest.
"The trick is, though, it ain't age. It's killing. Small difference in the long run for most people, but for some..." A deep sigh came from his chest, as he leaned forward.
"Killing germs or animals, that's something but its small- barely noticed, but killing another person? That's big, kid. That's a level, and if they were a higher than you it might be more. It's reasons like this that the government monitors so seriously. People would murder if it was common knowledge, and not just urban legend."
The boy leaned back in the chair. It wobbled slightly, covering the loose nerves that escaped on his face. The man continued.
"Sure, they keep a tight lid on it- but there's no point in beating around the bush. Not now, not with you, at least. It's rare that anyone level up enough to notice, though. People, generally, just aren't killers."
He nodded, as if in agreement with himself.
"Only problem is that after that, I was a level seven, and I could tell- see through it. That's more than most police can claim, and I only knew because somewhere between level five and here, you'll get the *sight.*"
His eyes locked with the boy's, again holding them in place.
"Really, it's more intuition, but it works the same way. You know, more or less, where someone is by a quick glance. You can *know* their level. See some of their skill points and trees- what they've allocated points to."
The boy looked closer.
"I might have flown under the radar if the Feds hadn't been called in with a level seven of their own, and confirmed it. That put me on the list, shuffled me into something close to witness protection." The man said, running fingers through thinning hair. "Eventually they got me working for them, something like a bargain. It's better than my old job, so you won't see me complaining about it. Better than being without *Big Brother's* watching eye."
He nodded again.
"See, there are killers among us. Quiet folk who, like me or you, figured it out. Something happened, somehow, and they got the *sight* and connected the dots." The man looked down at the table, inspecting something- perhaps a stain in the wood, before looking back up, continuing.
"We're chasing one of those now. You see me, just a lowly seven working with a couple of nines, and you think we're trouble... well, wait until you meet a level seventy."
The boy's eyes widened. Seventy... was that even possible?
"Look kid, I know you've got questions. I know you want answers- I was the same way, but right now- you gotta trust me." He rose slowly, joints groaning as he left the chair. "I'm going to leave you locked up tight in this room, safe and sound, and we're going out there to put that man you saw, down in chains. We're going to leave him locked up in some cell where he'll die of natural causes and old age. We're going to bring some justice for what he did."
The boy nodded at that. The man nodded back, small smile curling onto his cheeks. His eyes looked serious though. Deadly serious.
"The thing is, if we mess up, one of us slips- he could be a level ninety by the time our guys find him again. Nobody wants that." He paused, "You see what I'm getting at here?"
The boy met his eyes, folding his hands in the cuffs.
"Look, I see you, and I see a bit of myself. You didn't want to end up a level ten- but you saved a lot of lives in doing so. You've got potential. Real potential. People need guys like you, the good guys. Guys like that are in short supply."
"I might not be coming back after today. If I don't, I just want you to remember this conversation. You've been handed a terrible gift, but you can use it for good."
The man stepped back, slowly pushing in his chair to meet the table, before heading towards the door on the far side of the room. He knocked, three beats followed by two, and the bolts were lifted, the handle turned. He took one step forward before stopping, turning back one last time.
"You saved a lot of lives today kid. A guy like you... well, you're the kind we need more of. Think about it."
The door closed, and the boy thought.
----
*Edit formatting/running sentences* | Human history has told us we kill because of hate, because of differences, that we fire on our kind for peace or some high-minded goal. We've always held each other at gunpoint, whether literal or behind two large maps of the world with blinking lights. Today, we come to know that as peace, but before the words that passed those lips were stalemate. There was no difference between the two back then, but now we've forged one. Out of sheer necessity.
You see, peacetime is only a construct that exists because of war. Peace was a forgotten definition until the night of November eleventh, two-thousand and fifteen. See, that very night, the world seemed to tick over into another dimension, without even realising. Something cosmic happened, is all I can describe it as. The veil was lifted, some would say, the rules were changed. Murderers, told they were spurned forward by some sense of progress, continued. Serials grew larger, populations shrunk.
People became aware of what it meant to kill. What it meant to harvest someone's flesh for your own material gain. It was for some reason, some galactic hiccup that launched a bubble into the quaint stream of time, that all our realisations came at the same time.
I nursed the revolver in my hand, wiping the debris off the badges one by one. They were little pins, clips that the first shot had walked in with, claiming they gave him power. "Goddamnit, Wes, they're just pins," is what my mother had said, and what I said now to the morning breeze. I was still in my own home, a high vantage point in the shape of an upstate apartment. It was just me now, though. I'd collected their things, whatever offerings to the game they had. Each one was different, marking an individual for who they were, they were the modern passports. We called them pins.
Down there in the streets the thugs bashed at each other with upended signposts, shielding themselves with trashlids and broken hubcaps, caved in one side.
I winced as a mailbox came crashing down on a girl's head. Her arms went limp immediately.
I ducked, shuriken shot over me and cracked the window. The breeze greeted me, as did she, "Pins, love." Two words, usually it was one when you met someone new, but this time the gangs were feeling especially nice.
I had to think of something witty, otherwise it was all for naught, "You'll have to pry them off me." Well crap, there goes that opportunity. Screams and shouts from below welcome my fate if I choose to jump. "Oh boy," I swerved and flung the revolver out, finger wrestling the trigger.
She was gone. I stood up, my eyes browsing the wooden panelling along the condo's pillars. A flash of pink, and I fired. Straight from the hip. I'd like to think of myself as a sharpshooter from the old west, but my aim disagreed. "Fuck," I cursed as my flatscreen heaved with a mighty groan and crashed onto the floor. It took my Eastwood movies with it, like a wall of dominoes coming down.
"Nice aim," she said, from somewhere to my left. Another shot, and a kettle blew steam. I'd like to think it was good I was hitting something, at least. A long, drawn out chuckle, with the sound of bubbles somewhere in her throat. "How did you survive this long?"
Oh this was a good opportunity. "Because I know the truth, little girl."
"Little girl?" She brought up her huge pigtails, coloured pink for some odd reason. Then she ducked as a painting on the far wall decided it had had enough with hanging.
"Yes, all this X.P nonsense that's been going around,"
She hefted herself up again, arms somewhat shaking from the adrenalin. "What, that the government made it up? Or is it a-" and ducked, there goes my favourite mug, "biological weapon?" My arm recoiled, my second favourite mug.
"Actually my favourite conspiracy was the one guy who thought we were all in an insane asylum, and the only way free was killing each other."
"Right," a pursed-lipped whackamole, "You do realise that he killed everyone else in his litle cult and got away with a mountain of pins?"
"Yep." No one understood the beauty of that one. "But really, that's not the truth."
"And what is?" she jumped back up, straight into the path of a bullet.
"Finally," I said, lowering my arms as the bullet travelled through her nose. She coughed and screamed for a moment, nothing that wouldn't be masked by the bloody war down below. My aim was true, she was still alive. It was not a fluke. Not at all. "The truth, little girl, is that you just have to believe." I jumped over the kitchen counter, nicking the back of my pants on the sharp corner. Damn, it is hard to find a tailour. Sliding across the marble, I landed right beside her with a thump, like we were two peas in a pod, hiding from the gunmen that had just stormed our inn.
But no, it wasn't that. I pressed the barrel to her forehead, and whispered. "It isn't that we get X.P from killing, pinhead. It's that we've just realised we do." She was grinning, because there were footsteps from the stairwell. She was only a scout, it seemed. It was nice that people could band together in times of trouble. "They're here, aren't they?" She nodded.
All throughout human history, I told myself as the slug entered her frontal lobe, causing her last few words to be a jumble of forgotten tongues, we've killed each other. We told ourselves it was something high-minded, or something important. That we fought for causes, that we fought for something real, no matter how intangible.
I stood up from behind the counter, wearing my secondhand blazer across myself like a poncho. If it was my last stand, I would like to go out in style. The truth, at the end of the day was, we killed everyone for X.P. All the damn time, it shouldn't have taken us this long to realise it.
I aimed straight at the loosened doorframe, hand on the hammer. To those who say that's impossible, human technology and progress has been in leaps and bounds because of the abolition and denial of such horrible things.
But to that, I say, with my pistol in my hand: How did you think we got that far? | |
[WP] It suddenly becomes possible to gain XP and level up in the real world, but you can only do so by getting kills. | When the first murderer leveled up, all hell broke loose.
People scrambled to murder, rip and tear to get that sweet, sweet experience points.
Only kills made when making eye contact mattered. So many wasted lives at first... or were they?
For what you ask?
It is a simple system where the winner takes the largest share of the pie. The pie made out of fame, glory and riches.
Dead men can't eat pie.
The leaderboard changes seemingly overnight as the war of every man versus every man rages in the cold, bloodstained streets.
Many questioned the top killer in the state leaderboards, this hooded man that was the only constant within the frenzied rankings that doubled as a bounty board.
It is none other than me.
How did I get there, and stay there you ask?
Simple.
It isn't the killing of man that is hard but the hunt of one.
Ain't easy finding a lone guy on the street.
I am a simple man that loves my job.
And my job is to kill.
No risk, all reward.
I am the only state executioner.
I keep it that way.
I just go to work everyday.
I even put in overtime. | Human history has told us we kill because of hate, because of differences, that we fire on our kind for peace or some high-minded goal. We've always held each other at gunpoint, whether literal or behind two large maps of the world with blinking lights. Today, we come to know that as peace, but before the words that passed those lips were stalemate. There was no difference between the two back then, but now we've forged one. Out of sheer necessity.
You see, peacetime is only a construct that exists because of war. Peace was a forgotten definition until the night of November eleventh, two-thousand and fifteen. See, that very night, the world seemed to tick over into another dimension, without even realising. Something cosmic happened, is all I can describe it as. The veil was lifted, some would say, the rules were changed. Murderers, told they were spurned forward by some sense of progress, continued. Serials grew larger, populations shrunk.
People became aware of what it meant to kill. What it meant to harvest someone's flesh for your own material gain. It was for some reason, some galactic hiccup that launched a bubble into the quaint stream of time, that all our realisations came at the same time.
I nursed the revolver in my hand, wiping the debris off the badges one by one. They were little pins, clips that the first shot had walked in with, claiming they gave him power. "Goddamnit, Wes, they're just pins," is what my mother had said, and what I said now to the morning breeze. I was still in my own home, a high vantage point in the shape of an upstate apartment. It was just me now, though. I'd collected their things, whatever offerings to the game they had. Each one was different, marking an individual for who they were, they were the modern passports. We called them pins.
Down there in the streets the thugs bashed at each other with upended signposts, shielding themselves with trashlids and broken hubcaps, caved in one side.
I winced as a mailbox came crashing down on a girl's head. Her arms went limp immediately.
I ducked, shuriken shot over me and cracked the window. The breeze greeted me, as did she, "Pins, love." Two words, usually it was one when you met someone new, but this time the gangs were feeling especially nice.
I had to think of something witty, otherwise it was all for naught, "You'll have to pry them off me." Well crap, there goes that opportunity. Screams and shouts from below welcome my fate if I choose to jump. "Oh boy," I swerved and flung the revolver out, finger wrestling the trigger.
She was gone. I stood up, my eyes browsing the wooden panelling along the condo's pillars. A flash of pink, and I fired. Straight from the hip. I'd like to think of myself as a sharpshooter from the old west, but my aim disagreed. "Fuck," I cursed as my flatscreen heaved with a mighty groan and crashed onto the floor. It took my Eastwood movies with it, like a wall of dominoes coming down.
"Nice aim," she said, from somewhere to my left. Another shot, and a kettle blew steam. I'd like to think it was good I was hitting something, at least. A long, drawn out chuckle, with the sound of bubbles somewhere in her throat. "How did you survive this long?"
Oh this was a good opportunity. "Because I know the truth, little girl."
"Little girl?" She brought up her huge pigtails, coloured pink for some odd reason. Then she ducked as a painting on the far wall decided it had had enough with hanging.
"Yes, all this X.P nonsense that's been going around,"
She hefted herself up again, arms somewhat shaking from the adrenalin. "What, that the government made it up? Or is it a-" and ducked, there goes my favourite mug, "biological weapon?" My arm recoiled, my second favourite mug.
"Actually my favourite conspiracy was the one guy who thought we were all in an insane asylum, and the only way free was killing each other."
"Right," a pursed-lipped whackamole, "You do realise that he killed everyone else in his litle cult and got away with a mountain of pins?"
"Yep." No one understood the beauty of that one. "But really, that's not the truth."
"And what is?" she jumped back up, straight into the path of a bullet.
"Finally," I said, lowering my arms as the bullet travelled through her nose. She coughed and screamed for a moment, nothing that wouldn't be masked by the bloody war down below. My aim was true, she was still alive. It was not a fluke. Not at all. "The truth, little girl, is that you just have to believe." I jumped over the kitchen counter, nicking the back of my pants on the sharp corner. Damn, it is hard to find a tailour. Sliding across the marble, I landed right beside her with a thump, like we were two peas in a pod, hiding from the gunmen that had just stormed our inn.
But no, it wasn't that. I pressed the barrel to her forehead, and whispered. "It isn't that we get X.P from killing, pinhead. It's that we've just realised we do." She was grinning, because there were footsteps from the stairwell. She was only a scout, it seemed. It was nice that people could band together in times of trouble. "They're here, aren't they?" She nodded.
All throughout human history, I told myself as the slug entered her frontal lobe, causing her last few words to be a jumble of forgotten tongues, we've killed each other. We told ourselves it was something high-minded, or something important. That we fought for causes, that we fought for something real, no matter how intangible.
I stood up from behind the counter, wearing my secondhand blazer across myself like a poncho. If it was my last stand, I would like to go out in style. The truth, at the end of the day was, we killed everyone for X.P. All the damn time, it shouldn't have taken us this long to realise it.
I aimed straight at the loosened doorframe, hand on the hammer. To those who say that's impossible, human technology and progress has been in leaps and bounds because of the abolition and denial of such horrible things.
But to that, I say, with my pistol in my hand: How did you think we got that far? | |
[WP] It suddenly becomes possible to gain XP and level up in the real world, but you can only do so by getting kills. | It has become an addiction, more than killing ever was. It has consumed me.
When you picture "serial killer," I'm the first thing that springs into your mind. I tortured animals as a child, and I liked it. My father abused me relentlessly, second only to my mother. I eventually killed him... and her. I took a life for the first time when I was only fifteen years old: a girl from my high school who wanted nothing more than to have a loving boyfriend. She was willing to do whatever I wanted up until I slid that knife into her neck.
I don't exactly know when the bubbles started. It could have even been that first time, and maybe they were just too small to notice. Or maybe I was so overwhelmed and excited from finally giving in to my urges that I didn't even see them. I *do* remember them appearing on my fifth kill, when I dragged a jogger in the park into the bushes and took his life. They seemed to seep out of his skin like sweat, then form into bubbles that hung over his body. I popped one with my little finger, and I felt a sudden rush of energy and power. I've tried a number of different drugs, but there was *nothing* like this. I needed more.
In the beginning, I picked my targets carefully. I had my arranged ritual. My preferred type was men in positions of authority: cops, soldiers, government officials, etc. The more important the better. I'm sure some psychologist would link it to my issues with my father, if I ever visited a shrink. But the more I killed, the larger the bubbles grew, and the sense of euphoria that I got from them became far more potent. Soon, I didn't care *who* my victims were. I just needed more of them.
I "leveled up" for the first time on October 10, 2012, kill #23. He was a middle school principal named Mr. Simon. The bubbles that came from his skin weren't red; they were golden and shimmering and shiny. I popped one, and practically collapsed as waves of pleasure washed over me. "Congratulations," a voice boomed through my mind from nowhere and everywhere at once. "You have reached Level 2!" Visions swam in front of my eyes as I lay stunned in the grass next to the corpse. The hallucinations promised incredible powers: super strength, controlling flames... like a comic book superhero. The visions asked me to choose, and there was just something about the whole experience that made it feel *real*. This wasn't the same as other hallucinagens.
I chose "Camouflage," and the visions vanished. I was left alone in that wide cornfield with Mr. Simon's body, just as usual. Well, not as usual: glancing down at my own body, I noticed that I was slowly disappearing. I could see cornstalks through my own legs.
-----
It's been three years since I first leveled up, and tonight's kill should bring me to level 12. It gets harder and harder every time; more and more bodies are required. The euphoria that I once felt upon absorbing the bubbles is now only a hunger, leaving me desperately craving more. I'm up to one kill every few days, and I've only been able to escape the detection of law enforcement thanks to my fantastic new abilities. But I've certainly been following the nationwide manhunt for me pretty closely.
I wait silently outside the VA hospital, blended perfectly into the beige concrete of the parking structure. These facilities are a pretty common hunting ground for me, now that I've realized that soldiers seem to grant the most experience. Maybe it's the fact that they've killed too. Maybe I'm getting the bubbles from them and from their victims.
My selected victim is slowly shuffling back to his car. He's got a pretty severe limp, a souvenir from his tour in Iraq. Not that he could escape me even if he was healthy; my super speed from Level 5 is amazing. But that IED certainly made him an easy target. I used to thoroughly research my victims and learn everything about that, but I don't have time for that anymore. Now, a cursory search on Google is enough. And I might have to give that up soon when I begin killing daily. I know it's inevitable.
*beep beep*. His unlocking car fills the silence of the parking structure, and the lights flash. I worry for half a second that they'll give me away, but that's just a vestige from before I got my powers. I'm nigh invincible now.
He shuffles over to the car door, and I leave my perch. I sneak up behind him, draw my blade, and position it right over his back. Most victims tend to hear me coming when I'm this close to them, but maybe the IED deafened him as well. Poor guy; this is almost too easy. I plunge the blade down... into nothing. I can *see* the knife enter his body, but there's no resistance. It's just air.
My hand is now sticking out from his back, and the knife seems to be just be sitting in the middle of his torso. What the hell? I raise my arm to try again; still nothing. The soldier is trying to unlock his car like nothing is amiss at all.
I'm grabbed from behind, and I feel cold steel pressed against my neck. The soldier in front of me shimmers and vanishes.
"Illusion perk," a voice whispers in my ear. "Level 16. Too bad you never made it that high."
The knife cuts my jugular, and blood begins to pour down my chest in a sickening, gory waterfall. And I can see golden bubbles rising from my own skin. | Human history has told us we kill because of hate, because of differences, that we fire on our kind for peace or some high-minded goal. We've always held each other at gunpoint, whether literal or behind two large maps of the world with blinking lights. Today, we come to know that as peace, but before the words that passed those lips were stalemate. There was no difference between the two back then, but now we've forged one. Out of sheer necessity.
You see, peacetime is only a construct that exists because of war. Peace was a forgotten definition until the night of November eleventh, two-thousand and fifteen. See, that very night, the world seemed to tick over into another dimension, without even realising. Something cosmic happened, is all I can describe it as. The veil was lifted, some would say, the rules were changed. Murderers, told they were spurned forward by some sense of progress, continued. Serials grew larger, populations shrunk.
People became aware of what it meant to kill. What it meant to harvest someone's flesh for your own material gain. It was for some reason, some galactic hiccup that launched a bubble into the quaint stream of time, that all our realisations came at the same time.
I nursed the revolver in my hand, wiping the debris off the badges one by one. They were little pins, clips that the first shot had walked in with, claiming they gave him power. "Goddamnit, Wes, they're just pins," is what my mother had said, and what I said now to the morning breeze. I was still in my own home, a high vantage point in the shape of an upstate apartment. It was just me now, though. I'd collected their things, whatever offerings to the game they had. Each one was different, marking an individual for who they were, they were the modern passports. We called them pins.
Down there in the streets the thugs bashed at each other with upended signposts, shielding themselves with trashlids and broken hubcaps, caved in one side.
I winced as a mailbox came crashing down on a girl's head. Her arms went limp immediately.
I ducked, shuriken shot over me and cracked the window. The breeze greeted me, as did she, "Pins, love." Two words, usually it was one when you met someone new, but this time the gangs were feeling especially nice.
I had to think of something witty, otherwise it was all for naught, "You'll have to pry them off me." Well crap, there goes that opportunity. Screams and shouts from below welcome my fate if I choose to jump. "Oh boy," I swerved and flung the revolver out, finger wrestling the trigger.
She was gone. I stood up, my eyes browsing the wooden panelling along the condo's pillars. A flash of pink, and I fired. Straight from the hip. I'd like to think of myself as a sharpshooter from the old west, but my aim disagreed. "Fuck," I cursed as my flatscreen heaved with a mighty groan and crashed onto the floor. It took my Eastwood movies with it, like a wall of dominoes coming down.
"Nice aim," she said, from somewhere to my left. Another shot, and a kettle blew steam. I'd like to think it was good I was hitting something, at least. A long, drawn out chuckle, with the sound of bubbles somewhere in her throat. "How did you survive this long?"
Oh this was a good opportunity. "Because I know the truth, little girl."
"Little girl?" She brought up her huge pigtails, coloured pink for some odd reason. Then she ducked as a painting on the far wall decided it had had enough with hanging.
"Yes, all this X.P nonsense that's been going around,"
She hefted herself up again, arms somewhat shaking from the adrenalin. "What, that the government made it up? Or is it a-" and ducked, there goes my favourite mug, "biological weapon?" My arm recoiled, my second favourite mug.
"Actually my favourite conspiracy was the one guy who thought we were all in an insane asylum, and the only way free was killing each other."
"Right," a pursed-lipped whackamole, "You do realise that he killed everyone else in his litle cult and got away with a mountain of pins?"
"Yep." No one understood the beauty of that one. "But really, that's not the truth."
"And what is?" she jumped back up, straight into the path of a bullet.
"Finally," I said, lowering my arms as the bullet travelled through her nose. She coughed and screamed for a moment, nothing that wouldn't be masked by the bloody war down below. My aim was true, she was still alive. It was not a fluke. Not at all. "The truth, little girl, is that you just have to believe." I jumped over the kitchen counter, nicking the back of my pants on the sharp corner. Damn, it is hard to find a tailour. Sliding across the marble, I landed right beside her with a thump, like we were two peas in a pod, hiding from the gunmen that had just stormed our inn.
But no, it wasn't that. I pressed the barrel to her forehead, and whispered. "It isn't that we get X.P from killing, pinhead. It's that we've just realised we do." She was grinning, because there were footsteps from the stairwell. She was only a scout, it seemed. It was nice that people could band together in times of trouble. "They're here, aren't they?" She nodded.
All throughout human history, I told myself as the slug entered her frontal lobe, causing her last few words to be a jumble of forgotten tongues, we've killed each other. We told ourselves it was something high-minded, or something important. That we fought for causes, that we fought for something real, no matter how intangible.
I stood up from behind the counter, wearing my secondhand blazer across myself like a poncho. If it was my last stand, I would like to go out in style. The truth, at the end of the day was, we killed everyone for X.P. All the damn time, it shouldn't have taken us this long to realise it.
I aimed straight at the loosened doorframe, hand on the hammer. To those who say that's impossible, human technology and progress has been in leaps and bounds because of the abolition and denial of such horrible things.
But to that, I say, with my pistol in my hand: How did you think we got that far? | |
[WP] It suddenly becomes possible to gain XP and level up in the real world, but you can only do so by getting kills. | It was a harsh world.
My father was one of the first to level up. He killed my mother and my brother to gain power. He only left me alive to raise a daughter.
Laws didn't apply to anyone. It was every man for himself.
But the stronger you are, the more EXP you're worth. Rankings never stayed constant, beyond the top five people. My father was one of them.
To kill them would raise you to the top, but they were experts at killing. It was a death wish to try and take them out.
I could never kill. I was scared of even harming bugs. I was a disappointment to my father, and sometimes I wondered why he never killed me.
He never showed me much love, as expected from a serial killer. I was just a tool for him to use. I would throw out the dead bodies for him, or scout for potential victims.
He never once feared me.
I remember when the game was first revealed. A broadcast to every nation in the world.
People killed for the dream - to be level 100. The first person to reach level 100 could become a god.
It was too good to be true.
Every level presented upgrades - enhancing your strength, your agility, your stamina. The first few murderers suddenly became more powerful. It didn't take long for people to believe the game was real. Governments fell. Nothing was there to keep order, and cooperations began to exploit their workers even more.
Everyone was determined to become a god.
My father was close to becoming level 100, but the higher you got the more kills it took. Soon, competition between the highest ranking players got rough.
They started to take each other out.
My father started first, taking someone the same level as him out. It was a tough battle, and he nearly lost an eye. But he watched his level finally go up, to 95.
I wondered a lot at times, what would my father do if he became a god?
Would he become a world leader? Would he bring my mother and brother back?
Or would he continue this sick game?
I lost hope in everyone. It felt like a nightmare I couldn't escape. I had two options to end this dream.
To kill myself, or to kill others.
I thought about it for a while - I wanted to die. My family was dead and my father was a serial killer.
I could never kill people. Never. But after years of taking out literal corpses, and after years of witnessing this world, I realized something.
The only way to escape this hell is to create the world anew.
I don't know how I got the courage, but I did. My father slept peacefully, and never had his guard up with me. He knew I would never hurt him. I was too weak.
I gave him a quick death, slicing his throat. He woke up right when it sliced his throat, and he only had a few seconds to react. He looked at me with surprise, but I stabbed directly into his heart.
I watched a bar appear over my head, quickly bringing me to level 80. He was worth that much.
Blood was all over my clothes, and I cried for a bit. I couldn't believe I could have really killed him.
But this wasn't enough. I needed more. I needed to become a God.
I decided I would only target the highest ranking players - the worst offenders of this game. If I had to kill, I would kill the scum first.
I will become a God, and I will clean this world. I will stop this madness.
If I don't fall into madness first, that is.
| We are not born destined for great things.
Through our experiences in our limited time on this mortal coil, we determine whether we achieve greatness, thrive in mediocrity, or drown in degeneracy. We shape the world around us through our actions and indirectly, through the actions we inspire in others. Our decisions ripple outward and change the fate of the world.
These thoughts rode with me as I stood over the termite mound. A 55-gallon drum of Raid sat beside me, connected to a compressor and a nozzle in my hand. I flicked the compressor on.
That was the day I achieved greatness. The day my ripple spread across the world.
The day I became a god. | |
[WP] It suddenly becomes possible to gain XP and level up in the real world, but you can only do so by getting kills. | It was a harsh world.
My father was one of the first to level up. He killed my mother and my brother to gain power. He only left me alive to raise a daughter.
Laws didn't apply to anyone. It was every man for himself.
But the stronger you are, the more EXP you're worth. Rankings never stayed constant, beyond the top five people. My father was one of them.
To kill them would raise you to the top, but they were experts at killing. It was a death wish to try and take them out.
I could never kill. I was scared of even harming bugs. I was a disappointment to my father, and sometimes I wondered why he never killed me.
He never showed me much love, as expected from a serial killer. I was just a tool for him to use. I would throw out the dead bodies for him, or scout for potential victims.
He never once feared me.
I remember when the game was first revealed. A broadcast to every nation in the world.
People killed for the dream - to be level 100. The first person to reach level 100 could become a god.
It was too good to be true.
Every level presented upgrades - enhancing your strength, your agility, your stamina. The first few murderers suddenly became more powerful. It didn't take long for people to believe the game was real. Governments fell. Nothing was there to keep order, and cooperations began to exploit their workers even more.
Everyone was determined to become a god.
My father was close to becoming level 100, but the higher you got the more kills it took. Soon, competition between the highest ranking players got rough.
They started to take each other out.
My father started first, taking someone the same level as him out. It was a tough battle, and he nearly lost an eye. But he watched his level finally go up, to 95.
I wondered a lot at times, what would my father do if he became a god?
Would he become a world leader? Would he bring my mother and brother back?
Or would he continue this sick game?
I lost hope in everyone. It felt like a nightmare I couldn't escape. I had two options to end this dream.
To kill myself, or to kill others.
I thought about it for a while - I wanted to die. My family was dead and my father was a serial killer.
I could never kill people. Never. But after years of taking out literal corpses, and after years of witnessing this world, I realized something.
The only way to escape this hell is to create the world anew.
I don't know how I got the courage, but I did. My father slept peacefully, and never had his guard up with me. He knew I would never hurt him. I was too weak.
I gave him a quick death, slicing his throat. He woke up right when it sliced his throat, and he only had a few seconds to react. He looked at me with surprise, but I stabbed directly into his heart.
I watched a bar appear over my head, quickly bringing me to level 80. He was worth that much.
Blood was all over my clothes, and I cried for a bit. I couldn't believe I could have really killed him.
But this wasn't enough. I needed more. I needed to become a God.
I decided I would only target the highest ranking players - the worst offenders of this game. If I had to kill, I would kill the scum first.
I will become a God, and I will clean this world. I will stop this madness.
If I don't fall into madness first, that is.
| There was an explanation.
Fermi had latched onto the beginning of the thread back in 1950, then Moravec and Bostrom gave it a tug, and the whole nasty thing came unraveled.
We had speculated this was the case, before the first pop-up Window materialized in front the face of that SEAL in Bahrain, asking him to spend skill points.
We had speculated, but hadn't considered the consequences.
There were a couple of immediate concerns, other than the possibility of mass psychosis. One: spending points *worked*. If they were spent in strength, the person became stronger. If it was spent in intelligence, a person's recall, three-dimensional reasoning, and logical capabilities went up. Where were these augmentations coming from? Clearly, the world was being changed. These *people* were being changed. How could this be? Energy was entering a closed system, without any visible source or entropic byproduct.
This meant that physics was now broken. People didn't panic about this *nearly as much* as they should have, lamented the physicists, but few understood the finer points of the conservation of energy.
Second, upon leveling, all of a person's injuries were healed.
Physicians made a secret pact fairly early on to not reveal that 'leveling' also healed *underlying* conditions as well, (as they evidently counted as 'status effects') to stop what would surely be a murderous rampage by the terminally ill, but the secret got out anyway. The societal consequences were... extreme.
It only got worse when it became clear that, while leveling could cure cancer, paralysis, and end-stage AIDS, it couldn't *fix* genetic conditions, all it could do was reverse the symptoms. To the horror of all, it became clear that they would have to level *periodically*, if they wanted to stay alive. Desperation overwhelmed ethics in some places. In others, the ill, who didn't wish to kill, would offer themselves as sacrifices to their fellow patients.
The last terrifying prospect emerged, when it became clear that the Window was an unimpeachable way of establishing guilt. A person's 'level' could be seen by *anyone*. The ethical ramifications of this were *staggering*. If a person was high-level, he or she was often held indefinitely, without trial, unless they could prove they were a surgeon, or some other *legitimately* lethal professional.
What was worse, the window would appear in front of those people who were *incrementally* responsible for someone's death. Windows popped in front of barmen and clerks of convenience store owners who sold cigarettes. They popped up in front of CEOs who cut wages and hours, who sent jobs to overseas factories where conditions were so bad, workers leaped off the roof to their deaths. In the past, the papers called those 'suicides'.
The Window told a different story.
The CEOs, a demographic mostly composed mostly of sociopaths, weren't much bothered by this. The tormented ones were the public. While the XP rewards were reduced to triviality by some unknown mechanic, (perhaps due to the *sheer quantity involved*) they were constantly harried by the chime and floating numbers, the constant parade of names from the Third World. (who died as a result of economic practices and governmental policies; things that, as citizens of democracies, they bore responsibility for) Presented with such transcendent and indisputable proof of their evil-doing, hundreds of thousands of the more moral citizens took to drinking.
The rest grit their teeth, and tried to ignore it. It was impossible. Governments an businesses found, to their chagrin, that lying about human costs was now untenable. Their profitability took a strong dip, but the world, funnily enough, improved.
Back to Fermi. Fermi had a paradox: given that the conditions for the formation of life are actually fairly common, and the incredible scale of time we have access to thanks to the relativistic speed of light, why don't we see more evidence of alien civilizations? A physicist named Fermat had a principle: a seemingly teleological one: Light takes the shortest path, to it's ultimate objective. How does it know it's objective? Einstein had a brain buster of his own: light, no matter the frame of reference, has the same velocity. Moravec and Bostrom put a bow on it:
All these things are true, because we are living in a simulation.
Think about it, they said. An advanced civilization could easily simulate consciousness, or a universe. In fact, it would probably simulate *hundreds* of them. Given that, it's more likely than not that you are living in a simulation than a "real" universe, at any given time. All you need to look for, to prove it to yourself, are signs of computing optimization, such as simplifying physics, or narrowing the scope of simulation to a single populated world...
Fermat. Einstein. Fermi.
And now, there's even more proof.
That brings me to us. We're the ones who intend to change the rules of this game. If reality is a simulation, that means we can change it. Make it better. We started small, but we're getting *bigger*.
...We're [r/LifeHacks.](https://www.reddit.com/r/lifehacks/) | |
[WP] It suddenly becomes possible to gain XP and level up in the real world, but you can only do so by getting kills. | The biggest 'perk' of hitting level two is being able to see other people's levels. I was doing it now, gazing around the room. The little kids were all level one of course- the starter level. Lexi- the other teacher- was kneeling by the fish tank with little Johanna. Both level ones.
Deep in thought, I barely noticed the little tug on my shirt.
"Mr Raley?"
"Yes, Saffy?"
"What was your wife's favourite colour?"
She brandished a new pack of crayons and a piece of paper. There was already a stick-man on it- not my exact likeness, but how accurate can stick-men get? Another drawing was stood next to mine, a lady with long red hair and a yet-to-be-coloured-in dress. My heart twinged.
"I don't have a wife, sweetie."
I smiled at the little girl, trying not to show too much pain in my eyes. She looked confused.
"Who is the lady in the photo?" she said, pointing to the picture on my desk. I gazed at the picture, taking in her mischievous smile and warm eyes.
"She *used* to be my wife."
"Why isn't she now?"
"She died, sweetie."
The little girl's mouth turned into a round 'o'. She patted my knee.
"I'm sorry."
Then she had gone, skipped away to talk to her friends.
I thought back my to wife. That night- a rainy Tuesday. Earlier on she'd looked out at the rumbling purple clouds and run outside to take a photo. She came back in, soaking wet and smiling. I was so tired from work... I didn't smile back. I went to sleep watching TV while she made dinner. When I woke up... well, she had gone cold. I can still feel her dead hand in my own. And the guy who'd done it. He was still there, running down from the bedroom, arms full of her grandmother's jewellery. I grabbed my gun. *Bang*.
When you kill a man for the first time, you level up straight away.
It was the most painful thing I'd ever felt.
I looked around at the glowing golden '1's glittering in the room. It was a good thing they couldn't see levels.
I shivered under the cursed shadow of my storming, bruised '2'. | There was an explanation.
Fermi had latched onto the beginning of the thread back in 1950, then Moravec and Bostrom gave it a tug, and the whole nasty thing came unraveled.
We had speculated this was the case, before the first pop-up Window materialized in front the face of that SEAL in Bahrain, asking him to spend skill points.
We had speculated, but hadn't considered the consequences.
There were a couple of immediate concerns, other than the possibility of mass psychosis. One: spending points *worked*. If they were spent in strength, the person became stronger. If it was spent in intelligence, a person's recall, three-dimensional reasoning, and logical capabilities went up. Where were these augmentations coming from? Clearly, the world was being changed. These *people* were being changed. How could this be? Energy was entering a closed system, without any visible source or entropic byproduct.
This meant that physics was now broken. People didn't panic about this *nearly as much* as they should have, lamented the physicists, but few understood the finer points of the conservation of energy.
Second, upon leveling, all of a person's injuries were healed.
Physicians made a secret pact fairly early on to not reveal that 'leveling' also healed *underlying* conditions as well, (as they evidently counted as 'status effects') to stop what would surely be a murderous rampage by the terminally ill, but the secret got out anyway. The societal consequences were... extreme.
It only got worse when it became clear that, while leveling could cure cancer, paralysis, and end-stage AIDS, it couldn't *fix* genetic conditions, all it could do was reverse the symptoms. To the horror of all, it became clear that they would have to level *periodically*, if they wanted to stay alive. Desperation overwhelmed ethics in some places. In others, the ill, who didn't wish to kill, would offer themselves as sacrifices to their fellow patients.
The last terrifying prospect emerged, when it became clear that the Window was an unimpeachable way of establishing guilt. A person's 'level' could be seen by *anyone*. The ethical ramifications of this were *staggering*. If a person was high-level, he or she was often held indefinitely, without trial, unless they could prove they were a surgeon, or some other *legitimately* lethal professional.
What was worse, the window would appear in front of those people who were *incrementally* responsible for someone's death. Windows popped in front of barmen and clerks of convenience store owners who sold cigarettes. They popped up in front of CEOs who cut wages and hours, who sent jobs to overseas factories where conditions were so bad, workers leaped off the roof to their deaths. In the past, the papers called those 'suicides'.
The Window told a different story.
The CEOs, a demographic mostly composed mostly of sociopaths, weren't much bothered by this. The tormented ones were the public. While the XP rewards were reduced to triviality by some unknown mechanic, (perhaps due to the *sheer quantity involved*) they were constantly harried by the chime and floating numbers, the constant parade of names from the Third World. (who died as a result of economic practices and governmental policies; things that, as citizens of democracies, they bore responsibility for) Presented with such transcendent and indisputable proof of their evil-doing, hundreds of thousands of the more moral citizens took to drinking.
The rest grit their teeth, and tried to ignore it. It was impossible. Governments an businesses found, to their chagrin, that lying about human costs was now untenable. Their profitability took a strong dip, but the world, funnily enough, improved.
Back to Fermi. Fermi had a paradox: given that the conditions for the formation of life are actually fairly common, and the incredible scale of time we have access to thanks to the relativistic speed of light, why don't we see more evidence of alien civilizations? A physicist named Fermat had a principle: a seemingly teleological one: Light takes the shortest path, to it's ultimate objective. How does it know it's objective? Einstein had a brain buster of his own: light, no matter the frame of reference, has the same velocity. Moravec and Bostrom put a bow on it:
All these things are true, because we are living in a simulation.
Think about it, they said. An advanced civilization could easily simulate consciousness, or a universe. In fact, it would probably simulate *hundreds* of them. Given that, it's more likely than not that you are living in a simulation than a "real" universe, at any given time. All you need to look for, to prove it to yourself, are signs of computing optimization, such as simplifying physics, or narrowing the scope of simulation to a single populated world...
Fermat. Einstein. Fermi.
And now, there's even more proof.
That brings me to us. We're the ones who intend to change the rules of this game. If reality is a simulation, that means we can change it. Make it better. We started small, but we're getting *bigger*.
...We're [r/LifeHacks.](https://www.reddit.com/r/lifehacks/) | |
[WP] It suddenly becomes possible to gain XP and level up in the real world, but you can only do so by getting kills. | It was a harsh world.
My father was one of the first to level up. He killed my mother and my brother to gain power. He only left me alive to raise a daughter.
Laws didn't apply to anyone. It was every man for himself.
But the stronger you are, the more EXP you're worth. Rankings never stayed constant, beyond the top five people. My father was one of them.
To kill them would raise you to the top, but they were experts at killing. It was a death wish to try and take them out.
I could never kill. I was scared of even harming bugs. I was a disappointment to my father, and sometimes I wondered why he never killed me.
He never showed me much love, as expected from a serial killer. I was just a tool for him to use. I would throw out the dead bodies for him, or scout for potential victims.
He never once feared me.
I remember when the game was first revealed. A broadcast to every nation in the world.
People killed for the dream - to be level 100. The first person to reach level 100 could become a god.
It was too good to be true.
Every level presented upgrades - enhancing your strength, your agility, your stamina. The first few murderers suddenly became more powerful. It didn't take long for people to believe the game was real. Governments fell. Nothing was there to keep order, and cooperations began to exploit their workers even more.
Everyone was determined to become a god.
My father was close to becoming level 100, but the higher you got the more kills it took. Soon, competition between the highest ranking players got rough.
They started to take each other out.
My father started first, taking someone the same level as him out. It was a tough battle, and he nearly lost an eye. But he watched his level finally go up, to 95.
I wondered a lot at times, what would my father do if he became a god?
Would he become a world leader? Would he bring my mother and brother back?
Or would he continue this sick game?
I lost hope in everyone. It felt like a nightmare I couldn't escape. I had two options to end this dream.
To kill myself, or to kill others.
I thought about it for a while - I wanted to die. My family was dead and my father was a serial killer.
I could never kill people. Never. But after years of taking out literal corpses, and after years of witnessing this world, I realized something.
The only way to escape this hell is to create the world anew.
I don't know how I got the courage, but I did. My father slept peacefully, and never had his guard up with me. He knew I would never hurt him. I was too weak.
I gave him a quick death, slicing his throat. He woke up right when it sliced his throat, and he only had a few seconds to react. He looked at me with surprise, but I stabbed directly into his heart.
I watched a bar appear over my head, quickly bringing me to level 80. He was worth that much.
Blood was all over my clothes, and I cried for a bit. I couldn't believe I could have really killed him.
But this wasn't enough. I needed more. I needed to become a God.
I decided I would only target the highest ranking players - the worst offenders of this game. If I had to kill, I would kill the scum first.
I will become a God, and I will clean this world. I will stop this madness.
If I don't fall into madness first, that is.
| A new government initiative to solve the overpopulation crisis, the introduction of XP (experience points) which could be gained by any ordinary citizen, had the means to increase one's biological powers beyond humanly measure. Each experience point was acquired by taking the life of another person. One would then take their victims body to an XP hotspot, submit it, and be rewarded with 1 point. It was a primitive game of survival of the fittest, promoted on a civilised playing field. A clash between the natural order we human's so desperately strive to separate ourselves from, and modern co-existence.
The incentives to kill were quite desirable. 1 experience point gained a person the ability to fly, able to soar above and beyond the heavens. 2 experience points granted the ability to breathe beneath water, just as the fish do, and with 3 points, one would be able to run faster than any other creature that had ever lived. Beyond this, there were nothing else could be unlocked until one reached the ultimate level, 1000 points, which granted that person the superlative fantasy; the overcoming of all biological boundaries: *immortality*, the ability to live forever and ever.What had been unattainable since the beginning of our time now became a reality. Humans had now truly surpassed the traditional realm of nature, in that the cycle of life and death no longer existed for some of its members.
I once had the chance to meet one of these immortals.
"*Do you never want do die? How can you possibly live forever?*", I asked Him.
"*Well*", He replied, "*Why do you choose to exist now if you will not live forever? If you are destined to an eternal nothingness, then does that mean you already cease to exist?*".
I did not understand, "*What do you mean Sir? I exist right now just as you do*".
"*You don't. Not by the terms of the universe, but on your own terms you do not exist. For if something is destined to happen, then it has already occurred. This is the nature of time. You are destined to an eternal nothingness, therefore since it will happen and you will never rise for all of eternity, you are already dead*".
He took a sip from a wine glass and continued, "*My destiny is to exist forever. Time no longer exists within, before, or beyond me. I am now everything and anything. I exist as living proof of the logical extreme to which all humans that currently exist and understand their mortality irrationally strive for: the desire to live forever.*"
He put down the glass and looked up towards the sky, "*I am what you wish to be, and I have made an irrevocable mistake.*"
He cried.
I hope at least one person reads this and can understand what this means, for when i put down this pen, I shall cash in the ultimate experience point, *myself*. And this will be the end of the initiative.
We were never meant to fly, so God did not give us wings. We were never meant to dwell with the fish or run faster than the leopard, so God did not give us these abilities. If we weren't meant to be here forever, then why should we be here at all?
edit: formatting | |
[WP] It suddenly becomes possible to gain XP and level up in the real world, but you can only do so by getting kills. | The biggest 'perk' of hitting level two is being able to see other people's levels. I was doing it now, gazing around the room. The little kids were all level one of course- the starter level. Lexi- the other teacher- was kneeling by the fish tank with little Johanna. Both level ones.
Deep in thought, I barely noticed the little tug on my shirt.
"Mr Raley?"
"Yes, Saffy?"
"What was your wife's favourite colour?"
She brandished a new pack of crayons and a piece of paper. There was already a stick-man on it- not my exact likeness, but how accurate can stick-men get? Another drawing was stood next to mine, a lady with long red hair and a yet-to-be-coloured-in dress. My heart twinged.
"I don't have a wife, sweetie."
I smiled at the little girl, trying not to show too much pain in my eyes. She looked confused.
"Who is the lady in the photo?" she said, pointing to the picture on my desk. I gazed at the picture, taking in her mischievous smile and warm eyes.
"She *used* to be my wife."
"Why isn't she now?"
"She died, sweetie."
The little girl's mouth turned into a round 'o'. She patted my knee.
"I'm sorry."
Then she had gone, skipped away to talk to her friends.
I thought back my to wife. That night- a rainy Tuesday. Earlier on she'd looked out at the rumbling purple clouds and run outside to take a photo. She came back in, soaking wet and smiling. I was so tired from work... I didn't smile back. I went to sleep watching TV while she made dinner. When I woke up... well, she had gone cold. I can still feel her dead hand in my own. And the guy who'd done it. He was still there, running down from the bedroom, arms full of her grandmother's jewellery. I grabbed my gun. *Bang*.
When you kill a man for the first time, you level up straight away.
It was the most painful thing I'd ever felt.
I looked around at the glowing golden '1's glittering in the room. It was a good thing they couldn't see levels.
I shivered under the cursed shadow of my storming, bruised '2'. | A new government initiative to solve the overpopulation crisis, the introduction of XP (experience points) which could be gained by any ordinary citizen, had the means to increase one's biological powers beyond humanly measure. Each experience point was acquired by taking the life of another person. One would then take their victims body to an XP hotspot, submit it, and be rewarded with 1 point. It was a primitive game of survival of the fittest, promoted on a civilised playing field. A clash between the natural order we human's so desperately strive to separate ourselves from, and modern co-existence.
The incentives to kill were quite desirable. 1 experience point gained a person the ability to fly, able to soar above and beyond the heavens. 2 experience points granted the ability to breathe beneath water, just as the fish do, and with 3 points, one would be able to run faster than any other creature that had ever lived. Beyond this, there were nothing else could be unlocked until one reached the ultimate level, 1000 points, which granted that person the superlative fantasy; the overcoming of all biological boundaries: *immortality*, the ability to live forever and ever.What had been unattainable since the beginning of our time now became a reality. Humans had now truly surpassed the traditional realm of nature, in that the cycle of life and death no longer existed for some of its members.
I once had the chance to meet one of these immortals.
"*Do you never want do die? How can you possibly live forever?*", I asked Him.
"*Well*", He replied, "*Why do you choose to exist now if you will not live forever? If you are destined to an eternal nothingness, then does that mean you already cease to exist?*".
I did not understand, "*What do you mean Sir? I exist right now just as you do*".
"*You don't. Not by the terms of the universe, but on your own terms you do not exist. For if something is destined to happen, then it has already occurred. This is the nature of time. You are destined to an eternal nothingness, therefore since it will happen and you will never rise for all of eternity, you are already dead*".
He took a sip from a wine glass and continued, "*My destiny is to exist forever. Time no longer exists within, before, or beyond me. I am now everything and anything. I exist as living proof of the logical extreme to which all humans that currently exist and understand their mortality irrationally strive for: the desire to live forever.*"
He put down the glass and looked up towards the sky, "*I am what you wish to be, and I have made an irrevocable mistake.*"
He cried.
I hope at least one person reads this and can understand what this means, for when i put down this pen, I shall cash in the ultimate experience point, *myself*. And this will be the end of the initiative.
We were never meant to fly, so God did not give us wings. We were never meant to dwell with the fish or run faster than the leopard, so God did not give us these abilities. If we weren't meant to be here forever, then why should we be here at all?
edit: formatting | |
[WP] It suddenly becomes possible to gain XP and level up in the real world, but you can only do so by getting kills. | The biggest 'perk' of hitting level two is being able to see other people's levels. I was doing it now, gazing around the room. The little kids were all level one of course- the starter level. Lexi- the other teacher- was kneeling by the fish tank with little Johanna. Both level ones.
Deep in thought, I barely noticed the little tug on my shirt.
"Mr Raley?"
"Yes, Saffy?"
"What was your wife's favourite colour?"
She brandished a new pack of crayons and a piece of paper. There was already a stick-man on it- not my exact likeness, but how accurate can stick-men get? Another drawing was stood next to mine, a lady with long red hair and a yet-to-be-coloured-in dress. My heart twinged.
"I don't have a wife, sweetie."
I smiled at the little girl, trying not to show too much pain in my eyes. She looked confused.
"Who is the lady in the photo?" she said, pointing to the picture on my desk. I gazed at the picture, taking in her mischievous smile and warm eyes.
"She *used* to be my wife."
"Why isn't she now?"
"She died, sweetie."
The little girl's mouth turned into a round 'o'. She patted my knee.
"I'm sorry."
Then she had gone, skipped away to talk to her friends.
I thought back my to wife. That night- a rainy Tuesday. Earlier on she'd looked out at the rumbling purple clouds and run outside to take a photo. She came back in, soaking wet and smiling. I was so tired from work... I didn't smile back. I went to sleep watching TV while she made dinner. When I woke up... well, she had gone cold. I can still feel her dead hand in my own. And the guy who'd done it. He was still there, running down from the bedroom, arms full of her grandmother's jewellery. I grabbed my gun. *Bang*.
When you kill a man for the first time, you level up straight away.
It was the most painful thing I'd ever felt.
I looked around at the glowing golden '1's glittering in the room. It was a good thing they couldn't see levels.
I shivered under the cursed shadow of my storming, bruised '2'. | Every morning, while in the metro, I see these people looking at me. Just like me, they killed. Some may not like doing so. I do. Some may not do it fast enough. Some may level up too fast. It's not my business. I love the color of blood.
Every day, I will lock myself in at the office, to make sure I'm not used to level up. You may call me a paranoiac, but being in bad terms with your CEO is a bad idea. Being in bad terms with anyone isn't either. But at least this sudden change brought us generally good relationships. People aren't fighting in line to the store. They don't argue over taxes. They just do what they are told to, plus the killing.
Truth is, it has become harder to level up. In the beginning, beggars were easy targets, and thus favorably picked on. At first people found it irregular, but eventually we ran out. A lot of people switched to animals. Some find it better that way; some don't like the lack of sport, and keep killing humans. For myself, I couldn't care less.
I walk out of the metro station. There's this gigantic ad on the wall. "Thanks to the latest technology, you are now able to not kill to level up! For more informations, call 1-514-235-LIVE [...]". No one ever looks at it, probably due to the lack of need in technology nowadays: you need to personally kill to earn XP. Remote killing using drones, bombs and the like does not work. When you think about it, it's basically population control. In a world where birth rate inflates and the only place we know is Earth, killing your fellow citizens doesn't sound too bad. Want an example? Look at Japan.
Today, as I walk by that ad, I notice someone. He seems to be a level 40, with a body as sharp as razor blades. He's alternatively looking at the ad and sending a text. I sneak by.
"Did you see that ad? We should try this out! I'm sick of killing stuff..."
I hate these kind of people. You need to kill, so just do it. Eventually you'll get used to it. This guy probably hasn't killed enough. I guess I should remind him.
He sends his text. Notices me. He goes from a blank stare to one of a terrified person. I think he understood. Nods to me. I walk away.
He's already dead anyway. | |
[WP] It suddenly becomes possible to gain XP and level up in the real world, but you can only do so by getting kills. | When I wanted to kill myself the only person I told was Alexis. That was in high school, at peak levels of insecurity and torment. I'd be sleeping for 3 hours a day. Not because of insomnia, but because of the nightmares. An overactive imagination that invaded my personal space, and consumed me while asleep. Some times it's the reverberated sound of a voice or snarl, contained in a locked room. Others, a grimacing face shifting in strobed light. There, then gone. There, then gone.
I don't know when specifically, but out of those moments came an impulse for violence. I was fed up. How wonderful it'd be to take a knife and carve out those shadowed faces, to burn these locked rooms down into ash. To become the tormentor, the warden. The nightmares faded as these fantasies erupted. My imagination had fixated on a new passion, a new desire: violence.
But, in the core of my consciousness I didn't *really* want to hurt anyone. The permanence of death pressed against these thoughts, pleading with me. Would it be worth it, satisfying the urge? How long could I hold out? Every day, I was getting closer to damage, real damage. I came to the conclusion: if I don't end my life, I'll end someone else's.
This and more I told to Alexis, expecting disgust and fear. She offered instead love.
For years, control and withstraint became my mantra, built on a foundation of her compassion. It saved me, and when I finally felt whole for the first time 10 years later, we dated. Not a month later, reports of the Contest began. Reports from soldiers, police, criminals, all detailing a similar hallucination, "New Game" superimposed on their victims -- people they killed -- both just and unjustly.
I knew it was serious, but not for the reasons most shared. Everyone seemed intent to focus on the physiological and hallucinogenic aspect. How could all these people share such a similar vision, all across the world? It's a good question, an *academic* question. But all I could think is *how many more people are going to kill because of this*? Memories from my teen years kept flashing to the present. The throbbing intensity to kill. That serotonin rush like cold water on the spine, traveling across the nerves like electricity. Just the memory triggered a grin; that's how powerful it was. But the sobering thought was knowing that some kid, in the place I was, would cross that line. Life seemed less and less like life, and more like a game. And then it happened.
A few drinks after a late concert with Alexis, and than a 2 block walk to my parked car. Normally more vigilant,
the music eased my muscles and the beer lowered my guard. One block down and one to go, the crosswalk flashed green, and like any sane person we started to cross. I heard the engine roaring louder as it approaches, but years of safely crossing streets builds a false sense of security. I waited for the truck engine to slow, to acknowledge the light.
The truck blew past the red, directly into Alexis, and clipping me. Like a broken doll she collapsed onto the asphalt as the truck screeched around the corner, nearly rolled, and powered out of sight.
She sobbed there, squirming, coughing out more blood than words. Alive. And in pain.
I thought about it. There was no making it for her. Not so much as an hour. I could end her pain, right there, in a minute, and save her the agony. She must have saw read the thoughts out of my eyes, cause she shook her head, the *only* deliberate action she could manage.
Behind her, a black truck edged on the corner, it's grill dented and red. I stared it down, waiting for it accelerate, to finish the work, but it didn't. It crawled forward. Why? I shot a look to Alexis. She looked up, past me, without so much of a shutter in her pupils.
When I looked up, the truck had pulled over barely two feet beside us, the windows down.
Behind the wheel the man was all blonde and jackal teeth. They type you see in Vegas pool-side, with a bottle worth a week's pay. My age. He turned to passenger side, saying, "I told you I'd only gotten one! I *saw* it too, nearly crashed. You won't fucking believe it. "
Turning back, he bore his eyes into me. Vibrant, unashamed. He rested his arms off the window. "Hey, man. Don't look at me like that. It's only a game."
A small alarm sounded as the passenger side door opened, that *beep, beep, beep,* silencing when it shut. But by then, I was already on my feet.
The rage overtook the agony of my side, still half-crippled from the hit. The driver shouted at his friend, tried to warn him, but I had already turned swung around the hood of the truck.
The driver's screams got her attention in the wrong way. Her? It didn't matter.
With her head facing the truck, she never saw me round the corner. At full speed I tackled her to the curb. Her head arched back into the concrete, cracking nastily, followed by a rough scrapping sound that tugged at my eyes. A gun. A shiny metal weapon of death.
"MELISSA," Mr. Jackal screamed.
The truck door slammed, this time from the driver-side. I made a dash to the gun, 10 feet away. I grabbed it just as he turned from behind the truck bed.
I tugged the hammer back and dug deep into the trigger. POW.
Jackal staggered. I squeezed the trigger again and again until he collapsed back from the force. I might have kept firing too if my sight didn't go dark.
**NEW PLAYER** flashed in white. I could hear the girl, Melissa, groaning. Rubbing my eyes changed nothing. Blinded by the display, vulnerable, if she got her strength I'd die seeing those words. But I lucked out. The words faded out as the world faded in, a light-green XP bar lingering at the bottom of my vision following me around.
Sirens howled out in the distance. I whipped around expecting a fight, but Melissa was on her knees trying to stop the bleeding on her head. Any fight she mustered earlier, left. I was safe.
But the XP bar, it hung on the edge. That sliver before leveling up. And I wondered, what *did* it mean to level up in this game? How deep did the rabbit hole go? Is this a game you can win?
Her eyes pleaded, *don't*. But she shook her head, and when she did I thought of Alexis. The woman I trusted and loved and loved me in spite of my most sinister qualities, who taught me to overcome them. I thought about her on the ground, shaking her head, pleading *don't*. In my head, she called my name, held me in her arms. Begged me not to, and I listened. But I loved her, not the woman in front of me.
So with the toe of my boot I pulled her chin up and dug my heel into her throat, sending her back onto the concrete. And I unloaded the rest of the bullets into her chest before any ambulance could hope to speed her away.
And most of all, I smiled my own jackal tooth smile when superimposed on the world new words illuminate the darkened street: **LEVEL UP**.
| Every morning, while in the metro, I see these people looking at me. Just like me, they killed. Some may not like doing so. I do. Some may not do it fast enough. Some may level up too fast. It's not my business. I love the color of blood.
Every day, I will lock myself in at the office, to make sure I'm not used to level up. You may call me a paranoiac, but being in bad terms with your CEO is a bad idea. Being in bad terms with anyone isn't either. But at least this sudden change brought us generally good relationships. People aren't fighting in line to the store. They don't argue over taxes. They just do what they are told to, plus the killing.
Truth is, it has become harder to level up. In the beginning, beggars were easy targets, and thus favorably picked on. At first people found it irregular, but eventually we ran out. A lot of people switched to animals. Some find it better that way; some don't like the lack of sport, and keep killing humans. For myself, I couldn't care less.
I walk out of the metro station. There's this gigantic ad on the wall. "Thanks to the latest technology, you are now able to not kill to level up! For more informations, call 1-514-235-LIVE [...]". No one ever looks at it, probably due to the lack of need in technology nowadays: you need to personally kill to earn XP. Remote killing using drones, bombs and the like does not work. When you think about it, it's basically population control. In a world where birth rate inflates and the only place we know is Earth, killing your fellow citizens doesn't sound too bad. Want an example? Look at Japan.
Today, as I walk by that ad, I notice someone. He seems to be a level 40, with a body as sharp as razor blades. He's alternatively looking at the ad and sending a text. I sneak by.
"Did you see that ad? We should try this out! I'm sick of killing stuff..."
I hate these kind of people. You need to kill, so just do it. Eventually you'll get used to it. This guy probably hasn't killed enough. I guess I should remind him.
He sends his text. Notices me. He goes from a blank stare to one of a terrified person. I think he understood. Nods to me. I walk away.
He's already dead anyway. | |
[WP] It suddenly becomes possible to gain XP and level up in the real world, but you can only do so by getting kills. | *The Regulator:*
----
The boy sat, hands shaking and cuffed. The room was quiet, still. Through a mirror, he knew there were people watching him- he could tell somehow, dangerous people. He was like them now, worse maybe. The chair creaked as he peered at the glass.
They knew he knew.
He jumped as a door opened, slamming into the wall as a large man walked in, turning carefully to close it back up. It locked with a heavy click, afterwards. Someone slid a bolt in after that too, the boy could tell, somehow.
The man sat down across from him, and leveled a calm stare. It was the sort of gaze that could see deep into a person, figure out everything there was to know. The boy stared back. He could do that too, now.
"You comfortable? Need some coffee, something to eat?" The man asked, straightening his uniform. "I can send someone to get it for you, if you want anything."
"No." The boy replied. He didn't want to talk.
"Listen, I was like you once. You're not the first to end up in a situation like this." The man paused, carefully motioning towards the mirror, and then the camera, watching in the corner of the room.
The boy could tell it was turned off. Those behind the glass left shortly after.
"I'm going to tell you a story kid. It's not a particularly long one, but it's the truth. I think you'll be able to tell that now- the truth I mean." He met the boy's eyes, waiting for some sort of recognition.
Shuffling his cuffs, the boy nodded slowly. The man began, his deep voice speaking in a heavy tone.
"When I was younger, I had to kill two people in my home, on a cold night in October. I remember it was dark and raining, I remember the wind was howling." He paused, looking down at the boy. "It wasn't something I had planned on doing. It wasn't something I had wanted to do, but they broke down the door even after I told them I had a gun."
Leaning back in his chair, he continued, and the boy saw remorse. It was real remorse, the boy could tell that now. He *knew*.
"Christ, I warned them- I told them to just go away, practically begged them. I didn't even have anything worth stealing, I have no idea why they didn't listen. I mean honestly, a guy in his early twenties in a shitty apartment? Maybe they just thought I was someone else. Never found out their reasons."
"Anyways, after that I had leveled. Four times in a row, all at once. I had a ton of life points to allocate, practically a flood of them, and I could actually fill up some of those skill trees that foster in the mind, made sure to get the heightened awareness first. I just wanted to know for certain- confirm some things."
He stared down at the boy, and really *looked.* The man knew.
"See, you can't tell what level people are, not at the early stages. We all start out a level one, but usually by fifteen years you'll hit level two just from the slow grind of your immune system farming germs. Maybe you'd hit level three after that if you're a hunter. Bigger game has a lot of regulations, but they say it's only around ten deer before you can make the jump from two to three. Most people by the age of twenty-five are between levels four and five." His large armed curled over his chest, folding as the chair creaked in protest.
"The trick is, though, it ain't age. It's killing. Small difference in the long run for most people, but for some..." A deep sigh came from his chest, as he leaned forward.
"Killing germs or animals, that's something but its small- barely noticed, but killing another person? That's big, kid. That's a level, and if they were a higher than you it might be more. It's reasons like this that the government monitors so seriously. People would murder if it was common knowledge, and not just urban legend."
The boy leaned back in the chair. It wobbled slightly, covering the loose nerves that escaped on his face. The man continued.
"Sure, they keep a tight lid on it- but there's no point in beating around the bush. Not now, not with you, at least. It's rare that anyone level up enough to notice, though. People, generally, just aren't killers."
He nodded, as if in agreement with himself.
"Only problem is that after that, I was a level seven, and I could tell- see through it. That's more than most police can claim, and I only knew because somewhere between level five and here, you'll get the *sight.*"
His eyes locked with the boy's, again holding them in place.
"Really, it's more intuition, but it works the same way. You know, more or less, where someone is by a quick glance. You can *know* their level. See some of their skill points and trees- what they've allocated points to."
The boy looked closer.
"I might have flown under the radar if the Feds hadn't been called in with a level seven of their own, and confirmed it. That put me on the list, shuffled me into something close to witness protection." The man said, running fingers through thinning hair. "Eventually they got me working for them, something like a bargain. It's better than my old job, so you won't see me complaining about it. Better than being without *Big Brother's* watching eye."
He nodded again.
"See, there are killers among us. Quiet folk who, like me or you, figured it out. Something happened, somehow, and they got the *sight* and connected the dots." The man looked down at the table, inspecting something- perhaps a stain in the wood, before looking back up, continuing.
"We're chasing one of those now. You see me, just a lowly seven working with a couple of nines, and you think we're trouble... well, wait until you meet a level seventy."
The boy's eyes widened. Seventy... was that even possible?
"Look kid, I know you've got questions. I know you want answers- I was the same way, but right now- you gotta trust me." He rose slowly, joints groaning as he left the chair. "I'm going to leave you locked up tight in this room, safe and sound, and we're going out there to put that man you saw, down in chains. We're going to leave him locked up in some cell where he'll die of natural causes and old age. We're going to bring some justice for what he did."
The boy nodded at that. The man nodded back, small smile curling onto his cheeks. His eyes looked serious though. Deadly serious.
"The thing is, if we mess up, one of us slips- he could be a level ninety by the time our guys find him again. Nobody wants that." He paused, "You see what I'm getting at here?"
The boy met his eyes, folding his hands in the cuffs.
"Look, I see you, and I see a bit of myself. You didn't want to end up a level ten- but you saved a lot of lives in doing so. You've got potential. Real potential. People need guys like you, the good guys. Guys like that are in short supply."
"I might not be coming back after today. If I don't, I just want you to remember this conversation. You've been handed a terrible gift, but you can use it for good."
The man stepped back, slowly pushing in his chair to meet the table, before heading towards the door on the far side of the room. He knocked, three beats followed by two, and the bolts were lifted, the handle turned. He took one step forward before stopping, turning back one last time.
"You saved a lot of lives today kid. A guy like you... well, you're the kind we need more of. Think about it."
The door closed, and the boy thought.
----
*Edit formatting/running sentences* | Every morning, while in the metro, I see these people looking at me. Just like me, they killed. Some may not like doing so. I do. Some may not do it fast enough. Some may level up too fast. It's not my business. I love the color of blood.
Every day, I will lock myself in at the office, to make sure I'm not used to level up. You may call me a paranoiac, but being in bad terms with your CEO is a bad idea. Being in bad terms with anyone isn't either. But at least this sudden change brought us generally good relationships. People aren't fighting in line to the store. They don't argue over taxes. They just do what they are told to, plus the killing.
Truth is, it has become harder to level up. In the beginning, beggars were easy targets, and thus favorably picked on. At first people found it irregular, but eventually we ran out. A lot of people switched to animals. Some find it better that way; some don't like the lack of sport, and keep killing humans. For myself, I couldn't care less.
I walk out of the metro station. There's this gigantic ad on the wall. "Thanks to the latest technology, you are now able to not kill to level up! For more informations, call 1-514-235-LIVE [...]". No one ever looks at it, probably due to the lack of need in technology nowadays: you need to personally kill to earn XP. Remote killing using drones, bombs and the like does not work. When you think about it, it's basically population control. In a world where birth rate inflates and the only place we know is Earth, killing your fellow citizens doesn't sound too bad. Want an example? Look at Japan.
Today, as I walk by that ad, I notice someone. He seems to be a level 40, with a body as sharp as razor blades. He's alternatively looking at the ad and sending a text. I sneak by.
"Did you see that ad? We should try this out! I'm sick of killing stuff..."
I hate these kind of people. You need to kill, so just do it. Eventually you'll get used to it. This guy probably hasn't killed enough. I guess I should remind him.
He sends his text. Notices me. He goes from a blank stare to one of a terrified person. I think he understood. Nods to me. I walk away.
He's already dead anyway. | |
[WP] It suddenly becomes possible to gain XP and level up in the real world, but you can only do so by getting kills. | When the first murderer leveled up, all hell broke loose.
People scrambled to murder, rip and tear to get that sweet, sweet experience points.
Only kills made when making eye contact mattered. So many wasted lives at first... or were they?
For what you ask?
It is a simple system where the winner takes the largest share of the pie. The pie made out of fame, glory and riches.
Dead men can't eat pie.
The leaderboard changes seemingly overnight as the war of every man versus every man rages in the cold, bloodstained streets.
Many questioned the top killer in the state leaderboards, this hooded man that was the only constant within the frenzied rankings that doubled as a bounty board.
It is none other than me.
How did I get there, and stay there you ask?
Simple.
It isn't the killing of man that is hard but the hunt of one.
Ain't easy finding a lone guy on the street.
I am a simple man that loves my job.
And my job is to kill.
No risk, all reward.
I am the only state executioner.
I keep it that way.
I just go to work everyday.
I even put in overtime. | Every morning, while in the metro, I see these people looking at me. Just like me, they killed. Some may not like doing so. I do. Some may not do it fast enough. Some may level up too fast. It's not my business. I love the color of blood.
Every day, I will lock myself in at the office, to make sure I'm not used to level up. You may call me a paranoiac, but being in bad terms with your CEO is a bad idea. Being in bad terms with anyone isn't either. But at least this sudden change brought us generally good relationships. People aren't fighting in line to the store. They don't argue over taxes. They just do what they are told to, plus the killing.
Truth is, it has become harder to level up. In the beginning, beggars were easy targets, and thus favorably picked on. At first people found it irregular, but eventually we ran out. A lot of people switched to animals. Some find it better that way; some don't like the lack of sport, and keep killing humans. For myself, I couldn't care less.
I walk out of the metro station. There's this gigantic ad on the wall. "Thanks to the latest technology, you are now able to not kill to level up! For more informations, call 1-514-235-LIVE [...]". No one ever looks at it, probably due to the lack of need in technology nowadays: you need to personally kill to earn XP. Remote killing using drones, bombs and the like does not work. When you think about it, it's basically population control. In a world where birth rate inflates and the only place we know is Earth, killing your fellow citizens doesn't sound too bad. Want an example? Look at Japan.
Today, as I walk by that ad, I notice someone. He seems to be a level 40, with a body as sharp as razor blades. He's alternatively looking at the ad and sending a text. I sneak by.
"Did you see that ad? We should try this out! I'm sick of killing stuff..."
I hate these kind of people. You need to kill, so just do it. Eventually you'll get used to it. This guy probably hasn't killed enough. I guess I should remind him.
He sends his text. Notices me. He goes from a blank stare to one of a terrified person. I think he understood. Nods to me. I walk away.
He's already dead anyway. | |
[WP] It suddenly becomes possible to gain XP and level up in the real world, but you can only do so by getting kills. | It has become an addiction, more than killing ever was. It has consumed me.
When you picture "serial killer," I'm the first thing that springs into your mind. I tortured animals as a child, and I liked it. My father abused me relentlessly, second only to my mother. I eventually killed him... and her. I took a life for the first time when I was only fifteen years old: a girl from my high school who wanted nothing more than to have a loving boyfriend. She was willing to do whatever I wanted up until I slid that knife into her neck.
I don't exactly know when the bubbles started. It could have even been that first time, and maybe they were just too small to notice. Or maybe I was so overwhelmed and excited from finally giving in to my urges that I didn't even see them. I *do* remember them appearing on my fifth kill, when I dragged a jogger in the park into the bushes and took his life. They seemed to seep out of his skin like sweat, then form into bubbles that hung over his body. I popped one with my little finger, and I felt a sudden rush of energy and power. I've tried a number of different drugs, but there was *nothing* like this. I needed more.
In the beginning, I picked my targets carefully. I had my arranged ritual. My preferred type was men in positions of authority: cops, soldiers, government officials, etc. The more important the better. I'm sure some psychologist would link it to my issues with my father, if I ever visited a shrink. But the more I killed, the larger the bubbles grew, and the sense of euphoria that I got from them became far more potent. Soon, I didn't care *who* my victims were. I just needed more of them.
I "leveled up" for the first time on October 10, 2012, kill #23. He was a middle school principal named Mr. Simon. The bubbles that came from his skin weren't red; they were golden and shimmering and shiny. I popped one, and practically collapsed as waves of pleasure washed over me. "Congratulations," a voice boomed through my mind from nowhere and everywhere at once. "You have reached Level 2!" Visions swam in front of my eyes as I lay stunned in the grass next to the corpse. The hallucinations promised incredible powers: super strength, controlling flames... like a comic book superhero. The visions asked me to choose, and there was just something about the whole experience that made it feel *real*. This wasn't the same as other hallucinagens.
I chose "Camouflage," and the visions vanished. I was left alone in that wide cornfield with Mr. Simon's body, just as usual. Well, not as usual: glancing down at my own body, I noticed that I was slowly disappearing. I could see cornstalks through my own legs.
-----
It's been three years since I first leveled up, and tonight's kill should bring me to level 12. It gets harder and harder every time; more and more bodies are required. The euphoria that I once felt upon absorbing the bubbles is now only a hunger, leaving me desperately craving more. I'm up to one kill every few days, and I've only been able to escape the detection of law enforcement thanks to my fantastic new abilities. But I've certainly been following the nationwide manhunt for me pretty closely.
I wait silently outside the VA hospital, blended perfectly into the beige concrete of the parking structure. These facilities are a pretty common hunting ground for me, now that I've realized that soldiers seem to grant the most experience. Maybe it's the fact that they've killed too. Maybe I'm getting the bubbles from them and from their victims.
My selected victim is slowly shuffling back to his car. He's got a pretty severe limp, a souvenir from his tour in Iraq. Not that he could escape me even if he was healthy; my super speed from Level 5 is amazing. But that IED certainly made him an easy target. I used to thoroughly research my victims and learn everything about that, but I don't have time for that anymore. Now, a cursory search on Google is enough. And I might have to give that up soon when I begin killing daily. I know it's inevitable.
*beep beep*. His unlocking car fills the silence of the parking structure, and the lights flash. I worry for half a second that they'll give me away, but that's just a vestige from before I got my powers. I'm nigh invincible now.
He shuffles over to the car door, and I leave my perch. I sneak up behind him, draw my blade, and position it right over his back. Most victims tend to hear me coming when I'm this close to them, but maybe the IED deafened him as well. Poor guy; this is almost too easy. I plunge the blade down... into nothing. I can *see* the knife enter his body, but there's no resistance. It's just air.
My hand is now sticking out from his back, and the knife seems to be just be sitting in the middle of his torso. What the hell? I raise my arm to try again; still nothing. The soldier is trying to unlock his car like nothing is amiss at all.
I'm grabbed from behind, and I feel cold steel pressed against my neck. The soldier in front of me shimmers and vanishes.
"Illusion perk," a voice whispers in my ear. "Level 16. Too bad you never made it that high."
The knife cuts my jugular, and blood begins to pour down my chest in a sickening, gory waterfall. And I can see golden bubbles rising from my own skin. | Every morning, while in the metro, I see these people looking at me. Just like me, they killed. Some may not like doing so. I do. Some may not do it fast enough. Some may level up too fast. It's not my business. I love the color of blood.
Every day, I will lock myself in at the office, to make sure I'm not used to level up. You may call me a paranoiac, but being in bad terms with your CEO is a bad idea. Being in bad terms with anyone isn't either. But at least this sudden change brought us generally good relationships. People aren't fighting in line to the store. They don't argue over taxes. They just do what they are told to, plus the killing.
Truth is, it has become harder to level up. In the beginning, beggars were easy targets, and thus favorably picked on. At first people found it irregular, but eventually we ran out. A lot of people switched to animals. Some find it better that way; some don't like the lack of sport, and keep killing humans. For myself, I couldn't care less.
I walk out of the metro station. There's this gigantic ad on the wall. "Thanks to the latest technology, you are now able to not kill to level up! For more informations, call 1-514-235-LIVE [...]". No one ever looks at it, probably due to the lack of need in technology nowadays: you need to personally kill to earn XP. Remote killing using drones, bombs and the like does not work. When you think about it, it's basically population control. In a world where birth rate inflates and the only place we know is Earth, killing your fellow citizens doesn't sound too bad. Want an example? Look at Japan.
Today, as I walk by that ad, I notice someone. He seems to be a level 40, with a body as sharp as razor blades. He's alternatively looking at the ad and sending a text. I sneak by.
"Did you see that ad? We should try this out! I'm sick of killing stuff..."
I hate these kind of people. You need to kill, so just do it. Eventually you'll get used to it. This guy probably hasn't killed enough. I guess I should remind him.
He sends his text. Notices me. He goes from a blank stare to one of a terrified person. I think he understood. Nods to me. I walk away.
He's already dead anyway. | |
[WP] It suddenly becomes possible to gain XP and level up in the real world, but you can only do so by getting kills. | I stand over my most recent kill and *finally* feel the level up course through my body.
How many has it been? A thousand? Ten thousand?
They all blur together.
Looking down at my Timberlands I realize I'm standing a pool of her still-warm blood. I crouch down and dip the tip of my forefinger in, swirling it around a little. Tiny bits of grass and dirt from the frozen field we stand in mix and spin around on the surface. Dipping and falling into the tiny whirlpool I created.
I raise my hand towards my face, the blood's scent tickling my olfactory. The compulsion to taste it is so strong I can't stop myself.
Blood is blood is blood. The taste is much like my own. Although there are some slight differences that I can't quite put my finger on.
She didn't have any riches or weapons to plunder, but I can still take her skin. Putting away my hatchet, I pull out my field knife and begin the work. It's a dirty job, but moves quickly after the first thousand.
I am so fucking tired of killing boars. | Every morning, while in the metro, I see these people looking at me. Just like me, they killed. Some may not like doing so. I do. Some may not do it fast enough. Some may level up too fast. It's not my business. I love the color of blood.
Every day, I will lock myself in at the office, to make sure I'm not used to level up. You may call me a paranoiac, but being in bad terms with your CEO is a bad idea. Being in bad terms with anyone isn't either. But at least this sudden change brought us generally good relationships. People aren't fighting in line to the store. They don't argue over taxes. They just do what they are told to, plus the killing.
Truth is, it has become harder to level up. In the beginning, beggars were easy targets, and thus favorably picked on. At first people found it irregular, but eventually we ran out. A lot of people switched to animals. Some find it better that way; some don't like the lack of sport, and keep killing humans. For myself, I couldn't care less.
I walk out of the metro station. There's this gigantic ad on the wall. "Thanks to the latest technology, you are now able to not kill to level up! For more informations, call 1-514-235-LIVE [...]". No one ever looks at it, probably due to the lack of need in technology nowadays: you need to personally kill to earn XP. Remote killing using drones, bombs and the like does not work. When you think about it, it's basically population control. In a world where birth rate inflates and the only place we know is Earth, killing your fellow citizens doesn't sound too bad. Want an example? Look at Japan.
Today, as I walk by that ad, I notice someone. He seems to be a level 40, with a body as sharp as razor blades. He's alternatively looking at the ad and sending a text. I sneak by.
"Did you see that ad? We should try this out! I'm sick of killing stuff..."
I hate these kind of people. You need to kill, so just do it. Eventually you'll get used to it. This guy probably hasn't killed enough. I guess I should remind him.
He sends his text. Notices me. He goes from a blank stare to one of a terrified person. I think he understood. Nods to me. I walk away.
He's already dead anyway. | |
[WP] It suddenly becomes possible to gain XP and level up in the real world, but you can only do so by getting kills. | *The Regulator:*
----
The boy sat, hands shaking and cuffed. The room was quiet, still. Through a mirror, he knew there were people watching him- he could tell somehow, dangerous people. He was like them now, worse maybe. The chair creaked as he peered at the glass.
They knew he knew.
He jumped as a door opened, slamming into the wall as a large man walked in, turning carefully to close it back up. It locked with a heavy click, afterwards. Someone slid a bolt in after that too, the boy could tell, somehow.
The man sat down across from him, and leveled a calm stare. It was the sort of gaze that could see deep into a person, figure out everything there was to know. The boy stared back. He could do that too, now.
"You comfortable? Need some coffee, something to eat?" The man asked, straightening his uniform. "I can send someone to get it for you, if you want anything."
"No." The boy replied. He didn't want to talk.
"Listen, I was like you once. You're not the first to end up in a situation like this." The man paused, carefully motioning towards the mirror, and then the camera, watching in the corner of the room.
The boy could tell it was turned off. Those behind the glass left shortly after.
"I'm going to tell you a story kid. It's not a particularly long one, but it's the truth. I think you'll be able to tell that now- the truth I mean." He met the boy's eyes, waiting for some sort of recognition.
Shuffling his cuffs, the boy nodded slowly. The man began, his deep voice speaking in a heavy tone.
"When I was younger, I had to kill two people in my home, on a cold night in October. I remember it was dark and raining, I remember the wind was howling." He paused, looking down at the boy. "It wasn't something I had planned on doing. It wasn't something I had wanted to do, but they broke down the door even after I told them I had a gun."
Leaning back in his chair, he continued, and the boy saw remorse. It was real remorse, the boy could tell that now. He *knew*.
"Christ, I warned them- I told them to just go away, practically begged them. I didn't even have anything worth stealing, I have no idea why they didn't listen. I mean honestly, a guy in his early twenties in a shitty apartment? Maybe they just thought I was someone else. Never found out their reasons."
"Anyways, after that I had leveled. Four times in a row, all at once. I had a ton of life points to allocate, practically a flood of them, and I could actually fill up some of those skill trees that foster in the mind, made sure to get the heightened awareness first. I just wanted to know for certain- confirm some things."
He stared down at the boy, and really *looked.* The man knew.
"See, you can't tell what level people are, not at the early stages. We all start out a level one, but usually by fifteen years you'll hit level two just from the slow grind of your immune system farming germs. Maybe you'd hit level three after that if you're a hunter. Bigger game has a lot of regulations, but they say it's only around ten deer before you can make the jump from two to three. Most people by the age of twenty-five are between levels four and five." His large armed curled over his chest, folding as the chair creaked in protest.
"The trick is, though, it ain't age. It's killing. Small difference in the long run for most people, but for some..." A deep sigh came from his chest, as he leaned forward.
"Killing germs or animals, that's something but its small- barely noticed, but killing another person? That's big, kid. That's a level, and if they were a higher than you it might be more. It's reasons like this that the government monitors so seriously. People would murder if it was common knowledge, and not just urban legend."
The boy leaned back in the chair. It wobbled slightly, covering the loose nerves that escaped on his face. The man continued.
"Sure, they keep a tight lid on it- but there's no point in beating around the bush. Not now, not with you, at least. It's rare that anyone level up enough to notice, though. People, generally, just aren't killers."
He nodded, as if in agreement with himself.
"Only problem is that after that, I was a level seven, and I could tell- see through it. That's more than most police can claim, and I only knew because somewhere between level five and here, you'll get the *sight.*"
His eyes locked with the boy's, again holding them in place.
"Really, it's more intuition, but it works the same way. You know, more or less, where someone is by a quick glance. You can *know* their level. See some of their skill points and trees- what they've allocated points to."
The boy looked closer.
"I might have flown under the radar if the Feds hadn't been called in with a level seven of their own, and confirmed it. That put me on the list, shuffled me into something close to witness protection." The man said, running fingers through thinning hair. "Eventually they got me working for them, something like a bargain. It's better than my old job, so you won't see me complaining about it. Better than being without *Big Brother's* watching eye."
He nodded again.
"See, there are killers among us. Quiet folk who, like me or you, figured it out. Something happened, somehow, and they got the *sight* and connected the dots." The man looked down at the table, inspecting something- perhaps a stain in the wood, before looking back up, continuing.
"We're chasing one of those now. You see me, just a lowly seven working with a couple of nines, and you think we're trouble... well, wait until you meet a level seventy."
The boy's eyes widened. Seventy... was that even possible?
"Look kid, I know you've got questions. I know you want answers- I was the same way, but right now- you gotta trust me." He rose slowly, joints groaning as he left the chair. "I'm going to leave you locked up tight in this room, safe and sound, and we're going out there to put that man you saw, down in chains. We're going to leave him locked up in some cell where he'll die of natural causes and old age. We're going to bring some justice for what he did."
The boy nodded at that. The man nodded back, small smile curling onto his cheeks. His eyes looked serious though. Deadly serious.
"The thing is, if we mess up, one of us slips- he could be a level ninety by the time our guys find him again. Nobody wants that." He paused, "You see what I'm getting at here?"
The boy met his eyes, folding his hands in the cuffs.
"Look, I see you, and I see a bit of myself. You didn't want to end up a level ten- but you saved a lot of lives in doing so. You've got potential. Real potential. People need guys like you, the good guys. Guys like that are in short supply."
"I might not be coming back after today. If I don't, I just want you to remember this conversation. You've been handed a terrible gift, but you can use it for good."
The man stepped back, slowly pushing in his chair to meet the table, before heading towards the door on the far side of the room. He knocked, three beats followed by two, and the bolts were lifted, the handle turned. He took one step forward before stopping, turning back one last time.
"You saved a lot of lives today kid. A guy like you... well, you're the kind we need more of. Think about it."
The door closed, and the boy thought.
----
*Edit formatting/running sentences* | When I wanted to kill myself the only person I told was Alexis. That was in high school, at peak levels of insecurity and torment. I'd be sleeping for 3 hours a day. Not because of insomnia, but because of the nightmares. An overactive imagination that invaded my personal space, and consumed me while asleep. Some times it's the reverberated sound of a voice or snarl, contained in a locked room. Others, a grimacing face shifting in strobed light. There, then gone. There, then gone.
I don't know when specifically, but out of those moments came an impulse for violence. I was fed up. How wonderful it'd be to take a knife and carve out those shadowed faces, to burn these locked rooms down into ash. To become the tormentor, the warden. The nightmares faded as these fantasies erupted. My imagination had fixated on a new passion, a new desire: violence.
But, in the core of my consciousness I didn't *really* want to hurt anyone. The permanence of death pressed against these thoughts, pleading with me. Would it be worth it, satisfying the urge? How long could I hold out? Every day, I was getting closer to damage, real damage. I came to the conclusion: if I don't end my life, I'll end someone else's.
This and more I told to Alexis, expecting disgust and fear. She offered instead love.
For years, control and withstraint became my mantra, built on a foundation of her compassion. It saved me, and when I finally felt whole for the first time 10 years later, we dated. Not a month later, reports of the Contest began. Reports from soldiers, police, criminals, all detailing a similar hallucination, "New Game" superimposed on their victims -- people they killed -- both just and unjustly.
I knew it was serious, but not for the reasons most shared. Everyone seemed intent to focus on the physiological and hallucinogenic aspect. How could all these people share such a similar vision, all across the world? It's a good question, an *academic* question. But all I could think is *how many more people are going to kill because of this*? Memories from my teen years kept flashing to the present. The throbbing intensity to kill. That serotonin rush like cold water on the spine, traveling across the nerves like electricity. Just the memory triggered a grin; that's how powerful it was. But the sobering thought was knowing that some kid, in the place I was, would cross that line. Life seemed less and less like life, and more like a game. And then it happened.
A few drinks after a late concert with Alexis, and than a 2 block walk to my parked car. Normally more vigilant,
the music eased my muscles and the beer lowered my guard. One block down and one to go, the crosswalk flashed green, and like any sane person we started to cross. I heard the engine roaring louder as it approaches, but years of safely crossing streets builds a false sense of security. I waited for the truck engine to slow, to acknowledge the light.
The truck blew past the red, directly into Alexis, and clipping me. Like a broken doll she collapsed onto the asphalt as the truck screeched around the corner, nearly rolled, and powered out of sight.
She sobbed there, squirming, coughing out more blood than words. Alive. And in pain.
I thought about it. There was no making it for her. Not so much as an hour. I could end her pain, right there, in a minute, and save her the agony. She must have saw read the thoughts out of my eyes, cause she shook her head, the *only* deliberate action she could manage.
Behind her, a black truck edged on the corner, it's grill dented and red. I stared it down, waiting for it accelerate, to finish the work, but it didn't. It crawled forward. Why? I shot a look to Alexis. She looked up, past me, without so much of a shutter in her pupils.
When I looked up, the truck had pulled over barely two feet beside us, the windows down.
Behind the wheel the man was all blonde and jackal teeth. They type you see in Vegas pool-side, with a bottle worth a week's pay. My age. He turned to passenger side, saying, "I told you I'd only gotten one! I *saw* it too, nearly crashed. You won't fucking believe it. "
Turning back, he bore his eyes into me. Vibrant, unashamed. He rested his arms off the window. "Hey, man. Don't look at me like that. It's only a game."
A small alarm sounded as the passenger side door opened, that *beep, beep, beep,* silencing when it shut. But by then, I was already on my feet.
The rage overtook the agony of my side, still half-crippled from the hit. The driver shouted at his friend, tried to warn him, but I had already turned swung around the hood of the truck.
The driver's screams got her attention in the wrong way. Her? It didn't matter.
With her head facing the truck, she never saw me round the corner. At full speed I tackled her to the curb. Her head arched back into the concrete, cracking nastily, followed by a rough scrapping sound that tugged at my eyes. A gun. A shiny metal weapon of death.
"MELISSA," Mr. Jackal screamed.
The truck door slammed, this time from the driver-side. I made a dash to the gun, 10 feet away. I grabbed it just as he turned from behind the truck bed.
I tugged the hammer back and dug deep into the trigger. POW.
Jackal staggered. I squeezed the trigger again and again until he collapsed back from the force. I might have kept firing too if my sight didn't go dark.
**NEW PLAYER** flashed in white. I could hear the girl, Melissa, groaning. Rubbing my eyes changed nothing. Blinded by the display, vulnerable, if she got her strength I'd die seeing those words. But I lucked out. The words faded out as the world faded in, a light-green XP bar lingering at the bottom of my vision following me around.
Sirens howled out in the distance. I whipped around expecting a fight, but Melissa was on her knees trying to stop the bleeding on her head. Any fight she mustered earlier, left. I was safe.
But the XP bar, it hung on the edge. That sliver before leveling up. And I wondered, what *did* it mean to level up in this game? How deep did the rabbit hole go? Is this a game you can win?
Her eyes pleaded, *don't*. But she shook her head, and when she did I thought of Alexis. The woman I trusted and loved and loved me in spite of my most sinister qualities, who taught me to overcome them. I thought about her on the ground, shaking her head, pleading *don't*. In my head, she called my name, held me in her arms. Begged me not to, and I listened. But I loved her, not the woman in front of me.
So with the toe of my boot I pulled her chin up and dug my heel into her throat, sending her back onto the concrete. And I unloaded the rest of the bullets into her chest before any ambulance could hope to speed her away.
And most of all, I smiled my own jackal tooth smile when superimposed on the world new words illuminate the darkened street: **LEVEL UP**.
| |
[WP] It suddenly becomes possible to gain XP and level up in the real world, but you can only do so by getting kills. | It has become an addiction, more than killing ever was. It has consumed me.
When you picture "serial killer," I'm the first thing that springs into your mind. I tortured animals as a child, and I liked it. My father abused me relentlessly, second only to my mother. I eventually killed him... and her. I took a life for the first time when I was only fifteen years old: a girl from my high school who wanted nothing more than to have a loving boyfriend. She was willing to do whatever I wanted up until I slid that knife into her neck.
I don't exactly know when the bubbles started. It could have even been that first time, and maybe they were just too small to notice. Or maybe I was so overwhelmed and excited from finally giving in to my urges that I didn't even see them. I *do* remember them appearing on my fifth kill, when I dragged a jogger in the park into the bushes and took his life. They seemed to seep out of his skin like sweat, then form into bubbles that hung over his body. I popped one with my little finger, and I felt a sudden rush of energy and power. I've tried a number of different drugs, but there was *nothing* like this. I needed more.
In the beginning, I picked my targets carefully. I had my arranged ritual. My preferred type was men in positions of authority: cops, soldiers, government officials, etc. The more important the better. I'm sure some psychologist would link it to my issues with my father, if I ever visited a shrink. But the more I killed, the larger the bubbles grew, and the sense of euphoria that I got from them became far more potent. Soon, I didn't care *who* my victims were. I just needed more of them.
I "leveled up" for the first time on October 10, 2012, kill #23. He was a middle school principal named Mr. Simon. The bubbles that came from his skin weren't red; they were golden and shimmering and shiny. I popped one, and practically collapsed as waves of pleasure washed over me. "Congratulations," a voice boomed through my mind from nowhere and everywhere at once. "You have reached Level 2!" Visions swam in front of my eyes as I lay stunned in the grass next to the corpse. The hallucinations promised incredible powers: super strength, controlling flames... like a comic book superhero. The visions asked me to choose, and there was just something about the whole experience that made it feel *real*. This wasn't the same as other hallucinagens.
I chose "Camouflage," and the visions vanished. I was left alone in that wide cornfield with Mr. Simon's body, just as usual. Well, not as usual: glancing down at my own body, I noticed that I was slowly disappearing. I could see cornstalks through my own legs.
-----
It's been three years since I first leveled up, and tonight's kill should bring me to level 12. It gets harder and harder every time; more and more bodies are required. The euphoria that I once felt upon absorbing the bubbles is now only a hunger, leaving me desperately craving more. I'm up to one kill every few days, and I've only been able to escape the detection of law enforcement thanks to my fantastic new abilities. But I've certainly been following the nationwide manhunt for me pretty closely.
I wait silently outside the VA hospital, blended perfectly into the beige concrete of the parking structure. These facilities are a pretty common hunting ground for me, now that I've realized that soldiers seem to grant the most experience. Maybe it's the fact that they've killed too. Maybe I'm getting the bubbles from them and from their victims.
My selected victim is slowly shuffling back to his car. He's got a pretty severe limp, a souvenir from his tour in Iraq. Not that he could escape me even if he was healthy; my super speed from Level 5 is amazing. But that IED certainly made him an easy target. I used to thoroughly research my victims and learn everything about that, but I don't have time for that anymore. Now, a cursory search on Google is enough. And I might have to give that up soon when I begin killing daily. I know it's inevitable.
*beep beep*. His unlocking car fills the silence of the parking structure, and the lights flash. I worry for half a second that they'll give me away, but that's just a vestige from before I got my powers. I'm nigh invincible now.
He shuffles over to the car door, and I leave my perch. I sneak up behind him, draw my blade, and position it right over his back. Most victims tend to hear me coming when I'm this close to them, but maybe the IED deafened him as well. Poor guy; this is almost too easy. I plunge the blade down... into nothing. I can *see* the knife enter his body, but there's no resistance. It's just air.
My hand is now sticking out from his back, and the knife seems to be just be sitting in the middle of his torso. What the hell? I raise my arm to try again; still nothing. The soldier is trying to unlock his car like nothing is amiss at all.
I'm grabbed from behind, and I feel cold steel pressed against my neck. The soldier in front of me shimmers and vanishes.
"Illusion perk," a voice whispers in my ear. "Level 16. Too bad you never made it that high."
The knife cuts my jugular, and blood begins to pour down my chest in a sickening, gory waterfall. And I can see golden bubbles rising from my own skin. | When I wanted to kill myself the only person I told was Alexis. That was in high school, at peak levels of insecurity and torment. I'd be sleeping for 3 hours a day. Not because of insomnia, but because of the nightmares. An overactive imagination that invaded my personal space, and consumed me while asleep. Some times it's the reverberated sound of a voice or snarl, contained in a locked room. Others, a grimacing face shifting in strobed light. There, then gone. There, then gone.
I don't know when specifically, but out of those moments came an impulse for violence. I was fed up. How wonderful it'd be to take a knife and carve out those shadowed faces, to burn these locked rooms down into ash. To become the tormentor, the warden. The nightmares faded as these fantasies erupted. My imagination had fixated on a new passion, a new desire: violence.
But, in the core of my consciousness I didn't *really* want to hurt anyone. The permanence of death pressed against these thoughts, pleading with me. Would it be worth it, satisfying the urge? How long could I hold out? Every day, I was getting closer to damage, real damage. I came to the conclusion: if I don't end my life, I'll end someone else's.
This and more I told to Alexis, expecting disgust and fear. She offered instead love.
For years, control and withstraint became my mantra, built on a foundation of her compassion. It saved me, and when I finally felt whole for the first time 10 years later, we dated. Not a month later, reports of the Contest began. Reports from soldiers, police, criminals, all detailing a similar hallucination, "New Game" superimposed on their victims -- people they killed -- both just and unjustly.
I knew it was serious, but not for the reasons most shared. Everyone seemed intent to focus on the physiological and hallucinogenic aspect. How could all these people share such a similar vision, all across the world? It's a good question, an *academic* question. But all I could think is *how many more people are going to kill because of this*? Memories from my teen years kept flashing to the present. The throbbing intensity to kill. That serotonin rush like cold water on the spine, traveling across the nerves like electricity. Just the memory triggered a grin; that's how powerful it was. But the sobering thought was knowing that some kid, in the place I was, would cross that line. Life seemed less and less like life, and more like a game. And then it happened.
A few drinks after a late concert with Alexis, and than a 2 block walk to my parked car. Normally more vigilant,
the music eased my muscles and the beer lowered my guard. One block down and one to go, the crosswalk flashed green, and like any sane person we started to cross. I heard the engine roaring louder as it approaches, but years of safely crossing streets builds a false sense of security. I waited for the truck engine to slow, to acknowledge the light.
The truck blew past the red, directly into Alexis, and clipping me. Like a broken doll she collapsed onto the asphalt as the truck screeched around the corner, nearly rolled, and powered out of sight.
She sobbed there, squirming, coughing out more blood than words. Alive. And in pain.
I thought about it. There was no making it for her. Not so much as an hour. I could end her pain, right there, in a minute, and save her the agony. She must have saw read the thoughts out of my eyes, cause she shook her head, the *only* deliberate action she could manage.
Behind her, a black truck edged on the corner, it's grill dented and red. I stared it down, waiting for it accelerate, to finish the work, but it didn't. It crawled forward. Why? I shot a look to Alexis. She looked up, past me, without so much of a shutter in her pupils.
When I looked up, the truck had pulled over barely two feet beside us, the windows down.
Behind the wheel the man was all blonde and jackal teeth. They type you see in Vegas pool-side, with a bottle worth a week's pay. My age. He turned to passenger side, saying, "I told you I'd only gotten one! I *saw* it too, nearly crashed. You won't fucking believe it. "
Turning back, he bore his eyes into me. Vibrant, unashamed. He rested his arms off the window. "Hey, man. Don't look at me like that. It's only a game."
A small alarm sounded as the passenger side door opened, that *beep, beep, beep,* silencing when it shut. But by then, I was already on my feet.
The rage overtook the agony of my side, still half-crippled from the hit. The driver shouted at his friend, tried to warn him, but I had already turned swung around the hood of the truck.
The driver's screams got her attention in the wrong way. Her? It didn't matter.
With her head facing the truck, she never saw me round the corner. At full speed I tackled her to the curb. Her head arched back into the concrete, cracking nastily, followed by a rough scrapping sound that tugged at my eyes. A gun. A shiny metal weapon of death.
"MELISSA," Mr. Jackal screamed.
The truck door slammed, this time from the driver-side. I made a dash to the gun, 10 feet away. I grabbed it just as he turned from behind the truck bed.
I tugged the hammer back and dug deep into the trigger. POW.
Jackal staggered. I squeezed the trigger again and again until he collapsed back from the force. I might have kept firing too if my sight didn't go dark.
**NEW PLAYER** flashed in white. I could hear the girl, Melissa, groaning. Rubbing my eyes changed nothing. Blinded by the display, vulnerable, if she got her strength I'd die seeing those words. But I lucked out. The words faded out as the world faded in, a light-green XP bar lingering at the bottom of my vision following me around.
Sirens howled out in the distance. I whipped around expecting a fight, but Melissa was on her knees trying to stop the bleeding on her head. Any fight she mustered earlier, left. I was safe.
But the XP bar, it hung on the edge. That sliver before leveling up. And I wondered, what *did* it mean to level up in this game? How deep did the rabbit hole go? Is this a game you can win?
Her eyes pleaded, *don't*. But she shook her head, and when she did I thought of Alexis. The woman I trusted and loved and loved me in spite of my most sinister qualities, who taught me to overcome them. I thought about her on the ground, shaking her head, pleading *don't*. In my head, she called my name, held me in her arms. Begged me not to, and I listened. But I loved her, not the woman in front of me.
So with the toe of my boot I pulled her chin up and dug my heel into her throat, sending her back onto the concrete. And I unloaded the rest of the bullets into her chest before any ambulance could hope to speed her away.
And most of all, I smiled my own jackal tooth smile when superimposed on the world new words illuminate the darkened street: **LEVEL UP**.
| |
[WP] It suddenly becomes possible to gain XP and level up in the real world, but you can only do so by getting kills. | It has become an addiction, more than killing ever was. It has consumed me.
When you picture "serial killer," I'm the first thing that springs into your mind. I tortured animals as a child, and I liked it. My father abused me relentlessly, second only to my mother. I eventually killed him... and her. I took a life for the first time when I was only fifteen years old: a girl from my high school who wanted nothing more than to have a loving boyfriend. She was willing to do whatever I wanted up until I slid that knife into her neck.
I don't exactly know when the bubbles started. It could have even been that first time, and maybe they were just too small to notice. Or maybe I was so overwhelmed and excited from finally giving in to my urges that I didn't even see them. I *do* remember them appearing on my fifth kill, when I dragged a jogger in the park into the bushes and took his life. They seemed to seep out of his skin like sweat, then form into bubbles that hung over his body. I popped one with my little finger, and I felt a sudden rush of energy and power. I've tried a number of different drugs, but there was *nothing* like this. I needed more.
In the beginning, I picked my targets carefully. I had my arranged ritual. My preferred type was men in positions of authority: cops, soldiers, government officials, etc. The more important the better. I'm sure some psychologist would link it to my issues with my father, if I ever visited a shrink. But the more I killed, the larger the bubbles grew, and the sense of euphoria that I got from them became far more potent. Soon, I didn't care *who* my victims were. I just needed more of them.
I "leveled up" for the first time on October 10, 2012, kill #23. He was a middle school principal named Mr. Simon. The bubbles that came from his skin weren't red; they were golden and shimmering and shiny. I popped one, and practically collapsed as waves of pleasure washed over me. "Congratulations," a voice boomed through my mind from nowhere and everywhere at once. "You have reached Level 2!" Visions swam in front of my eyes as I lay stunned in the grass next to the corpse. The hallucinations promised incredible powers: super strength, controlling flames... like a comic book superhero. The visions asked me to choose, and there was just something about the whole experience that made it feel *real*. This wasn't the same as other hallucinagens.
I chose "Camouflage," and the visions vanished. I was left alone in that wide cornfield with Mr. Simon's body, just as usual. Well, not as usual: glancing down at my own body, I noticed that I was slowly disappearing. I could see cornstalks through my own legs.
-----
It's been three years since I first leveled up, and tonight's kill should bring me to level 12. It gets harder and harder every time; more and more bodies are required. The euphoria that I once felt upon absorbing the bubbles is now only a hunger, leaving me desperately craving more. I'm up to one kill every few days, and I've only been able to escape the detection of law enforcement thanks to my fantastic new abilities. But I've certainly been following the nationwide manhunt for me pretty closely.
I wait silently outside the VA hospital, blended perfectly into the beige concrete of the parking structure. These facilities are a pretty common hunting ground for me, now that I've realized that soldiers seem to grant the most experience. Maybe it's the fact that they've killed too. Maybe I'm getting the bubbles from them and from their victims.
My selected victim is slowly shuffling back to his car. He's got a pretty severe limp, a souvenir from his tour in Iraq. Not that he could escape me even if he was healthy; my super speed from Level 5 is amazing. But that IED certainly made him an easy target. I used to thoroughly research my victims and learn everything about that, but I don't have time for that anymore. Now, a cursory search on Google is enough. And I might have to give that up soon when I begin killing daily. I know it's inevitable.
*beep beep*. His unlocking car fills the silence of the parking structure, and the lights flash. I worry for half a second that they'll give me away, but that's just a vestige from before I got my powers. I'm nigh invincible now.
He shuffles over to the car door, and I leave my perch. I sneak up behind him, draw my blade, and position it right over his back. Most victims tend to hear me coming when I'm this close to them, but maybe the IED deafened him as well. Poor guy; this is almost too easy. I plunge the blade down... into nothing. I can *see* the knife enter his body, but there's no resistance. It's just air.
My hand is now sticking out from his back, and the knife seems to be just be sitting in the middle of his torso. What the hell? I raise my arm to try again; still nothing. The soldier is trying to unlock his car like nothing is amiss at all.
I'm grabbed from behind, and I feel cold steel pressed against my neck. The soldier in front of me shimmers and vanishes.
"Illusion perk," a voice whispers in my ear. "Level 16. Too bad you never made it that high."
The knife cuts my jugular, and blood begins to pour down my chest in a sickening, gory waterfall. And I can see golden bubbles rising from my own skin. | *The Regulator:*
----
The boy sat, hands shaking and cuffed. The room was quiet, still. Through a mirror, he knew there were people watching him- he could tell somehow, dangerous people. He was like them now, worse maybe. The chair creaked as he peered at the glass.
They knew he knew.
He jumped as a door opened, slamming into the wall as a large man walked in, turning carefully to close it back up. It locked with a heavy click, afterwards. Someone slid a bolt in after that too, the boy could tell, somehow.
The man sat down across from him, and leveled a calm stare. It was the sort of gaze that could see deep into a person, figure out everything there was to know. The boy stared back. He could do that too, now.
"You comfortable? Need some coffee, something to eat?" The man asked, straightening his uniform. "I can send someone to get it for you, if you want anything."
"No." The boy replied. He didn't want to talk.
"Listen, I was like you once. You're not the first to end up in a situation like this." The man paused, carefully motioning towards the mirror, and then the camera, watching in the corner of the room.
The boy could tell it was turned off. Those behind the glass left shortly after.
"I'm going to tell you a story kid. It's not a particularly long one, but it's the truth. I think you'll be able to tell that now- the truth I mean." He met the boy's eyes, waiting for some sort of recognition.
Shuffling his cuffs, the boy nodded slowly. The man began, his deep voice speaking in a heavy tone.
"When I was younger, I had to kill two people in my home, on a cold night in October. I remember it was dark and raining, I remember the wind was howling." He paused, looking down at the boy. "It wasn't something I had planned on doing. It wasn't something I had wanted to do, but they broke down the door even after I told them I had a gun."
Leaning back in his chair, he continued, and the boy saw remorse. It was real remorse, the boy could tell that now. He *knew*.
"Christ, I warned them- I told them to just go away, practically begged them. I didn't even have anything worth stealing, I have no idea why they didn't listen. I mean honestly, a guy in his early twenties in a shitty apartment? Maybe they just thought I was someone else. Never found out their reasons."
"Anyways, after that I had leveled. Four times in a row, all at once. I had a ton of life points to allocate, practically a flood of them, and I could actually fill up some of those skill trees that foster in the mind, made sure to get the heightened awareness first. I just wanted to know for certain- confirm some things."
He stared down at the boy, and really *looked.* The man knew.
"See, you can't tell what level people are, not at the early stages. We all start out a level one, but usually by fifteen years you'll hit level two just from the slow grind of your immune system farming germs. Maybe you'd hit level three after that if you're a hunter. Bigger game has a lot of regulations, but they say it's only around ten deer before you can make the jump from two to three. Most people by the age of twenty-five are between levels four and five." His large armed curled over his chest, folding as the chair creaked in protest.
"The trick is, though, it ain't age. It's killing. Small difference in the long run for most people, but for some..." A deep sigh came from his chest, as he leaned forward.
"Killing germs or animals, that's something but its small- barely noticed, but killing another person? That's big, kid. That's a level, and if they were a higher than you it might be more. It's reasons like this that the government monitors so seriously. People would murder if it was common knowledge, and not just urban legend."
The boy leaned back in the chair. It wobbled slightly, covering the loose nerves that escaped on his face. The man continued.
"Sure, they keep a tight lid on it- but there's no point in beating around the bush. Not now, not with you, at least. It's rare that anyone level up enough to notice, though. People, generally, just aren't killers."
He nodded, as if in agreement with himself.
"Only problem is that after that, I was a level seven, and I could tell- see through it. That's more than most police can claim, and I only knew because somewhere between level five and here, you'll get the *sight.*"
His eyes locked with the boy's, again holding them in place.
"Really, it's more intuition, but it works the same way. You know, more or less, where someone is by a quick glance. You can *know* their level. See some of their skill points and trees- what they've allocated points to."
The boy looked closer.
"I might have flown under the radar if the Feds hadn't been called in with a level seven of their own, and confirmed it. That put me on the list, shuffled me into something close to witness protection." The man said, running fingers through thinning hair. "Eventually they got me working for them, something like a bargain. It's better than my old job, so you won't see me complaining about it. Better than being without *Big Brother's* watching eye."
He nodded again.
"See, there are killers among us. Quiet folk who, like me or you, figured it out. Something happened, somehow, and they got the *sight* and connected the dots." The man looked down at the table, inspecting something- perhaps a stain in the wood, before looking back up, continuing.
"We're chasing one of those now. You see me, just a lowly seven working with a couple of nines, and you think we're trouble... well, wait until you meet a level seventy."
The boy's eyes widened. Seventy... was that even possible?
"Look kid, I know you've got questions. I know you want answers- I was the same way, but right now- you gotta trust me." He rose slowly, joints groaning as he left the chair. "I'm going to leave you locked up tight in this room, safe and sound, and we're going out there to put that man you saw, down in chains. We're going to leave him locked up in some cell where he'll die of natural causes and old age. We're going to bring some justice for what he did."
The boy nodded at that. The man nodded back, small smile curling onto his cheeks. His eyes looked serious though. Deadly serious.
"The thing is, if we mess up, one of us slips- he could be a level ninety by the time our guys find him again. Nobody wants that." He paused, "You see what I'm getting at here?"
The boy met his eyes, folding his hands in the cuffs.
"Look, I see you, and I see a bit of myself. You didn't want to end up a level ten- but you saved a lot of lives in doing so. You've got potential. Real potential. People need guys like you, the good guys. Guys like that are in short supply."
"I might not be coming back after today. If I don't, I just want you to remember this conversation. You've been handed a terrible gift, but you can use it for good."
The man stepped back, slowly pushing in his chair to meet the table, before heading towards the door on the far side of the room. He knocked, three beats followed by two, and the bolts were lifted, the handle turned. He took one step forward before stopping, turning back one last time.
"You saved a lot of lives today kid. A guy like you... well, you're the kind we need more of. Think about it."
The door closed, and the boy thought.
----
*Edit formatting/running sentences* | |
[WP] It suddenly becomes possible to gain XP and level up in the real world, but you can only do so by getting kills. | It has become an addiction, more than killing ever was. It has consumed me.
When you picture "serial killer," I'm the first thing that springs into your mind. I tortured animals as a child, and I liked it. My father abused me relentlessly, second only to my mother. I eventually killed him... and her. I took a life for the first time when I was only fifteen years old: a girl from my high school who wanted nothing more than to have a loving boyfriend. She was willing to do whatever I wanted up until I slid that knife into her neck.
I don't exactly know when the bubbles started. It could have even been that first time, and maybe they were just too small to notice. Or maybe I was so overwhelmed and excited from finally giving in to my urges that I didn't even see them. I *do* remember them appearing on my fifth kill, when I dragged a jogger in the park into the bushes and took his life. They seemed to seep out of his skin like sweat, then form into bubbles that hung over his body. I popped one with my little finger, and I felt a sudden rush of energy and power. I've tried a number of different drugs, but there was *nothing* like this. I needed more.
In the beginning, I picked my targets carefully. I had my arranged ritual. My preferred type was men in positions of authority: cops, soldiers, government officials, etc. The more important the better. I'm sure some psychologist would link it to my issues with my father, if I ever visited a shrink. But the more I killed, the larger the bubbles grew, and the sense of euphoria that I got from them became far more potent. Soon, I didn't care *who* my victims were. I just needed more of them.
I "leveled up" for the first time on October 10, 2012, kill #23. He was a middle school principal named Mr. Simon. The bubbles that came from his skin weren't red; they were golden and shimmering and shiny. I popped one, and practically collapsed as waves of pleasure washed over me. "Congratulations," a voice boomed through my mind from nowhere and everywhere at once. "You have reached Level 2!" Visions swam in front of my eyes as I lay stunned in the grass next to the corpse. The hallucinations promised incredible powers: super strength, controlling flames... like a comic book superhero. The visions asked me to choose, and there was just something about the whole experience that made it feel *real*. This wasn't the same as other hallucinagens.
I chose "Camouflage," and the visions vanished. I was left alone in that wide cornfield with Mr. Simon's body, just as usual. Well, not as usual: glancing down at my own body, I noticed that I was slowly disappearing. I could see cornstalks through my own legs.
-----
It's been three years since I first leveled up, and tonight's kill should bring me to level 12. It gets harder and harder every time; more and more bodies are required. The euphoria that I once felt upon absorbing the bubbles is now only a hunger, leaving me desperately craving more. I'm up to one kill every few days, and I've only been able to escape the detection of law enforcement thanks to my fantastic new abilities. But I've certainly been following the nationwide manhunt for me pretty closely.
I wait silently outside the VA hospital, blended perfectly into the beige concrete of the parking structure. These facilities are a pretty common hunting ground for me, now that I've realized that soldiers seem to grant the most experience. Maybe it's the fact that they've killed too. Maybe I'm getting the bubbles from them and from their victims.
My selected victim is slowly shuffling back to his car. He's got a pretty severe limp, a souvenir from his tour in Iraq. Not that he could escape me even if he was healthy; my super speed from Level 5 is amazing. But that IED certainly made him an easy target. I used to thoroughly research my victims and learn everything about that, but I don't have time for that anymore. Now, a cursory search on Google is enough. And I might have to give that up soon when I begin killing daily. I know it's inevitable.
*beep beep*. His unlocking car fills the silence of the parking structure, and the lights flash. I worry for half a second that they'll give me away, but that's just a vestige from before I got my powers. I'm nigh invincible now.
He shuffles over to the car door, and I leave my perch. I sneak up behind him, draw my blade, and position it right over his back. Most victims tend to hear me coming when I'm this close to them, but maybe the IED deafened him as well. Poor guy; this is almost too easy. I plunge the blade down... into nothing. I can *see* the knife enter his body, but there's no resistance. It's just air.
My hand is now sticking out from his back, and the knife seems to be just be sitting in the middle of his torso. What the hell? I raise my arm to try again; still nothing. The soldier is trying to unlock his car like nothing is amiss at all.
I'm grabbed from behind, and I feel cold steel pressed against my neck. The soldier in front of me shimmers and vanishes.
"Illusion perk," a voice whispers in my ear. "Level 16. Too bad you never made it that high."
The knife cuts my jugular, and blood begins to pour down my chest in a sickening, gory waterfall. And I can see golden bubbles rising from my own skin. | When the first murderer leveled up, all hell broke loose.
People scrambled to murder, rip and tear to get that sweet, sweet experience points.
Only kills made when making eye contact mattered. So many wasted lives at first... or were they?
For what you ask?
It is a simple system where the winner takes the largest share of the pie. The pie made out of fame, glory and riches.
Dead men can't eat pie.
The leaderboard changes seemingly overnight as the war of every man versus every man rages in the cold, bloodstained streets.
Many questioned the top killer in the state leaderboards, this hooded man that was the only constant within the frenzied rankings that doubled as a bounty board.
It is none other than me.
How did I get there, and stay there you ask?
Simple.
It isn't the killing of man that is hard but the hunt of one.
Ain't easy finding a lone guy on the street.
I am a simple man that loves my job.
And my job is to kill.
No risk, all reward.
I am the only state executioner.
I keep it that way.
I just go to work everyday.
I even put in overtime. | |
I was imagining a type of reverse Children of Men scenario here, but feel free to go wherever with it! | [WP] Science has found the key to immortality, but there's a catch: it can only be administered at birth. You are a member of the last mortal generation. | Things just keep getting better. That's been the rule since man first made fire and decided his mastodon tasted better when it was crispy and warmed up a bit. Then we got things like writing and that made it easier to remember. Crops, calendars, cookies, cockrings, life just kept getting better as some idiot made up a new method of doing things and started telling people about it.
But this was the big one. This was the trick that everyone wanted back when we switched our saber-tooth steaks from Blue-rare to medium. The shield against the reaper, the one treasure that had eluded the entirety of human history. This one didn't sneak up on us like the rest, this one we fucking worked and explored and thought and bled and died for. And we finally found it.
Of course it was something simple. Something we just didn't get before until some half-savant Chinese farmer's kid got pulled into exactly the right university and spoke with the exact right Hindu exchange student and then moved to the states to pick up the surprising hobby of rock climbing and said that one damned sentence to me when we met in a bar twenty years ago. You've all ready the news stories.
"Roger, you take it too seriously. You need to switch your grip, and see it from the bottom and top as well. Right now you only see the backside."
That's all it took. I went to work the next day and set the protein-folding simulator to a new algorithm that's got more Greek symbols than numbers you'd recognize, a new angle and a new grip I never figured on trying before. And this time, while I was eating my grilled cheese sandwich for lunch, I checked back and the RNA had blossomed into a masterpiece. One step changed and suddenly the ten thousand million failures before seemed so pathetically juvenile.
And when I say Blossomed, that's exactly it. The folding , the math, a motherfucking microscopic flower opened. Buddha's Lotus, I named it to myself, before the marketers decided to change it to something that the Christians could stomach.
What's really sad is the kids that could have had it if we'd got to them first. The first trials were for adults, of course. Well-compensated and voluntary participants eager for a shot at the big Holy Grail that would let them see everything history had to offer from that date forward.
But that didn't take, as you know. Adults have got their immunoresponses already in place, and so they started going anaphylactic and dying on our surgery tables. Over and over. That was a bad year. Only soldiers and doctors should have to show up at work wondering whether they're going to kill someone that day, and I'm neither. I was a comfortable biologist with a Dachshund habit and a wife who enjoyed crime novels.
And then it took nearly a decade to get Congress to allow for legal testing on infants. We did it illegaly before that anyway, my team had had enough of the bushel basket treatment and went to Cambodia to tell the sad mothers there that their children might live forever or die today. The first one that it didn't kill after a few hours was a miracle, a one-week-old whose mom needed the money for groceries and gambling debt. The kid made it to seven years old before real life in Southeast Asia caught up with him and he vanished. We figure child trafficking. The first miracle, kidnapped by some pedo, never knowing he should be a biggest celebrity alive. Hell, he was probably dead within a year, one more tragedy in a long chain.
The others started to survive and the word got out. I got kinda famous and things got hairy for a while. I got compared to the Nazis and Marquis de Sad and then Stacy got kidnapped because I was too fucking stupid to hire a bodyguard.
And I didn't have money then, I was still a working stiff. The terrorists really wanted me, my lab, my staff, our files, everything, burned to the ground. And that was never going to happen. So Stacey died, live on video for all TOR to see, along with family members of four of my staff. I haven't watched the video. People ask if I know how she died and I tell them no. I've seen enough bad death, I don't need to see it happen to the woman I loved.
And it's amazing, what happens when a major terrorist event like that gets the news crews into your life. I went from "Political Famous" to "International Superstar" famous. Me, a slightly pudgy nerd, getting to meet celebrities and having them beg me to be at the birth of their children to make sure it was done right.
Fame is powerful. With it came a lot of hate. I did have bodyguards and money now, and things got better. I kept doing work to improve the procedure, make it less skillful and less dangerous, and a decade of constant improvements led to me looking up one day and realizing that I had an empire and a following of immortal kids that would owe the majority of their lives to my work.
What was really amazing was my 50's. The Forever kids just started hitting their twenties. I could go out in public and go home with someone less than half my age, with stars in her eyes and so grateful to even have a moment with me.
But one thing eluded me, us. The Lotus still only worked on infants. I had made a miracle that I could never touch for myself. This Messiah was going to burn on the same retirement-home-shaped pyre as the rest of the punters who showed up too early to get in over the wire. And that was why I kept working, once the novelty of the beautiful women wore off.
My 60's were a time of the biggest breakthroughs. Robots administered everything now, little soft-ball-sized drones with a payload of surgical tools and a single syringe pointing out one end. We called them Forever Seeds. Mortality rates from the procedure dropped to nill. In fact, mortality rates all over the world were steadily decreasing. Better countries got to stuff first, a generation ahead of the really poor ones, but once the drones hit the market it was all over. Not a single person born after 2131 died in 2189, from what I hear. Just the old farts continuing to wear out.
And my turn was coming. So I worked. I tried to find my chinese muse and see if he had another miraculous sentence in him that would turn the bullet back around on the shooter, that would let me forever enjoy my cult of personality. I found him. He'd died of cancer in 2176.
I got to watch the first colony ships, many named after me, heading to the stars. I got to watch humanity step out of corporatehood and into brotherhood. I watched the new children being born, not only immortal but genetically "perfect," whatever that meant. I took a year off and found out when they started getting old enough to be interesting, and I was not disappointed. They are beautiful, kind, powerful, charismatic, wise. The work that John Erkstring did to make this new breed is going to effect our species just as much as mine. He deserves every ounce of recognition he gets and more.
And still I worked. My ageing body got replaced by metal and cloned organs, but they still haven't figured out what to do about my brain. Every full clone they've made looks like me, talks like me, and knows everything about my life, but I'm not in the driver's seat. The clone is for the children, so my work can continue when I bite the big one. This man, this soul, is still stuck in a rusting frame of flesh, hoping to get my second miracle before the lights go out.
And so I work. People look at me like a mad scientist now, a modern Merlin. If I make it, if I finish the work and get to see a Forever Seed unfold his scalpels for my benefit, I will be a god for eternity. Not a small god, relegated to this one decaying planet, forever tied to the physics that made the mammoth-eater cold and sick and stupid, but a true living god to be revered for the rest of human history in my living form.
And so I work. And things keep getting better, always better. | The senate roared in disbelief. On the little pedestal in the center stood a thirty-something law school graduate turned senator. Whatever everyone else thought, that kid had balls. There he was, the very first elected immortal senator, calling all of us out. I was guilty too. All of us were in it for ourselves. The stakes were high and we wanted to enjoy the rest of our lives with at least some amount of comfort. Trampling on these immortal jerks was well worth it. We wouldn’t survive for even a wink of their new lifespan.
I remember our parents yelling at us to get out of the house because we were busy playing computer games all day. Well this is much more drastic. We have to instill a sense of fear into them for the lives that they can’t even lose. We do so because the rest of us have lives that we can lose, and we’re being killed off in droves. There’s a counter, out there on the internet that has exactly the number of mortals left alive. There’s a screen dedicated to it in the senate room. It’s the countdown to a new order of things.
Sure, the first generation of immortals are having it tough. State sponsored discrimination is something we implemented so that the rest of us mortals wouldn’t be dominated by the rise of the immortals. Those fools age until 25 or so and just stay like that forever. They’ll just have to enjoy their mid-twenties when we’re all dead.
|
I was imagining a type of reverse Children of Men scenario here, but feel free to go wherever with it! | [WP] Science has found the key to immortality, but there's a catch: it can only be administered at birth. You are a member of the last mortal generation. | Things just keep getting better. That's been the rule since man first made fire and decided his mastodon tasted better when it was crispy and warmed up a bit. Then we got things like writing and that made it easier to remember. Crops, calendars, cookies, cockrings, life just kept getting better as some idiot made up a new method of doing things and started telling people about it.
But this was the big one. This was the trick that everyone wanted back when we switched our saber-tooth steaks from Blue-rare to medium. The shield against the reaper, the one treasure that had eluded the entirety of human history. This one didn't sneak up on us like the rest, this one we fucking worked and explored and thought and bled and died for. And we finally found it.
Of course it was something simple. Something we just didn't get before until some half-savant Chinese farmer's kid got pulled into exactly the right university and spoke with the exact right Hindu exchange student and then moved to the states to pick up the surprising hobby of rock climbing and said that one damned sentence to me when we met in a bar twenty years ago. You've all ready the news stories.
"Roger, you take it too seriously. You need to switch your grip, and see it from the bottom and top as well. Right now you only see the backside."
That's all it took. I went to work the next day and set the protein-folding simulator to a new algorithm that's got more Greek symbols than numbers you'd recognize, a new angle and a new grip I never figured on trying before. And this time, while I was eating my grilled cheese sandwich for lunch, I checked back and the RNA had blossomed into a masterpiece. One step changed and suddenly the ten thousand million failures before seemed so pathetically juvenile.
And when I say Blossomed, that's exactly it. The folding , the math, a motherfucking microscopic flower opened. Buddha's Lotus, I named it to myself, before the marketers decided to change it to something that the Christians could stomach.
What's really sad is the kids that could have had it if we'd got to them first. The first trials were for adults, of course. Well-compensated and voluntary participants eager for a shot at the big Holy Grail that would let them see everything history had to offer from that date forward.
But that didn't take, as you know. Adults have got their immunoresponses already in place, and so they started going anaphylactic and dying on our surgery tables. Over and over. That was a bad year. Only soldiers and doctors should have to show up at work wondering whether they're going to kill someone that day, and I'm neither. I was a comfortable biologist with a Dachshund habit and a wife who enjoyed crime novels.
And then it took nearly a decade to get Congress to allow for legal testing on infants. We did it illegaly before that anyway, my team had had enough of the bushel basket treatment and went to Cambodia to tell the sad mothers there that their children might live forever or die today. The first one that it didn't kill after a few hours was a miracle, a one-week-old whose mom needed the money for groceries and gambling debt. The kid made it to seven years old before real life in Southeast Asia caught up with him and he vanished. We figure child trafficking. The first miracle, kidnapped by some pedo, never knowing he should be a biggest celebrity alive. Hell, he was probably dead within a year, one more tragedy in a long chain.
The others started to survive and the word got out. I got kinda famous and things got hairy for a while. I got compared to the Nazis and Marquis de Sad and then Stacy got kidnapped because I was too fucking stupid to hire a bodyguard.
And I didn't have money then, I was still a working stiff. The terrorists really wanted me, my lab, my staff, our files, everything, burned to the ground. And that was never going to happen. So Stacey died, live on video for all TOR to see, along with family members of four of my staff. I haven't watched the video. People ask if I know how she died and I tell them no. I've seen enough bad death, I don't need to see it happen to the woman I loved.
And it's amazing, what happens when a major terrorist event like that gets the news crews into your life. I went from "Political Famous" to "International Superstar" famous. Me, a slightly pudgy nerd, getting to meet celebrities and having them beg me to be at the birth of their children to make sure it was done right.
Fame is powerful. With it came a lot of hate. I did have bodyguards and money now, and things got better. I kept doing work to improve the procedure, make it less skillful and less dangerous, and a decade of constant improvements led to me looking up one day and realizing that I had an empire and a following of immortal kids that would owe the majority of their lives to my work.
What was really amazing was my 50's. The Forever kids just started hitting their twenties. I could go out in public and go home with someone less than half my age, with stars in her eyes and so grateful to even have a moment with me.
But one thing eluded me, us. The Lotus still only worked on infants. I had made a miracle that I could never touch for myself. This Messiah was going to burn on the same retirement-home-shaped pyre as the rest of the punters who showed up too early to get in over the wire. And that was why I kept working, once the novelty of the beautiful women wore off.
My 60's were a time of the biggest breakthroughs. Robots administered everything now, little soft-ball-sized drones with a payload of surgical tools and a single syringe pointing out one end. We called them Forever Seeds. Mortality rates from the procedure dropped to nill. In fact, mortality rates all over the world were steadily decreasing. Better countries got to stuff first, a generation ahead of the really poor ones, but once the drones hit the market it was all over. Not a single person born after 2131 died in 2189, from what I hear. Just the old farts continuing to wear out.
And my turn was coming. So I worked. I tried to find my chinese muse and see if he had another miraculous sentence in him that would turn the bullet back around on the shooter, that would let me forever enjoy my cult of personality. I found him. He'd died of cancer in 2176.
I got to watch the first colony ships, many named after me, heading to the stars. I got to watch humanity step out of corporatehood and into brotherhood. I watched the new children being born, not only immortal but genetically "perfect," whatever that meant. I took a year off and found out when they started getting old enough to be interesting, and I was not disappointed. They are beautiful, kind, powerful, charismatic, wise. The work that John Erkstring did to make this new breed is going to effect our species just as much as mine. He deserves every ounce of recognition he gets and more.
And still I worked. My ageing body got replaced by metal and cloned organs, but they still haven't figured out what to do about my brain. Every full clone they've made looks like me, talks like me, and knows everything about my life, but I'm not in the driver's seat. The clone is for the children, so my work can continue when I bite the big one. This man, this soul, is still stuck in a rusting frame of flesh, hoping to get my second miracle before the lights go out.
And so I work. People look at me like a mad scientist now, a modern Merlin. If I make it, if I finish the work and get to see a Forever Seed unfold his scalpels for my benefit, I will be a god for eternity. Not a small god, relegated to this one decaying planet, forever tied to the physics that made the mammoth-eater cold and sick and stupid, but a true living god to be revered for the rest of human history in my living form.
And so I work. And things keep getting better, always better. | * Men in white labcoats, they stung me with purpose.
* To make me immortal, their greatest achievement.
* Now they are at most, fuel for the furnace.
* And so far I fall, forever in bereavement. |
[WP] Villains aren't born, they're made. In a world where superpowers are real, continuous use of them corrupts the parts of the brain responsible for empathy and compassion. | How long has it been since I felt anything resembling compassion for human beings? I suppose the easiest way to figure that out is to look back at when I first realized the full potential of my abilities. Going forward from that moment in time I suppose I can decide the moment when empathy left me entirely. But perhaps what is more important than the absolute loss itself, is to remember the events leading up to it, leading up to now.
When I was a child my parents marveled at my abilities both in the classroom and on the playground. In pre-school I was the most popular child, constantly being followed around by my classmates on the playground, doing the things I wanted to do and never finding opposition from the other children. Of course at this point in my life what I wanted to do was play in the sand or ride down the slide. Still, I am told the adults at the time would comment on how I was "a natural leader" and "going to accomplish great things." They had no idea how correct they were.
Over the years it became apparent that I was not like everyone else. In my teenage years during highschool I began to realize that my uncanny leadership skills were not simply born of practice and confidence. I noticed that I was willing others to action, not simply leading others of their own free will. However, I kept this knowledge to myself, I was still a teenager, my abilities did not grant me immunity to all of the awkward experiences of going through those years.
Besides, what would would my friends and classmates think if I tried to explain to them what I was beginning to believe, that I had the power of mind control. It was well known that across the world there were people with... unique... abilities. The ability to heal from wounds almost immediately, shape shifting, to speak with animals, telekinetic force. But I had never heard of anyone able to corrupt the will of other living creatures, and as time went by that is exactly what I began to do.
As I grew, so did my powers, and the more that I focused on and trained them, the easier they came. At that time I didn't know what it was doing to me, I used my ability to bend the will of others for my own personal gain. It is amazing how quickly you can rise through the ranks of power when every step that you take seems like the first step ever taken by those around you.
I began to have such disdain for those people around me, they were so stupid. So weak. Their flexible will became like a stench to me, nauseating to endure for more than minutes at a time. I began to spend entire days inside of my penthouse office, toying with people of the city below from great distances. A bit of adultery here, a robbery there, arson, vandalism. Days turned to weeks, I stopped going to work and spent my days alone in my home continuing to toy with the lives of people around the world. My power had become so focused that I had no need to see or be anywhere near the people I felt like controlling. That is when I decided to leave.
Over the course of a year I directed a force to construct a stronghold in the mountains. I needed to get away from the pathetic hordes of insignificant beings so easily bent and broken by my own indomitable will. But that did not stop my games.
Now here I am, alone, away from everyone and everything. The world is on the eve of a global conflict, I find it unlikely that many shreds of civilization will remain when this is through. Sometimes, in moods like I am now, I look back and wonder why this is how it turned out. I always come to the same answer.
They were weak. | What is this person feeling?- Asked the therapist again, this time showing him a card with the picture of a young woman smiling.
She is angry- he answered.
Why do you believe that?- she asked, adjusting her glasses while looking at him with a mix of fear and pity. She knew it wouldn't upset him, as he wouldn't even notice her expression.
Because she's showing her teeth and opening her eyes- he said. Interpreting body language was now his only way to know what others were feeling, but everytime he flew, it became more and more difficult.
Are you flying again?-
He conciously smiled, attempting to show her how angry and anxious the question just made him.
I don't want to talk about it- he said.
Then what do you want to talk about?- she asked, after writing a couple of lines in her notebook.
Just show me another face- She proceeded to grab a card with an old man frowning.
He's upset-
Very good, and what about this one?- A young woman looking disgusted, almost like she was about to be sick.
She is in love-
Why's that?-
Everytime she asked him why was that instead of congratulating him, he knew he was wrong, and on this occasion he didn't want to tell her that he chose his answer because the woman had an expression identical to the one his girlfriend made so often lately.
He kept a neutral expression but raised his voice and got threateningly close to her.
I just know it- if a poker face would have a tone of voice to match, it would be the one he had just used.
She's actually disgusted-
He wasn't angry, a few months ago he hadn't felt anger anymore, nor any other feeling for that matter, but he had learned to rationalize and select reactions according to his analysis of people's comments and his deductions from what he learned with the facial cards in therapy. The fact that his girlfriend was looking at him with disgust wasn't good news but the way the therapist just confronted him with reality, instead of censoring herself out of fearful respect for such a powerful patient, that was unacceptable.
He grabed her with one arm and as she tried to let herself go, he jumped out of the window carring her like a heavy bag. Five floors away from the ground, she was now trying to hold on to him tightly.
Please, think about what you'd say about this situation if you saw it on the news- sometimes, putting his reactions in third person helped him to realize if he was doing the wrong thing.
He flew back with her to the office and dropped her coldly but carefuly on her chair like she was a box marked "fragile".
I'm going mad- he said unemotionally.
The fact that you are here shows you still care-
He knew that if he kept flying, he'd stop caring real soon, but why should he stop if it was the only time he felt anything? He left the therapist's office and went for a walk. He didn't refrain from droping her out of compassion or conscience, but because then he'd have to find another therapist and he found the card excercises useful.
As he walked, some pidgeons got out of his way by flying to the sides when he passed them. As he saw them getting away, and looking at him from a rooftop nearby, he imagined they were laughing at him, looking at him with the same disdain he saw non-flying people with, grounded for life and constrained to the floor, spreading propaganda about the perils of human flight, surely out of pure envy. Why should he care about their feelings, or about them at all?
Stories about dictators and criminals being flyers... propaganda. That mad man that had flown to the Earth's stratosphere and fell back asphyxiated who was all over the news a few days ago... propaganda. He said to himself that it was all a plan to discredit and alienate people like him because they feared anyone who's different.
As he passed by a corner grocery shop, a man sitting on the sidewalk begged him for some spare change. The beggar insisted after being ignored, and in order to avoid being bothered a third time, he kicked him in the face and kept walking.
A police officer saw what happened and approached him. He stood interrupting his walk.
Please get out of my way-
The officer put his hand over the man's shoulder firmly, and told him he saw what just happened.
And why don't you aprehend that beggar? He shouldn't be there-
You can't just kick him, that's assault-
He trespassed my personal space-
His arrogance exhausted the policeman's patience quickly and as he tried to detain him, he flew one more time and saw the situation from several metres above: the policeman was helping the beggar to get back up and a couple of customers came out of the shop and gave the man a coffee and a sandwich. Why were they helping the guy was beyond his comprehension, in fact, he realized that he had had enough of trying to fit in with those people. He didn't want to end up hunted down like all those other flyers that were said to be going rogue and atacking people, so he decided to keep going, towards the mountains, and with every mile he flew, he was leaving himself behind and becoming more animal-like.
Flying over the mountains, he thought of himself as a falcon in a man's body, and decided that he could live with that. If he wanted food, he'd go down to the forest for a hunt, same for water. He could fly all he wanted over there, and never be interrupted by the ordinary ones and their jealousy.
Eventually, he stopped talking to himself in his mind, and acted more on instinct. The more he flew, other parts of his personality fell apart... first the feelings, then the emotions, then language and thoughts. He was now just like another bird in the mountain and he wasn't even aware of that as all his consciusness was gone. | |
[WP] Villains aren't born, they're made. In a world where superpowers are real, continuous use of them corrupts the parts of the brain responsible for empathy and compassion. | How long has it been since I felt anything resembling compassion for human beings? I suppose the easiest way to figure that out is to look back at when I first realized the full potential of my abilities. Going forward from that moment in time I suppose I can decide the moment when empathy left me entirely. But perhaps what is more important than the absolute loss itself, is to remember the events leading up to it, leading up to now.
When I was a child my parents marveled at my abilities both in the classroom and on the playground. In pre-school I was the most popular child, constantly being followed around by my classmates on the playground, doing the things I wanted to do and never finding opposition from the other children. Of course at this point in my life what I wanted to do was play in the sand or ride down the slide. Still, I am told the adults at the time would comment on how I was "a natural leader" and "going to accomplish great things." They had no idea how correct they were.
Over the years it became apparent that I was not like everyone else. In my teenage years during highschool I began to realize that my uncanny leadership skills were not simply born of practice and confidence. I noticed that I was willing others to action, not simply leading others of their own free will. However, I kept this knowledge to myself, I was still a teenager, my abilities did not grant me immunity to all of the awkward experiences of going through those years.
Besides, what would would my friends and classmates think if I tried to explain to them what I was beginning to believe, that I had the power of mind control. It was well known that across the world there were people with... unique... abilities. The ability to heal from wounds almost immediately, shape shifting, to speak with animals, telekinetic force. But I had never heard of anyone able to corrupt the will of other living creatures, and as time went by that is exactly what I began to do.
As I grew, so did my powers, and the more that I focused on and trained them, the easier they came. At that time I didn't know what it was doing to me, I used my ability to bend the will of others for my own personal gain. It is amazing how quickly you can rise through the ranks of power when every step that you take seems like the first step ever taken by those around you.
I began to have such disdain for those people around me, they were so stupid. So weak. Their flexible will became like a stench to me, nauseating to endure for more than minutes at a time. I began to spend entire days inside of my penthouse office, toying with people of the city below from great distances. A bit of adultery here, a robbery there, arson, vandalism. Days turned to weeks, I stopped going to work and spent my days alone in my home continuing to toy with the lives of people around the world. My power had become so focused that I had no need to see or be anywhere near the people I felt like controlling. That is when I decided to leave.
Over the course of a year I directed a force to construct a stronghold in the mountains. I needed to get away from the pathetic hordes of insignificant beings so easily bent and broken by my own indomitable will. But that did not stop my games.
Now here I am, alone, away from everyone and everything. The world is on the eve of a global conflict, I find it unlikely that many shreds of civilization will remain when this is through. Sometimes, in moods like I am now, I look back and wonder why this is how it turned out. I always come to the same answer.
They were weak. | Craig collapsed to his knees clutching his stomach. He wiped wetness from his mouth and saw blood. "Claire, you HAVE to stop this. You can fight it."
She stood at the end of the hallway. Tall and powerful. "You made me do this. You... TOOK THEM FROM ME!" With a thought, Craig was thrown through a wall, into the living room, and crashing onto a side table scattering it's adornments to the ground.
Craig struggled to stand up and winced from the pain. "Claire, honey... I didn't take them from you. " Craig mustered the strength to continue speaking "I.. I was trying to keep them safe."
Craig's body flew across the room crashing him into a bookshelf. His legs slid out from under him. He leaned his back against the broken shelves, a pile of books and trinkets surrounding him. Claire stood above him "You lie."
Craig felt weak "Claire... please, stop." His arm trembled as he raised a picture frame that had fallen from the shelf. Through the broken glass, Claire could see the remnants of a family photo. Craig, two smiling children, and a face she no longer recognized. "They... ugh... ask about you," His speech was laborious, "but I did not want them seeing what their mother had be-"
Claire's fist interrupted him. "Where are they?" she growled.
Stunned Craig tried to speak "Claire... sto-"
She hit him again. "Where are they?"
Words stumbled through the blood in Craig's mouth "P... Plea... Clai... Please... stop."
"WHERE ARE THEY?!" She screamed. She began to punch him repeatedly. Each punch harder than the last. Each punch punctuated by Claire's, now booming, voice.
"WHERE ARE THEY!? WHERE ARE THEY!? WHERE ARE THEY?! WHERE ARE THEY?!"
| |
This has been done already, sadly with only one reply. I want to see what people can do.
EDIT: Jesus Christ 1235 upvotes? | [WP] You were born with a secret curse: you involuntarily alternate between each gender every midnight. As a result, you live two different lives. One night, your friends discover your secret in the worst way imaginable. | Early night on the town,
already found a man to remove my gown,
taxi to mine,
so begins the naked time.
Turn to look at the clock,
as my vag becomes a cock,
He screams in agony,
getting forced out of me.
A duel of dicks,
horror on his face as it clicks,
new city for me,
now that I'm not a she.
>*I'm aware it's not great, but it was the only way I could think to put the idea* | You said the WORST way, so... NSFW, seriously:
"You, have to leave!" I shouted with all of the apprehension I could muster. Most people would not be startled by an alarm clock for at least a few more hours. But as I glanced and saw the shapes of the searing red dashes on the digital alarm clock branded me with new urgency. The coming spirit beckoned me out of the bed with new urgency, but the still present spirit of Jose Cuervo beckoned me gracelessly onto the floor.
"What's wrong with you Ashley? I thought you liked me?". George seemed nice enough of a guy, Brad seemed to think so, and Cuervo remained as eternally optimistic as always. But he wouldn't understand, he wouldn't want to understand, how could he? How could I explain to him why he couldn't do something as arbitrary as be inside of me in approximately 2 minutes, when any other time would have been completely fine?
"I do like you George, baby, I do. But you can't be here, not now. I'm about to change, I can't stop it, you won't like it, you should just leave." George didn't seem phased by my pleas as he picked me up and sat me on the bed and held me close. "Ashley, come on, you'll be fiiiiiiiiiiiiine." George kissed the nape of my neck and the intensity of everything happening left me unable to give anything more convincing than a deep moan. "No, you won't like it. It's about what is going to happen... down there. It's not going to be pretty." George proceeded to lay my week body down and stretched his body over me. "Babe, it's fine. I've dealt with the blood plenty of times, it's nothing to be ashamed of." "What? No! It's just, just get out of here! You can't be here when midnight comes!" George looked over at the clock in his parents room. "It's already 12:55. I don't know how well you ladies think you can "sync up", but it's obviously not very accurate." "Daylight savings you moron, real midnight isn't for another 250 seconds, I can feel it, now GET THE FUCK OFF OF ME!" George couldn't help but laugh. "Oh, so ACTUAL MIDNIGHT? What are you some kind of werewolf? Who's my wittle ware woof!" George imitated a deep growl as he ended that sentence. He was taunting me now, and I couldn't do anything to teach this now revolting bastard anything about respect, anything yet anyway. "Werewolves transform well before midnight, dipshit." What the fuck was I even thinking replying that? "Eh HA" George half bellowed, half squeaked. "That's okay, I like the dorky ones, Talk nerdy to me baby! Tell me more about your "changes" Ms. Bowie."
At least my next reply was more cleaver. "George, I'm not on the rag. But if you put that thing inside of me then there will be a dick covered in blood in this room when the day ends, but it won't be attached to your body." It was clever to me, but not necessarily true. I didn't know exactly what would happen if the transformation happened with anyone in my embrace, let alone inside of me. But I have transformed surrounded by objects of the world, and they always gave way to the increased girth of my new form, no matter the substance. Except for that one time I fled the police as my current, petite person, still in tightly locked handcuffs, it had never been anything but inconvenient. But, as I felt George enter my body with nothing but his squishy human flesh, I had a hunch that where we intersected would give way far more conveniently than steel.
"Hey, is everything okay in there?" My friend Nicole must have been listening in on the fruits of her pairing. It's not enough to know that I would like George, now she has to schlick to it too? Nosey fucking bitch. "Go AWAY Nicole!" "I heard you shouting, I can get him to leave if you want." "I'm FINE! JUST GO!" She didn't need to be here to see whatever was going to happen next. "Oh, I knew you wanted it." George said. His false pride nauseated me. "You just had to give in to yourself, and now we are having a great time." I stayed silent, the next 3 minutes felt like an eternity, but when George said he was about to come, I reminded myself what little time had actually passed. I liked knowing that he wouldn't last as long as the pig he was, but there was no way he was getting away that easily. "It's okay, stay inside of me." "Really?" George asked in a tone that would've sounded sweet in any other context. "Yeah I said." I felt it coming on, it was only seconds now. I wrapped my legs around him so he couldn't escape. "After all, you insisted."
It began, and it went somewhat as I thought it would. George began to scream as my new form gored into his. I felt my other body rip through his like it was nothing. Whether or not I would forever live with a conjoined cell formation in my pelvis, the sensation of it was absolutely enrapturing. As far as MY health was concerned, I took that as a good sign. George however, not so much. Whether George screamed because he had now lost his manhood or because the person who was now flipped on top of him was now a well muscled 210 pounds, seventy five inches tall, and many times the man that he would ever be, I could not say. But the uniquely male rage that now flowed through me didn't care, as long as it was agonizing, I was winning, I was beating him at his own game. And whatever the fucked up reaction to whatever the fucked up thing was happening to us, it felt incredible as I thrust into the new bloody wound my transformation had bored into George.
"Do you see what FUCKING HAPPENS!? Do you see what FUCKING HAPPENS WHEN YOU FUCKING FUCK WITH SHIT THAT YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND!" As I continued to thrust into him the reality of it all started to seep onto me, heavier and heavier. I started to gasp and blubber as it began to set in. I felt a gurgling cry let loose from myself. A combination of immense sorrow and regret began to coax the fury of my actions. I hit the now blank and pale face of the corpse in front of me. I hit that squishy bastard 2 more times and I felt as though his face buckled inward. As I pulled myself away from my mess, I looked towards the door.
Nicole had let herself in and just stood there. Her face was a puffy red with tears flowing down her face. "Ashley, Brad, who, what?" "Cassidy" I said. "What?" Nicole murmured in reply. I don't know why, Nicole probably had a million questions she needed answered and a million feelings, most of which would probably never be processed, all at the same time. But the first question seemed to be about who and what I am. I had very little to tell her myself, but I do know I at least had names. "My, OUR name, is Cassidy. Me, I, WAS, that was Ashley. And I'm Brad. Together, WE are Cassidy. Ashley, Brad, Cassidy. ABC." "Is that supposed to be fucking funny?" Nicole choked out. It was, and if me and her good friend hadn't just raped each other until one of us changed genders and killed the other, then it might have been, but the atmosphere was less than jovial.
"I should go." I muttered to Nicole. "Go?" "What do you think you are? You kill, you ki, you..." Nicole was choking through her sentences now. "YOU FUCKING KILLED HIM!" "HE FUCKING RAPED ME." Thankfully I managed to bellow out some kind of excuse. "I was drunk, he was insistent, and he RAPED ME!" "You think I wanted to, I wanted to, to, ABSORB that revolting assholes pelvis into me? I DIDN'T HAVE A FUCKING CHOICE!" "FUCK OFF YOU ASSHOLE! GET OUT OF HERE BRAD, OR ASHLEY, OR CAMERON, OR WHATEVER THE FUCK YOU ARE, OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOUT!" Nicole was now hitting my chest and crying frantically as she fell onto her knees.
With a new found sobriety that seemed to come with whatever the fuck you call that, I ran out the door, naked, and covered in blood in the worst places. I opened the adjacent rooms and found what appeared to be a room belonging to a high school teenager. The clothes fit well enough and I ran downstairs. "Hey Brad! Where have you been all night? Mark has been looking everywhere for you! And, have you seen Ashley? He said he was also looking..." "It's, fine." I said. "Ashley left, and I am too. Great party." I started towards the door. "But Mark is, HEY MARK, I FOUND YOUR BOYFRIEND." Mark was across the room and spotted me, "Oh thank God, Brad!" I pushed for the door and made it a few paces outside before Mark grabbed my shoulder. "Hey, Brad, what's going on? What happened?" "I need to be alone right now." "Whoa, I came all the way out here for you tonight, and now you are bailing? What gives?" "It's nothing." "You had me come out from 3 counties over to this party so we could hang out after midnight and now you are bailing because I am less important than nothing?" Mark wasn't having it, and he was right. This whole thing is so screwed up, and there was no good way to explain it. But I just couldn't, I couldn't be with anyone now, anyone I knew, anyone I loved. It was just too painful.
"Mark, look. Something happened. Something bad, and I can't be with anyone right now." "Brad it's me, you can tell me anything, I love you." "I couldn't love anyone who could love me after what I have done." "Try me." "Mark pleaded. We had started walking away from the house now. "Tell me what happened and then we will see what I think. You've told me everything about you, why not this?" "It's, I can't, JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!" Mark wouldn't let up as he fallowed me. "Brad, please, Brad. Cassidy, please." With that I turned around and shoved him. to my surprise he flew backward, as if a line backer had charged into him and he flew a few feet. He shouted in pain from the surprisingly forceful impact to his chest and back. "Mark, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean..." "WHY CAN'T YOU JUST LET ME IN BRAD!?" "ASK NICOLE WHAT HAPPENED TO THE LAST GUY I LET IN!" With that my stomach sank. Nicole was bound to tell everyone eventually, maybe, I couldn't really be sure. She would sound crazy, so I was hoping she would just hold the secret for a while, but now Mark, sweet Mark, he would know, and he would know soon. I was such a fucking idiot.
To be continued: |
This has been done already, sadly with only one reply. I want to see what people can do.
EDIT: Jesus Christ 1235 upvotes? | [WP] You were born with a secret curse: you involuntarily alternate between each gender every midnight. As a result, you live two different lives. One night, your friends discover your secret in the worst way imaginable. | ######[](#dropcap)
The return home was long and uncomfortable. Although the snow was freshly plowed and the road freshly salted, Mrs. Steele's SUV rattled and slipped along the inclines. It was slow going, made all the more sluggish by traffic and her own nervous driving habits. She would stand at stoplights for minutes at a time, fearing some imaginary eighteen-wheeler might come out of the midnight haze and t-bone her and her passengers into oblivion. She pressed on.
Patrick was uncomfortable. The heater was set to high and his breath felt constricted. Mrs. Steele's son, Jonathan, slept soundly in the seat across from him, but Patrick had a myriad of thoughts racing through his brain, thoughts too pressing to wait for morning.
He missed his mother. Part of his anxiousness was due to survivor's guilt; it was the first time either of them had been in an accident, and he was shocked to see the extent of her injuries when he had come out needing only a few stitches on his forehead and arms. He had cried for a while, until a kind nurse brought him a cup of hot cocoa and told him that his neighbor Mrs. Steele was on his way to pick him up from the emergency room.
This was his second point of worry. His mother's car was ruined, and his father's car was buried under a snowdrift by his office. Fortunately (or unfortunately, as the case may have been) Mrs. Steele and her son had been more than willing to make the drive out and return Patrick to his house.
He'd never been with another family this late at night. Earlier in his life, there had been doctors, professors, various biologists and theoretical physicists, but he had been too young to remember. He only knew that somehow, his parents had kept those scientists from taking him and studying him for the rest of his life. They had told him never to reveal the change to others, to keep it hidden.
Now change was unavoidable.
Five minutes to midnight. Now four. The clock in the car was wrong, he knew the time just as well as he knew his own names. He snuck a glance at Jonathan. More worry. They were friends, but not close. His relationship with his friends in the neighborhood was naturally strained; he was home-schooled and only came out every other day, if at all.
He waited. And midnight came. The shift was rapid, but in the dark he managed not to catch Mrs. Steele's attention. The changes started small, at the base of his feet, and worked their way upward. She didn't feel all that uncomfortable, in fact, she would normally have slept through the entire process. Her clothes were less than ideal, but she knew nothing could be done about that. Aside from shifting her weight in the car seat, she stayed still.
Then the car went over a bump in the road. This, in tandem with her shifting facial features, caused her stitches to tear. She gasped involuntarily. Jonathan stirred but didn't wake.
"It's alright, Patrick. We're on your street now." Mrs. Steele tightened her grip on the steering wheel. "Just a little more. It's a good thing this road is flat."
Patricia said nothing. She wished Mrs. Steele wasn't so talkative; Jonathan had stirred again, and she was quickly losing hope that she could rush inside her house without her new body being seen.
Without warning, Mrs. Steele stopped the car and honked on the horn, trying to gain the attention of Patricia's father. Patricia's heart sank. As Jonathan finally lifted himself from sleep, she scrambled for the door handle. It lifted, but the door wouldn't budge.
"It's the child lock, dear." Mrs. Steele was already out of the car. "Hold on, I'll get it."
She opened the door, then screamed. It was loud, and very unwelcome; Jonathan was wide awake now, and so were most of the neighbors. Lights flickered on randomly at houses along the road, and windows were being opened, knocking old snow and icicles off their sills.
"Mama? What's wrong?" Jonathan's eyes darted around wildly, and decided to settle on Patricia's long, brown hair. "Where's Patrick?"
Patricia turned. Her face was obscured by her bangs and the small stream of blood running down her forehead. But whereas Mrs. Steele had seen a small, seven year old girl wearing boy's clothes and a red halo of broken thread and dried blood, young Jonathan recognized his friend instantly.
"*Patrick's a girl?*"
"Johnny-"
"Patrick's a GIRL!" Jonathan whooped with laughter. "Patrick's a girl, Mama!"
"Johnny, you have to be quiet!" Patricia stamped her foot. She tried to climb back into the car, but Jonathan leapt up into the front of the car.
"No, you can't touch me!" He was still laughing. "Now you have cooties!"
"Johnny, stop it!" Patricia jumped and stomped her feet until she slipped on black ice. Now the stitches in her left arm had ripped under her coat. She picked herself up from the ground and started to cry as her father finally came out of the house.
"Emma?" Mrs. Steele turned, pale and wide-eyed. "I am so sorry about this. It was completely out of my hands-" Another light flicked on, this time at the house across from them, and he stopped to take in the entire scene. "What on earth is going on?"
Jonathan clambered into the driver's seat of the car and slid down. "Mr. Harrison, Patrick's a girl now! Haha!"
Before either parent could stop them, Patricia tackled Jonathan into the snow and started beating him ferociously. "Be quiet! It's supposed to be a secret!"
"Ow! Hey! Cooties! Get offa me!"
"YOU! CAN'T! TELL!"
Mr. Harrison pulled his daughter away, as she screamed all the while. Mrs. Steele was still shell-shocked, beyond hope of any active response.
"You can't tell me what to do!" Jonathan lifted himself up. "I'm gonna tell all the kids!"
"NO!"
"Hey, guys! Guess what? Patrick's a girl now!" He ran off, down the street and into the night as more lights turned on and more windows were opened and more and more children heard the strangely hilarious news. "Patrick's a girl!"
"Patricia, you need to go inside, okay? Now." She struggled, still wanting to find Johnny and punch him into submission, but Mr. Harrison held firm until she gave up and ran into the house crying. Then he turned to Emma.
"What-"
"In the morning." His voice was hot and demanding. "I need you to go and collect your son."
"But your-"
"I promise you, we will sort this out in the morning. I need to go talk to my daughter."
"Your *daughter-*"
"*Good night,* Emma." He walked inside, closing the garage door behind him.
Mrs. Steele never moved.
Mr. Harrison found Patricia lying on her bed, still in her coat and boots, sobbing uncontrollably. He turned on the light, illuminating the blue-and-pink striped walls, and walked to her bedside.
"Let's get you out of those wet clothes, okay?"
"No."
"Sweetie-"
"Now Johnny's gonna tell everybody! I told him not to tell, but he didn't listen!" Abruptly, she threw her pillow at the lamp on her bedside. It tipped and fell.
Her father sat down on the bed, and laid a hand on Patricia's shoulder. She squirmed and shook until he removed it. Mr. Harrison clasped his hands together, searching for the right words.
"I want Mommy."
"I know, honey." He paused. "I know."
She wept herself to sleep. When her breathing evened, her father changed her into her favorite pink pajamas, and laid her down under the covers. Then he turned off the light and went to sleep alone in his own bed.
***
Below, on the street, Mrs. Steele still hadn't moved, save for hugging herself and shivering in the stiff wind. Jonathan had free reign over the neighborhood until he tired himself out, voice hoarse from shouting. He went back to his mother.
"Mama, I'm tired now. Can we go home?"
She roused herself from her stupor, and they walked home. She left her SUV by the curb of the Harrison's house, still too shaken to drive. As she fumbled with the key to the front door, Jonathan giggled sleepily.
"*Patrick's a girl.*" | You said the WORST way, so... NSFW, seriously:
"You, have to leave!" I shouted with all of the apprehension I could muster. Most people would not be startled by an alarm clock for at least a few more hours. But as I glanced and saw the shapes of the searing red dashes on the digital alarm clock branded me with new urgency. The coming spirit beckoned me out of the bed with new urgency, but the still present spirit of Jose Cuervo beckoned me gracelessly onto the floor.
"What's wrong with you Ashley? I thought you liked me?". George seemed nice enough of a guy, Brad seemed to think so, and Cuervo remained as eternally optimistic as always. But he wouldn't understand, he wouldn't want to understand, how could he? How could I explain to him why he couldn't do something as arbitrary as be inside of me in approximately 2 minutes, when any other time would have been completely fine?
"I do like you George, baby, I do. But you can't be here, not now. I'm about to change, I can't stop it, you won't like it, you should just leave." George didn't seem phased by my pleas as he picked me up and sat me on the bed and held me close. "Ashley, come on, you'll be fiiiiiiiiiiiiine." George kissed the nape of my neck and the intensity of everything happening left me unable to give anything more convincing than a deep moan. "No, you won't like it. It's about what is going to happen... down there. It's not going to be pretty." George proceeded to lay my week body down and stretched his body over me. "Babe, it's fine. I've dealt with the blood plenty of times, it's nothing to be ashamed of." "What? No! It's just, just get out of here! You can't be here when midnight comes!" George looked over at the clock in his parents room. "It's already 12:55. I don't know how well you ladies think you can "sync up", but it's obviously not very accurate." "Daylight savings you moron, real midnight isn't for another 250 seconds, I can feel it, now GET THE FUCK OFF OF ME!" George couldn't help but laugh. "Oh, so ACTUAL MIDNIGHT? What are you some kind of werewolf? Who's my wittle ware woof!" George imitated a deep growl as he ended that sentence. He was taunting me now, and I couldn't do anything to teach this now revolting bastard anything about respect, anything yet anyway. "Werewolves transform well before midnight, dipshit." What the fuck was I even thinking replying that? "Eh HA" George half bellowed, half squeaked. "That's okay, I like the dorky ones, Talk nerdy to me baby! Tell me more about your "changes" Ms. Bowie."
At least my next reply was more cleaver. "George, I'm not on the rag. But if you put that thing inside of me then there will be a dick covered in blood in this room when the day ends, but it won't be attached to your body." It was clever to me, but not necessarily true. I didn't know exactly what would happen if the transformation happened with anyone in my embrace, let alone inside of me. But I have transformed surrounded by objects of the world, and they always gave way to the increased girth of my new form, no matter the substance. Except for that one time I fled the police as my current, petite person, still in tightly locked handcuffs, it had never been anything but inconvenient. But, as I felt George enter my body with nothing but his squishy human flesh, I had a hunch that where we intersected would give way far more conveniently than steel.
"Hey, is everything okay in there?" My friend Nicole must have been listening in on the fruits of her pairing. It's not enough to know that I would like George, now she has to schlick to it too? Nosey fucking bitch. "Go AWAY Nicole!" "I heard you shouting, I can get him to leave if you want." "I'm FINE! JUST GO!" She didn't need to be here to see whatever was going to happen next. "Oh, I knew you wanted it." George said. His false pride nauseated me. "You just had to give in to yourself, and now we are having a great time." I stayed silent, the next 3 minutes felt like an eternity, but when George said he was about to come, I reminded myself what little time had actually passed. I liked knowing that he wouldn't last as long as the pig he was, but there was no way he was getting away that easily. "It's okay, stay inside of me." "Really?" George asked in a tone that would've sounded sweet in any other context. "Yeah I said." I felt it coming on, it was only seconds now. I wrapped my legs around him so he couldn't escape. "After all, you insisted."
It began, and it went somewhat as I thought it would. George began to scream as my new form gored into his. I felt my other body rip through his like it was nothing. Whether or not I would forever live with a conjoined cell formation in my pelvis, the sensation of it was absolutely enrapturing. As far as MY health was concerned, I took that as a good sign. George however, not so much. Whether George screamed because he had now lost his manhood or because the person who was now flipped on top of him was now a well muscled 210 pounds, seventy five inches tall, and many times the man that he would ever be, I could not say. But the uniquely male rage that now flowed through me didn't care, as long as it was agonizing, I was winning, I was beating him at his own game. And whatever the fucked up reaction to whatever the fucked up thing was happening to us, it felt incredible as I thrust into the new bloody wound my transformation had bored into George.
"Do you see what FUCKING HAPPENS!? Do you see what FUCKING HAPPENS WHEN YOU FUCKING FUCK WITH SHIT THAT YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND!" As I continued to thrust into him the reality of it all started to seep onto me, heavier and heavier. I started to gasp and blubber as it began to set in. I felt a gurgling cry let loose from myself. A combination of immense sorrow and regret began to coax the fury of my actions. I hit the now blank and pale face of the corpse in front of me. I hit that squishy bastard 2 more times and I felt as though his face buckled inward. As I pulled myself away from my mess, I looked towards the door.
Nicole had let herself in and just stood there. Her face was a puffy red with tears flowing down her face. "Ashley, Brad, who, what?" "Cassidy" I said. "What?" Nicole murmured in reply. I don't know why, Nicole probably had a million questions she needed answered and a million feelings, most of which would probably never be processed, all at the same time. But the first question seemed to be about who and what I am. I had very little to tell her myself, but I do know I at least had names. "My, OUR name, is Cassidy. Me, I, WAS, that was Ashley. And I'm Brad. Together, WE are Cassidy. Ashley, Brad, Cassidy. ABC." "Is that supposed to be fucking funny?" Nicole choked out. It was, and if me and her good friend hadn't just raped each other until one of us changed genders and killed the other, then it might have been, but the atmosphere was less than jovial.
"I should go." I muttered to Nicole. "Go?" "What do you think you are? You kill, you ki, you..." Nicole was choking through her sentences now. "YOU FUCKING KILLED HIM!" "HE FUCKING RAPED ME." Thankfully I managed to bellow out some kind of excuse. "I was drunk, he was insistent, and he RAPED ME!" "You think I wanted to, I wanted to, to, ABSORB that revolting assholes pelvis into me? I DIDN'T HAVE A FUCKING CHOICE!" "FUCK OFF YOU ASSHOLE! GET OUT OF HERE BRAD, OR ASHLEY, OR CAMERON, OR WHATEVER THE FUCK YOU ARE, OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOUT!" Nicole was now hitting my chest and crying frantically as she fell onto her knees.
With a new found sobriety that seemed to come with whatever the fuck you call that, I ran out the door, naked, and covered in blood in the worst places. I opened the adjacent rooms and found what appeared to be a room belonging to a high school teenager. The clothes fit well enough and I ran downstairs. "Hey Brad! Where have you been all night? Mark has been looking everywhere for you! And, have you seen Ashley? He said he was also looking..." "It's, fine." I said. "Ashley left, and I am too. Great party." I started towards the door. "But Mark is, HEY MARK, I FOUND YOUR BOYFRIEND." Mark was across the room and spotted me, "Oh thank God, Brad!" I pushed for the door and made it a few paces outside before Mark grabbed my shoulder. "Hey, Brad, what's going on? What happened?" "I need to be alone right now." "Whoa, I came all the way out here for you tonight, and now you are bailing? What gives?" "It's nothing." "You had me come out from 3 counties over to this party so we could hang out after midnight and now you are bailing because I am less important than nothing?" Mark wasn't having it, and he was right. This whole thing is so screwed up, and there was no good way to explain it. But I just couldn't, I couldn't be with anyone now, anyone I knew, anyone I loved. It was just too painful.
"Mark, look. Something happened. Something bad, and I can't be with anyone right now." "Brad it's me, you can tell me anything, I love you." "I couldn't love anyone who could love me after what I have done." "Try me." "Mark pleaded. We had started walking away from the house now. "Tell me what happened and then we will see what I think. You've told me everything about you, why not this?" "It's, I can't, JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!" Mark wouldn't let up as he fallowed me. "Brad, please, Brad. Cassidy, please." With that I turned around and shoved him. to my surprise he flew backward, as if a line backer had charged into him and he flew a few feet. He shouted in pain from the surprisingly forceful impact to his chest and back. "Mark, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean..." "WHY CAN'T YOU JUST LET ME IN BRAD!?" "ASK NICOLE WHAT HAPPENED TO THE LAST GUY I LET IN!" With that my stomach sank. Nicole was bound to tell everyone eventually, maybe, I couldn't really be sure. She would sound crazy, so I was hoping she would just hold the secret for a while, but now Mark, sweet Mark, he would know, and he would know soon. I was such a fucking idiot.
To be continued: |
This has been done already, sadly with only one reply. I want to see what people can do.
EDIT: Jesus Christ 1235 upvotes? | [WP] You were born with a secret curse: you involuntarily alternate between each gender every midnight. As a result, you live two different lives. One night, your friends discover your secret in the worst way imaginable. | That sounds like this old anime called ranma 1/2. The main character was born a guy but feel in magic hot spring water where a young girl had died. So when ever ranma got covered in hot water they became female and cool water made them male. Same with ranma's dad except he turned into a panda not a girl.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ranma_%C2%BD | You said the WORST way, so... NSFW, seriously:
"You, have to leave!" I shouted with all of the apprehension I could muster. Most people would not be startled by an alarm clock for at least a few more hours. But as I glanced and saw the shapes of the searing red dashes on the digital alarm clock branded me with new urgency. The coming spirit beckoned me out of the bed with new urgency, but the still present spirit of Jose Cuervo beckoned me gracelessly onto the floor.
"What's wrong with you Ashley? I thought you liked me?". George seemed nice enough of a guy, Brad seemed to think so, and Cuervo remained as eternally optimistic as always. But he wouldn't understand, he wouldn't want to understand, how could he? How could I explain to him why he couldn't do something as arbitrary as be inside of me in approximately 2 minutes, when any other time would have been completely fine?
"I do like you George, baby, I do. But you can't be here, not now. I'm about to change, I can't stop it, you won't like it, you should just leave." George didn't seem phased by my pleas as he picked me up and sat me on the bed and held me close. "Ashley, come on, you'll be fiiiiiiiiiiiiine." George kissed the nape of my neck and the intensity of everything happening left me unable to give anything more convincing than a deep moan. "No, you won't like it. It's about what is going to happen... down there. It's not going to be pretty." George proceeded to lay my week body down and stretched his body over me. "Babe, it's fine. I've dealt with the blood plenty of times, it's nothing to be ashamed of." "What? No! It's just, just get out of here! You can't be here when midnight comes!" George looked over at the clock in his parents room. "It's already 12:55. I don't know how well you ladies think you can "sync up", but it's obviously not very accurate." "Daylight savings you moron, real midnight isn't for another 250 seconds, I can feel it, now GET THE FUCK OFF OF ME!" George couldn't help but laugh. "Oh, so ACTUAL MIDNIGHT? What are you some kind of werewolf? Who's my wittle ware woof!" George imitated a deep growl as he ended that sentence. He was taunting me now, and I couldn't do anything to teach this now revolting bastard anything about respect, anything yet anyway. "Werewolves transform well before midnight, dipshit." What the fuck was I even thinking replying that? "Eh HA" George half bellowed, half squeaked. "That's okay, I like the dorky ones, Talk nerdy to me baby! Tell me more about your "changes" Ms. Bowie."
At least my next reply was more cleaver. "George, I'm not on the rag. But if you put that thing inside of me then there will be a dick covered in blood in this room when the day ends, but it won't be attached to your body." It was clever to me, but not necessarily true. I didn't know exactly what would happen if the transformation happened with anyone in my embrace, let alone inside of me. But I have transformed surrounded by objects of the world, and they always gave way to the increased girth of my new form, no matter the substance. Except for that one time I fled the police as my current, petite person, still in tightly locked handcuffs, it had never been anything but inconvenient. But, as I felt George enter my body with nothing but his squishy human flesh, I had a hunch that where we intersected would give way far more conveniently than steel.
"Hey, is everything okay in there?" My friend Nicole must have been listening in on the fruits of her pairing. It's not enough to know that I would like George, now she has to schlick to it too? Nosey fucking bitch. "Go AWAY Nicole!" "I heard you shouting, I can get him to leave if you want." "I'm FINE! JUST GO!" She didn't need to be here to see whatever was going to happen next. "Oh, I knew you wanted it." George said. His false pride nauseated me. "You just had to give in to yourself, and now we are having a great time." I stayed silent, the next 3 minutes felt like an eternity, but when George said he was about to come, I reminded myself what little time had actually passed. I liked knowing that he wouldn't last as long as the pig he was, but there was no way he was getting away that easily. "It's okay, stay inside of me." "Really?" George asked in a tone that would've sounded sweet in any other context. "Yeah I said." I felt it coming on, it was only seconds now. I wrapped my legs around him so he couldn't escape. "After all, you insisted."
It began, and it went somewhat as I thought it would. George began to scream as my new form gored into his. I felt my other body rip through his like it was nothing. Whether or not I would forever live with a conjoined cell formation in my pelvis, the sensation of it was absolutely enrapturing. As far as MY health was concerned, I took that as a good sign. George however, not so much. Whether George screamed because he had now lost his manhood or because the person who was now flipped on top of him was now a well muscled 210 pounds, seventy five inches tall, and many times the man that he would ever be, I could not say. But the uniquely male rage that now flowed through me didn't care, as long as it was agonizing, I was winning, I was beating him at his own game. And whatever the fucked up reaction to whatever the fucked up thing was happening to us, it felt incredible as I thrust into the new bloody wound my transformation had bored into George.
"Do you see what FUCKING HAPPENS!? Do you see what FUCKING HAPPENS WHEN YOU FUCKING FUCK WITH SHIT THAT YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND!" As I continued to thrust into him the reality of it all started to seep onto me, heavier and heavier. I started to gasp and blubber as it began to set in. I felt a gurgling cry let loose from myself. A combination of immense sorrow and regret began to coax the fury of my actions. I hit the now blank and pale face of the corpse in front of me. I hit that squishy bastard 2 more times and I felt as though his face buckled inward. As I pulled myself away from my mess, I looked towards the door.
Nicole had let herself in and just stood there. Her face was a puffy red with tears flowing down her face. "Ashley, Brad, who, what?" "Cassidy" I said. "What?" Nicole murmured in reply. I don't know why, Nicole probably had a million questions she needed answered and a million feelings, most of which would probably never be processed, all at the same time. But the first question seemed to be about who and what I am. I had very little to tell her myself, but I do know I at least had names. "My, OUR name, is Cassidy. Me, I, WAS, that was Ashley. And I'm Brad. Together, WE are Cassidy. Ashley, Brad, Cassidy. ABC." "Is that supposed to be fucking funny?" Nicole choked out. It was, and if me and her good friend hadn't just raped each other until one of us changed genders and killed the other, then it might have been, but the atmosphere was less than jovial.
"I should go." I muttered to Nicole. "Go?" "What do you think you are? You kill, you ki, you..." Nicole was choking through her sentences now. "YOU FUCKING KILLED HIM!" "HE FUCKING RAPED ME." Thankfully I managed to bellow out some kind of excuse. "I was drunk, he was insistent, and he RAPED ME!" "You think I wanted to, I wanted to, to, ABSORB that revolting assholes pelvis into me? I DIDN'T HAVE A FUCKING CHOICE!" "FUCK OFF YOU ASSHOLE! GET OUT OF HERE BRAD, OR ASHLEY, OR CAMERON, OR WHATEVER THE FUCK YOU ARE, OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOUT!" Nicole was now hitting my chest and crying frantically as she fell onto her knees.
With a new found sobriety that seemed to come with whatever the fuck you call that, I ran out the door, naked, and covered in blood in the worst places. I opened the adjacent rooms and found what appeared to be a room belonging to a high school teenager. The clothes fit well enough and I ran downstairs. "Hey Brad! Where have you been all night? Mark has been looking everywhere for you! And, have you seen Ashley? He said he was also looking..." "It's, fine." I said. "Ashley left, and I am too. Great party." I started towards the door. "But Mark is, HEY MARK, I FOUND YOUR BOYFRIEND." Mark was across the room and spotted me, "Oh thank God, Brad!" I pushed for the door and made it a few paces outside before Mark grabbed my shoulder. "Hey, Brad, what's going on? What happened?" "I need to be alone right now." "Whoa, I came all the way out here for you tonight, and now you are bailing? What gives?" "It's nothing." "You had me come out from 3 counties over to this party so we could hang out after midnight and now you are bailing because I am less important than nothing?" Mark wasn't having it, and he was right. This whole thing is so screwed up, and there was no good way to explain it. But I just couldn't, I couldn't be with anyone now, anyone I knew, anyone I loved. It was just too painful.
"Mark, look. Something happened. Something bad, and I can't be with anyone right now." "Brad it's me, you can tell me anything, I love you." "I couldn't love anyone who could love me after what I have done." "Try me." "Mark pleaded. We had started walking away from the house now. "Tell me what happened and then we will see what I think. You've told me everything about you, why not this?" "It's, I can't, JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!" Mark wouldn't let up as he fallowed me. "Brad, please, Brad. Cassidy, please." With that I turned around and shoved him. to my surprise he flew backward, as if a line backer had charged into him and he flew a few feet. He shouted in pain from the surprisingly forceful impact to his chest and back. "Mark, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean..." "WHY CAN'T YOU JUST LET ME IN BRAD!?" "ASK NICOLE WHAT HAPPENED TO THE LAST GUY I LET IN!" With that my stomach sank. Nicole was bound to tell everyone eventually, maybe, I couldn't really be sure. She would sound crazy, so I was hoping she would just hold the secret for a while, but now Mark, sweet Mark, he would know, and he would know soon. I was such a fucking idiot.
To be continued: |
This has been done already, sadly with only one reply. I want to see what people can do.
EDIT: Jesus Christ 1235 upvotes? | [WP] You were born with a secret curse: you involuntarily alternate between each gender every midnight. As a result, you live two different lives. One night, your friends discover your secret in the worst way imaginable. | Early night on the town,
already found a man to remove my gown,
taxi to mine,
so begins the naked time.
Turn to look at the clock,
as my vag becomes a cock,
He screams in agony,
getting forced out of me.
A duel of dicks,
horror on his face as it clicks,
new city for me,
now that I'm not a she.
>*I'm aware it's not great, but it was the only way I could think to put the idea* | I'm a bot, *bleep*, *bloop*. Someone has linked to this thread from another place on reddit:
- [/r/genderotica] [I thought you all might be interested in the thread that's going on in \/r\/WritingPrompts at the moment](https://np.reddit.com/r/genderotica/comments/3sy7lb/i_thought_you_all_might_be_interested_in_the/)
[](#footer)*^(If you follow any of the above links, please respect the rules of reddit and don't vote in the other threads.) ^\([Info](/r/TotesMessenger) ^/ ^[Contact](/message/compose?to=/r/TotesMessenger))*
[](#bot) |
This has been done already, sadly with only one reply. I want to see what people can do.
EDIT: Jesus Christ 1235 upvotes? | [WP] You were born with a secret curse: you involuntarily alternate between each gender every midnight. As a result, you live two different lives. One night, your friends discover your secret in the worst way imaginable. | ######[](#dropcap)
The return home was long and uncomfortable. Although the snow was freshly plowed and the road freshly salted, Mrs. Steele's SUV rattled and slipped along the inclines. It was slow going, made all the more sluggish by traffic and her own nervous driving habits. She would stand at stoplights for minutes at a time, fearing some imaginary eighteen-wheeler might come out of the midnight haze and t-bone her and her passengers into oblivion. She pressed on.
Patrick was uncomfortable. The heater was set to high and his breath felt constricted. Mrs. Steele's son, Jonathan, slept soundly in the seat across from him, but Patrick had a myriad of thoughts racing through his brain, thoughts too pressing to wait for morning.
He missed his mother. Part of his anxiousness was due to survivor's guilt; it was the first time either of them had been in an accident, and he was shocked to see the extent of her injuries when he had come out needing only a few stitches on his forehead and arms. He had cried for a while, until a kind nurse brought him a cup of hot cocoa and told him that his neighbor Mrs. Steele was on his way to pick him up from the emergency room.
This was his second point of worry. His mother's car was ruined, and his father's car was buried under a snowdrift by his office. Fortunately (or unfortunately, as the case may have been) Mrs. Steele and her son had been more than willing to make the drive out and return Patrick to his house.
He'd never been with another family this late at night. Earlier in his life, there had been doctors, professors, various biologists and theoretical physicists, but he had been too young to remember. He only knew that somehow, his parents had kept those scientists from taking him and studying him for the rest of his life. They had told him never to reveal the change to others, to keep it hidden.
Now change was unavoidable.
Five minutes to midnight. Now four. The clock in the car was wrong, he knew the time just as well as he knew his own names. He snuck a glance at Jonathan. More worry. They were friends, but not close. His relationship with his friends in the neighborhood was naturally strained; he was home-schooled and only came out every other day, if at all.
He waited. And midnight came. The shift was rapid, but in the dark he managed not to catch Mrs. Steele's attention. The changes started small, at the base of his feet, and worked their way upward. She didn't feel all that uncomfortable, in fact, she would normally have slept through the entire process. Her clothes were less than ideal, but she knew nothing could be done about that. Aside from shifting her weight in the car seat, she stayed still.
Then the car went over a bump in the road. This, in tandem with her shifting facial features, caused her stitches to tear. She gasped involuntarily. Jonathan stirred but didn't wake.
"It's alright, Patrick. We're on your street now." Mrs. Steele tightened her grip on the steering wheel. "Just a little more. It's a good thing this road is flat."
Patricia said nothing. She wished Mrs. Steele wasn't so talkative; Jonathan had stirred again, and she was quickly losing hope that she could rush inside her house without her new body being seen.
Without warning, Mrs. Steele stopped the car and honked on the horn, trying to gain the attention of Patricia's father. Patricia's heart sank. As Jonathan finally lifted himself from sleep, she scrambled for the door handle. It lifted, but the door wouldn't budge.
"It's the child lock, dear." Mrs. Steele was already out of the car. "Hold on, I'll get it."
She opened the door, then screamed. It was loud, and very unwelcome; Jonathan was wide awake now, and so were most of the neighbors. Lights flickered on randomly at houses along the road, and windows were being opened, knocking old snow and icicles off their sills.
"Mama? What's wrong?" Jonathan's eyes darted around wildly, and decided to settle on Patricia's long, brown hair. "Where's Patrick?"
Patricia turned. Her face was obscured by her bangs and the small stream of blood running down her forehead. But whereas Mrs. Steele had seen a small, seven year old girl wearing boy's clothes and a red halo of broken thread and dried blood, young Jonathan recognized his friend instantly.
"*Patrick's a girl?*"
"Johnny-"
"Patrick's a GIRL!" Jonathan whooped with laughter. "Patrick's a girl, Mama!"
"Johnny, you have to be quiet!" Patricia stamped her foot. She tried to climb back into the car, but Jonathan leapt up into the front of the car.
"No, you can't touch me!" He was still laughing. "Now you have cooties!"
"Johnny, stop it!" Patricia jumped and stomped her feet until she slipped on black ice. Now the stitches in her left arm had ripped under her coat. She picked herself up from the ground and started to cry as her father finally came out of the house.
"Emma?" Mrs. Steele turned, pale and wide-eyed. "I am so sorry about this. It was completely out of my hands-" Another light flicked on, this time at the house across from them, and he stopped to take in the entire scene. "What on earth is going on?"
Jonathan clambered into the driver's seat of the car and slid down. "Mr. Harrison, Patrick's a girl now! Haha!"
Before either parent could stop them, Patricia tackled Jonathan into the snow and started beating him ferociously. "Be quiet! It's supposed to be a secret!"
"Ow! Hey! Cooties! Get offa me!"
"YOU! CAN'T! TELL!"
Mr. Harrison pulled his daughter away, as she screamed all the while. Mrs. Steele was still shell-shocked, beyond hope of any active response.
"You can't tell me what to do!" Jonathan lifted himself up. "I'm gonna tell all the kids!"
"NO!"
"Hey, guys! Guess what? Patrick's a girl now!" He ran off, down the street and into the night as more lights turned on and more windows were opened and more and more children heard the strangely hilarious news. "Patrick's a girl!"
"Patricia, you need to go inside, okay? Now." She struggled, still wanting to find Johnny and punch him into submission, but Mr. Harrison held firm until she gave up and ran into the house crying. Then he turned to Emma.
"What-"
"In the morning." His voice was hot and demanding. "I need you to go and collect your son."
"But your-"
"I promise you, we will sort this out in the morning. I need to go talk to my daughter."
"Your *daughter-*"
"*Good night,* Emma." He walked inside, closing the garage door behind him.
Mrs. Steele never moved.
Mr. Harrison found Patricia lying on her bed, still in her coat and boots, sobbing uncontrollably. He turned on the light, illuminating the blue-and-pink striped walls, and walked to her bedside.
"Let's get you out of those wet clothes, okay?"
"No."
"Sweetie-"
"Now Johnny's gonna tell everybody! I told him not to tell, but he didn't listen!" Abruptly, she threw her pillow at the lamp on her bedside. It tipped and fell.
Her father sat down on the bed, and laid a hand on Patricia's shoulder. She squirmed and shook until he removed it. Mr. Harrison clasped his hands together, searching for the right words.
"I want Mommy."
"I know, honey." He paused. "I know."
She wept herself to sleep. When her breathing evened, her father changed her into her favorite pink pajamas, and laid her down under the covers. Then he turned off the light and went to sleep alone in his own bed.
***
Below, on the street, Mrs. Steele still hadn't moved, save for hugging herself and shivering in the stiff wind. Jonathan had free reign over the neighborhood until he tired himself out, voice hoarse from shouting. He went back to his mother.
"Mama, I'm tired now. Can we go home?"
She roused herself from her stupor, and they walked home. She left her SUV by the curb of the Harrison's house, still too shaken to drive. As she fumbled with the key to the front door, Jonathan giggled sleepily.
"*Patrick's a girl.*" | I'm a bot, *bleep*, *bloop*. Someone has linked to this thread from another place on reddit:
- [/r/genderotica] [I thought you all might be interested in the thread that's going on in \/r\/WritingPrompts at the moment](https://np.reddit.com/r/genderotica/comments/3sy7lb/i_thought_you_all_might_be_interested_in_the/)
[](#footer)*^(If you follow any of the above links, please respect the rules of reddit and don't vote in the other threads.) ^\([Info](/r/TotesMessenger) ^/ ^[Contact](/message/compose?to=/r/TotesMessenger))*
[](#bot) |
This has been done already, sadly with only one reply. I want to see what people can do.
EDIT: Jesus Christ 1235 upvotes? | [WP] You were born with a secret curse: you involuntarily alternate between each gender every midnight. As a result, you live two different lives. One night, your friends discover your secret in the worst way imaginable. | ######[](#dropcap)
The return home was long and uncomfortable. Although the snow was freshly plowed and the road freshly salted, Mrs. Steele's SUV rattled and slipped along the inclines. It was slow going, made all the more sluggish by traffic and her own nervous driving habits. She would stand at stoplights for minutes at a time, fearing some imaginary eighteen-wheeler might come out of the midnight haze and t-bone her and her passengers into oblivion. She pressed on.
Patrick was uncomfortable. The heater was set to high and his breath felt constricted. Mrs. Steele's son, Jonathan, slept soundly in the seat across from him, but Patrick had a myriad of thoughts racing through his brain, thoughts too pressing to wait for morning.
He missed his mother. Part of his anxiousness was due to survivor's guilt; it was the first time either of them had been in an accident, and he was shocked to see the extent of her injuries when he had come out needing only a few stitches on his forehead and arms. He had cried for a while, until a kind nurse brought him a cup of hot cocoa and told him that his neighbor Mrs. Steele was on his way to pick him up from the emergency room.
This was his second point of worry. His mother's car was ruined, and his father's car was buried under a snowdrift by his office. Fortunately (or unfortunately, as the case may have been) Mrs. Steele and her son had been more than willing to make the drive out and return Patrick to his house.
He'd never been with another family this late at night. Earlier in his life, there had been doctors, professors, various biologists and theoretical physicists, but he had been too young to remember. He only knew that somehow, his parents had kept those scientists from taking him and studying him for the rest of his life. They had told him never to reveal the change to others, to keep it hidden.
Now change was unavoidable.
Five minutes to midnight. Now four. The clock in the car was wrong, he knew the time just as well as he knew his own names. He snuck a glance at Jonathan. More worry. They were friends, but not close. His relationship with his friends in the neighborhood was naturally strained; he was home-schooled and only came out every other day, if at all.
He waited. And midnight came. The shift was rapid, but in the dark he managed not to catch Mrs. Steele's attention. The changes started small, at the base of his feet, and worked their way upward. She didn't feel all that uncomfortable, in fact, she would normally have slept through the entire process. Her clothes were less than ideal, but she knew nothing could be done about that. Aside from shifting her weight in the car seat, she stayed still.
Then the car went over a bump in the road. This, in tandem with her shifting facial features, caused her stitches to tear. She gasped involuntarily. Jonathan stirred but didn't wake.
"It's alright, Patrick. We're on your street now." Mrs. Steele tightened her grip on the steering wheel. "Just a little more. It's a good thing this road is flat."
Patricia said nothing. She wished Mrs. Steele wasn't so talkative; Jonathan had stirred again, and she was quickly losing hope that she could rush inside her house without her new body being seen.
Without warning, Mrs. Steele stopped the car and honked on the horn, trying to gain the attention of Patricia's father. Patricia's heart sank. As Jonathan finally lifted himself from sleep, she scrambled for the door handle. It lifted, but the door wouldn't budge.
"It's the child lock, dear." Mrs. Steele was already out of the car. "Hold on, I'll get it."
She opened the door, then screamed. It was loud, and very unwelcome; Jonathan was wide awake now, and so were most of the neighbors. Lights flickered on randomly at houses along the road, and windows were being opened, knocking old snow and icicles off their sills.
"Mama? What's wrong?" Jonathan's eyes darted around wildly, and decided to settle on Patricia's long, brown hair. "Where's Patrick?"
Patricia turned. Her face was obscured by her bangs and the small stream of blood running down her forehead. But whereas Mrs. Steele had seen a small, seven year old girl wearing boy's clothes and a red halo of broken thread and dried blood, young Jonathan recognized his friend instantly.
"*Patrick's a girl?*"
"Johnny-"
"Patrick's a GIRL!" Jonathan whooped with laughter. "Patrick's a girl, Mama!"
"Johnny, you have to be quiet!" Patricia stamped her foot. She tried to climb back into the car, but Jonathan leapt up into the front of the car.
"No, you can't touch me!" He was still laughing. "Now you have cooties!"
"Johnny, stop it!" Patricia jumped and stomped her feet until she slipped on black ice. Now the stitches in her left arm had ripped under her coat. She picked herself up from the ground and started to cry as her father finally came out of the house.
"Emma?" Mrs. Steele turned, pale and wide-eyed. "I am so sorry about this. It was completely out of my hands-" Another light flicked on, this time at the house across from them, and he stopped to take in the entire scene. "What on earth is going on?"
Jonathan clambered into the driver's seat of the car and slid down. "Mr. Harrison, Patrick's a girl now! Haha!"
Before either parent could stop them, Patricia tackled Jonathan into the snow and started beating him ferociously. "Be quiet! It's supposed to be a secret!"
"Ow! Hey! Cooties! Get offa me!"
"YOU! CAN'T! TELL!"
Mr. Harrison pulled his daughter away, as she screamed all the while. Mrs. Steele was still shell-shocked, beyond hope of any active response.
"You can't tell me what to do!" Jonathan lifted himself up. "I'm gonna tell all the kids!"
"NO!"
"Hey, guys! Guess what? Patrick's a girl now!" He ran off, down the street and into the night as more lights turned on and more windows were opened and more and more children heard the strangely hilarious news. "Patrick's a girl!"
"Patricia, you need to go inside, okay? Now." She struggled, still wanting to find Johnny and punch him into submission, but Mr. Harrison held firm until she gave up and ran into the house crying. Then he turned to Emma.
"What-"
"In the morning." His voice was hot and demanding. "I need you to go and collect your son."
"But your-"
"I promise you, we will sort this out in the morning. I need to go talk to my daughter."
"Your *daughter-*"
"*Good night,* Emma." He walked inside, closing the garage door behind him.
Mrs. Steele never moved.
Mr. Harrison found Patricia lying on her bed, still in her coat and boots, sobbing uncontrollably. He turned on the light, illuminating the blue-and-pink striped walls, and walked to her bedside.
"Let's get you out of those wet clothes, okay?"
"No."
"Sweetie-"
"Now Johnny's gonna tell everybody! I told him not to tell, but he didn't listen!" Abruptly, she threw her pillow at the lamp on her bedside. It tipped and fell.
Her father sat down on the bed, and laid a hand on Patricia's shoulder. She squirmed and shook until he removed it. Mr. Harrison clasped his hands together, searching for the right words.
"I want Mommy."
"I know, honey." He paused. "I know."
She wept herself to sleep. When her breathing evened, her father changed her into her favorite pink pajamas, and laid her down under the covers. Then he turned off the light and went to sleep alone in his own bed.
***
Below, on the street, Mrs. Steele still hadn't moved, save for hugging herself and shivering in the stiff wind. Jonathan had free reign over the neighborhood until he tired himself out, voice hoarse from shouting. He went back to his mother.
"Mama, I'm tired now. Can we go home?"
She roused herself from her stupor, and they walked home. She left her SUV by the curb of the Harrison's house, still too shaken to drive. As she fumbled with the key to the front door, Jonathan giggled sleepily.
"*Patrick's a girl.*" | Early night on the town,
already found a man to remove my gown,
taxi to mine,
so begins the naked time.
Turn to look at the clock,
as my vag becomes a cock,
He screams in agony,
getting forced out of me.
A duel of dicks,
horror on his face as it clicks,
new city for me,
now that I'm not a she.
>*I'm aware it's not great, but it was the only way I could think to put the idea* |
This has been done already, sadly with only one reply. I want to see what people can do.
EDIT: Jesus Christ 1235 upvotes? | [WP] You were born with a secret curse: you involuntarily alternate between each gender every midnight. As a result, you live two different lives. One night, your friends discover your secret in the worst way imaginable. | "As long as I remember, I've been going back and forth. Every day."
"And so you cooked up a story about fraternal twins."
"Seemed like the best I could do, yeah."
He was quiet, for a while. Clearly mulling things over. "And you still don't actually tell anyone. Even your friends?"
"How? What would I say, 'by the way, I'm also my brother?', 'I know you think I have a twin sister, but I'm actually her too?' Knowing someone well doesn't make that any easier to swallow."
"So in highschool when I told you I had a crush on your 'brother'..." He blushed.
"In my defense, I tried to let you down gently."
"...Yeah..." He said, cringing. "You did. So that whole time I was trying to make a move on him... on you..."
"I wasn't... I was telling the truth when I said it wasn't about you, Mark. I was afraid."
"Afraid I'd find out."
"Yeah."
"It's not like you haven't had boyfriends-"
"Not serious ones. Not people who expected anything regular, anything consistent or long-term."
"-as *both* of you, you've had boyfriends." Mark noted. "Including Trevor, who I thought was cheating on you."
"So did he, actually. That was the real reason I dumped him twice in the same week, because I just lost respect for him."
"The rest of us thought he was a piece of trash for him a long time before that, believe me."
"Yeah, I know." We were both quiet, for a while. "So what now?"
"You should tell the others."
"I'm not going to Mark. I don't know how. Don't know if I *can*."
"But you can keep lying to people who would accept you?"
"Lying about this... I've done it for so long that it's easy. It doesn't hurt anyone, almost ever. It comes naturally and it's just... simpler, to pretend something people understand."
"Even when it closes you off from them?"
"Yeah, even then."
Mark was quiet, for awhile. But when he spoke, there was a conviction in his voice. "I want us to try again."
"What?"
"You and me. Now that I know."
"Mark..." I stopped. "You're... okay with this?"
"It's *you*. I know you, both sides of who you are. I loved you years ago, and that never changed, even as you tried to push me away, however gently."
"And... even now? When I'm... this me?"
"I've had one or two girlfriends."
"I thought that was before you came out."
"And I came out when I understood that I *prefer* guys, not that I'm not at least attracted to women." he smiled at me something... something honest and sly and playful all together. "Somehow, I think I'll manage."
'I..." I didn't know what to say. So many years of fear of rejection and fear of loneliness, without an answer in sight... "Thank you, Mark."
He sat down next to me, put his arms around me, and kissed me on the cheek, and I could tell he tasted tears. "I'm not going to turn you away for who you are, I promise." | An older man stood up on the podium, tapping the mic and smiling before the audience.
"Good evening, ladies and gents, and welcome back to Dandy Randy's 5th Annual Karaoke Competition, Round 3!" he glanced around to find a raucous crowd, probably on their third round of drinks already. "Tonight is our final round as the lovely Emily sings up against Don in the showdown to see who wins the lucky $1,000 prize!"
Emily wiped a trace of sweat from her brow as she went for her first Jello shot. Noticing that her hands were shaking, the woman next to her leaned over her shoulder with a grin.
"Cheeer up, Emilyyy," the woman laughed, her voice drawing out her vowels. "Y-you are so--" hiccup, "--excuse me, you are so awesome out there. You're gonna do great."
Emily smiled slightly, looking over to her friend Tracy and all the other girls in the group who laughed with her. She's right, she thought to herself. No reason to be nervous. It's just a karaoke night, everyone's drunk, and she's genuinely thinks herself to be a good singer. Well, once the drinks are down, anyway.
"She's so right, Emy," her other friend across from her said, raising her drink up over the circular table. "You should sing more often, no, go out more often. It's like we hardly ever see you anymore, hon."
I have so much work to do, Emily sometimes says. I have a sick mother, is another one of her excuses. She looked down at her second raspberry Jello shot. Which one is she going to use next week?
"And now, please give a warm and dandy welcome to our first contestant, Miss Emily! Come on up, dear!"
The crowd cheered on as the slight blonde stood up, her knees buckling. Her friends whooped and hollered as Tracy handed her the shot she nearly forgot about. Swishing it down quickly, she smoothed out the wrinkles in her black leather dress and walked up to the podium. A mantra began playing in her head: *it's just karaoke, it's just karaoke, it's just karaoke...*
The man handed her the microphone and bowed off the stage. Emily looked up at the television screen and down at the gleaming audience below, waiting with bated breath. *It's just karaoke...*
"Uh, hi, everyone!" she attempted to say loudly, but came out as a whimper. "For my final round, I'm going to sing 'I Will Always Love You' by Dolly Parton and as covered by Whitney Houston." She heard a wolf whistle somewhere in the back of the bar and blushed in response. "Um, carry it away!"
The instrumentals flared through the speakers surrounding the stage, and Emily could feel both the excitement of the crowd and the bubbling of the Jello shots whirring through her system.
*"If I, should stay, Well I would only be in your way..."*
The audience was already clapping and hollering, and she felt the warm embrace of alcohol clouding her over. She could so do this. She was going to nail this.
*"And so I'll go, and yet I know, That I'll think of you each step of my way..."*
The song went on, the audience grew more feverish for the final chorus. Sweating in the heat of the spotlight, Emily cast aside her baggy black coat as someone reached out for it and ran off. Her heart swelled as she read the lines on the screen, her body swaying in the rhythm of the song as the men whistled more.
*"But above all this, I wish you love..."*
The planned pause of the song left everyone gripping their drinks in silence, awaiting Emily's glorious finish. The blonde took in a deep breath.
"*And* ***IIIIeeeeIIII will always love YOOOooooOOU, OH I*** *will always, love* ***YOUuuu ooOH I WILL ALLLLWaaaAYS LOVE--***"
Emily's booze-fueled mind fog quickly dissipated. It's midnight! *Shit!* I completely forgot about the time until now, she shrieked in her head. Just finish the song, she said to herself, you can get through it, just get through it...
***"YOOOooOoooooOOOUUUUUuuUUUuuuuUU!!!"***
The song ended. The music was over. The crowd went quiet. Emily, standing before them all, red in the now-hairy face, large hands shaking, voice hurt from the strain of squeaking out the last note in a falsetto resembling the brays of a dying jack, gently placed the microphone back on its stand.
"S-sorry for that, everyone," he tried, once again, to say loudly to no avail. "I'm having some minor technical issues tonight."
Seconds piling upon seconds passed until the random coughs in the crowd soon turned into murmurs, morphing into laughs, transforming into cheers, bursting into a fury of standing ovations and table-banging flails. He watched the horror go on from above, unable to move. He looked over to find his girlfriends, who squealed in their confusion and cried from their cackling. A hand touched his shoulder and he jumped back, nearly ripping the incredibly tight leather dress, only to see it was now-shorter version of the announcer.
"I don't know what you just did," he curled over with hands to his knees for a moment, wiping a tear from his eye, "but I'mma let you know that Don has forfeited." He snorted. "You just won the grand freakin' prize."
He stared intently at the thousand dollar check placed into his hands, the audience still screaming even minutes after the song was over. He stepped carefully off the stage so to not rip his dress, swiftly moving past the people too drunk to notice him to find his purse, resenting that he threw his jacket off the stage earlier. He stuffed the check inside the black purse sitting next to Tracy's and, without a word expended to any of his girlfriends, slipped out of the bar and into the night. |
This has been done already, sadly with only one reply. I want to see what people can do.
EDIT: Jesus Christ 1235 upvotes? | [WP] You were born with a secret curse: you involuntarily alternate between each gender every midnight. As a result, you live two different lives. One night, your friends discover your secret in the worst way imaginable. | "As long as I remember, I've been going back and forth. Every day."
"And so you cooked up a story about fraternal twins."
"Seemed like the best I could do, yeah."
He was quiet, for a while. Clearly mulling things over. "And you still don't actually tell anyone. Even your friends?"
"How? What would I say, 'by the way, I'm also my brother?', 'I know you think I have a twin sister, but I'm actually her too?' Knowing someone well doesn't make that any easier to swallow."
"So in highschool when I told you I had a crush on your 'brother'..." He blushed.
"In my defense, I tried to let you down gently."
"...Yeah..." He said, cringing. "You did. So that whole time I was trying to make a move on him... on you..."
"I wasn't... I was telling the truth when I said it wasn't about you, Mark. I was afraid."
"Afraid I'd find out."
"Yeah."
"It's not like you haven't had boyfriends-"
"Not serious ones. Not people who expected anything regular, anything consistent or long-term."
"-as *both* of you, you've had boyfriends." Mark noted. "Including Trevor, who I thought was cheating on you."
"So did he, actually. That was the real reason I dumped him twice in the same week, because I just lost respect for him."
"The rest of us thought he was a piece of trash for him a long time before that, believe me."
"Yeah, I know." We were both quiet, for a while. "So what now?"
"You should tell the others."
"I'm not going to Mark. I don't know how. Don't know if I *can*."
"But you can keep lying to people who would accept you?"
"Lying about this... I've done it for so long that it's easy. It doesn't hurt anyone, almost ever. It comes naturally and it's just... simpler, to pretend something people understand."
"Even when it closes you off from them?"
"Yeah, even then."
Mark was quiet, for awhile. But when he spoke, there was a conviction in his voice. "I want us to try again."
"What?"
"You and me. Now that I know."
"Mark..." I stopped. "You're... okay with this?"
"It's *you*. I know you, both sides of who you are. I loved you years ago, and that never changed, even as you tried to push me away, however gently."
"And... even now? When I'm... this me?"
"I've had one or two girlfriends."
"I thought that was before you came out."
"And I came out when I understood that I *prefer* guys, not that I'm not at least attracted to women." he smiled at me something... something honest and sly and playful all together. "Somehow, I think I'll manage."
'I..." I didn't know what to say. So many years of fear of rejection and fear of loneliness, without an answer in sight... "Thank you, Mark."
He sat down next to me, put his arms around me, and kissed me on the cheek, and I could tell he tasted tears. "I'm not going to turn you away for who you are, I promise." | He's panting, groaning
Crying out my name, god yes
He stops, aghast. "Jim?" |
This has been done already, sadly with only one reply. I want to see what people can do.
EDIT: Jesus Christ 1235 upvotes? | [WP] You were born with a secret curse: you involuntarily alternate between each gender every midnight. As a result, you live two different lives. One night, your friends discover your secret in the worst way imaginable. | "Jack, it's been a good night. I'm really happy you could trust me like that but I really have to go. You know how it is, my apnea will kill me if I'm not in bed by eleven."
With an even voice I stepped out the front door of Jack's house. The moon was full, lighting the road in a pale blue tint. Time was short, I wasn't sure I'd make it home in time to transition. I squirmed at the thought of having to use a public restroom.
"Yeah man, you go get some sleep. Maybe we can talk some more tomorrow?"
"Uh, maybe. Didn't you say you had a thing with Clara? Or something?"
Oh god, how I wish I could stay with him, keep him company and tell him everything is alright. I wish I could tell him how I really feel, how Clara feels.
"Yeah, right," his voice trails off and he gazes into the distance in the adorable way of his, "but I never..."
Once more, his voice flutters into silence, like a flat stone sinking into flowing waters. I would come back in a few minutes, just to press my body against his, to feel his heartbeat next to mine, and show him that Clara would never leave him. If only Clara was allowed to stay. I would do anything for him, to keep him from thinking those thoughts that trouble his dreamy mind. That's the trouble though, he thinks too much, and all that I've done to keep him close and distant at the same time are falling apart.
"I don't know..." He sighs, a tired and dejected sound, "Like I said; things have been weird. I want to see more of her, you know. But half the time she'll blow me off and I'll end up chilling with you. No offense, you're great, you're my best friend in the whole world. I know you'll be there for me when she's not."
He puts his hand on my shoulder and gives it a squeeze, a light gentle squeeze. He's just that kind of guy, not the shoulder punching, macho man. To Max he's a dear and near companion, to Clara he's a kind and caring lover. To each he gives his all and from each he only receives a half.
If I could choose just one life to live I would give up all that the other had ever accomplished. Just to be able to give my all to Jack. To be either a friend or a lover as a whole, not as two unfulfilled halves. It hurts me to see him so torn over me, to think that he's missing a part of Clara when that part is standing in front of him.
"Jack-" My breath catches, I have to be strong, for us "don't give up on her yet. I- I have to tell you something..."
Maybe he'll be ok with it. Maybe we can go on like nothing's wrong.
"I... I met with Clara. Just the other day." My spirit curls into a ball, trembling, I couldn't do it. "We talked, about the two of you. She really cares, she loves you. She's just going through a tough time. It might feel like she's being distant but she doesn't like it, she wishes she could tell you, one day she might. She just asks that you be patient, it's not easy for you, she knows that. She promises to make it up some day. She just needs time. She promises..."
I'm grasping for words, as if Max could talk long enough and make things ok. As I run out of ideas I see that melancholy smile on Jack's face. A genuine smile for his friend, but his eyes are pained. He's been making that smile more and more frequently.
"Max, I love how close the two of you are." His voice is serenely subdued, like a man making peace with a terrible truth. *Oh God*. "Clara has had nothing but praise for you. But I would rather hear these things from her. I'm sure she didn't ask you to tell me this, and you wouldn't have said anything if I weren't this upset. It means a lot to me, that you'd try to reassure me anyway. Clara won't know what you've told me, but I need to hear it from her. I don't know where things will go from here, but; you won't be asked to choose a side. She's not like that, and you know I would never. Even if you were to *ahem* comfort her, I know how close you two are. As long as it doesn't come between you and I, I can deal with it."
"Jack, I would never."
How can you break up with someone without knowing you've done it? I have to fight back the tears, Max has never cried for Clara. All my life, Clara and Max have led separate lives, never intersecting, Max never lifted Clara's trophies and Clara had never cried Max's tears. It wasn't until I met Jack that the two of them came together to find a common joy in life. A single person so perfect that I had to bring both my lives together, as though the two halves could make a whole. Jack didn't see two halves, he took both at face value, and now his trust in Max and Clara was let down. I'd let him down.
"I know, you're too damn loyal. Too loyal for your own good. I'm sure she'd take you, and maybe you should consider it. She's pretty, *ah*, talented."
He grins mischievously, I blush through the pallor of my terror.
"Really though," he pulls me closer, for an all consuming second I think he's going to kiss me. He pulls me into a hug, I can feel his shoulders shake with silent tears, "You mean the world to me. I just wish it could have been a world with Clara too."
His trembling body masks my own distress. If I pull away he'll see me crying. Through everything, I still can't show my best friend any weakness, or my lover any trust. I really don't deserve him. Let me at least enjoy this last embrace; how long after Clara is gone will he realize that Max makes just the same excuses?
How many minutes did we stay there, sobbing silently in each other's arms? I don't know. It was enough. Enough that the familiar spasms began to wrack my body. I didn't care; let it be over. One way or another, let it be over.
Jack felt me convulse in his arms.
"Max? What's wrong?" He held me at arm's length, looking concerned.
I lost the support of his grasp and fell to the ground. Flailing and gasping like a beached fish. The pain, a welcome distraction.
"Jesus, is it the apnea?" Oh Jack, adorably flustered, "I'll call emergency."
He runs inside, tearing the house apart to find the phone he left in the cup of change he keeps by the front door.
I can't spare the consciousness to worry about the coming revelation. He would have left me tomorrow anyway. At least we won't leave any questions hanging.
When he rushes outside I've already changed, not completely but enough. Enough that he recognized the woman he loved, the woman who he confided in and who couldn't return the trust.
Bless you, Jack. For all the confusion, for all the questions I see in your eyes, you only had one thing on your mind; friend, lover, or ex-lover, you made the call.
I don't know how you will stand to sit by my side all night in the hospital, and I know you will, with all those questions buzzing around your head. My love, I don't know how you'll receive the answers. But when I wake up I promise you all the answers I should have given until now. And I promise all the love I had split between Max and Clara. If you'll still have it.
Edit: Perhaps I should have read all the comments first, I didn't know there was a distinction to be made. Sorry that I didn't look into the matter very well before hand. I'll know better for next time. | He's panting, groaning
Crying out my name, god yes
He stops, aghast. "Jim?" |
This has been done already, sadly with only one reply. I want to see what people can do.
EDIT: Jesus Christ 1235 upvotes? | [WP] You were born with a secret curse: you involuntarily alternate between each gender every midnight. As a result, you live two different lives. One night, your friends discover your secret in the worst way imaginable. | "As long as I remember, I've been going back and forth. Every day."
"And so you cooked up a story about fraternal twins."
"Seemed like the best I could do, yeah."
He was quiet, for a while. Clearly mulling things over. "And you still don't actually tell anyone. Even your friends?"
"How? What would I say, 'by the way, I'm also my brother?', 'I know you think I have a twin sister, but I'm actually her too?' Knowing someone well doesn't make that any easier to swallow."
"So in highschool when I told you I had a crush on your 'brother'..." He blushed.
"In my defense, I tried to let you down gently."
"...Yeah..." He said, cringing. "You did. So that whole time I was trying to make a move on him... on you..."
"I wasn't... I was telling the truth when I said it wasn't about you, Mark. I was afraid."
"Afraid I'd find out."
"Yeah."
"It's not like you haven't had boyfriends-"
"Not serious ones. Not people who expected anything regular, anything consistent or long-term."
"-as *both* of you, you've had boyfriends." Mark noted. "Including Trevor, who I thought was cheating on you."
"So did he, actually. That was the real reason I dumped him twice in the same week, because I just lost respect for him."
"The rest of us thought he was a piece of trash for him a long time before that, believe me."
"Yeah, I know." We were both quiet, for a while. "So what now?"
"You should tell the others."
"I'm not going to Mark. I don't know how. Don't know if I *can*."
"But you can keep lying to people who would accept you?"
"Lying about this... I've done it for so long that it's easy. It doesn't hurt anyone, almost ever. It comes naturally and it's just... simpler, to pretend something people understand."
"Even when it closes you off from them?"
"Yeah, even then."
Mark was quiet, for awhile. But when he spoke, there was a conviction in his voice. "I want us to try again."
"What?"
"You and me. Now that I know."
"Mark..." I stopped. "You're... okay with this?"
"It's *you*. I know you, both sides of who you are. I loved you years ago, and that never changed, even as you tried to push me away, however gently."
"And... even now? When I'm... this me?"
"I've had one or two girlfriends."
"I thought that was before you came out."
"And I came out when I understood that I *prefer* guys, not that I'm not at least attracted to women." he smiled at me something... something honest and sly and playful all together. "Somehow, I think I'll manage."
'I..." I didn't know what to say. So many years of fear of rejection and fear of loneliness, without an answer in sight... "Thank you, Mark."
He sat down next to me, put his arms around me, and kissed me on the cheek, and I could tell he tasted tears. "I'm not going to turn you away for who you are, I promise." | As I could feel my features shift and fold, I knew I only had moments to leave. Fortunately, I was at the bar with "Dean's" friends, the lighting poor and so was their senses. I grabbed my large, old, leather coat and tried to bid my farewells as quickly as I could, interrupting Jimmy's political rant. He rolled his drunkenly, sluggish eyes and mustered a sarcastic remark about "sheeple". I could feel the stubble on my chin and neck slowly reside. So, I waved to the rest of the guys and rushed out the door. My excuse, was "the wife", Melany, a fictitious woman the work buddies and acquaintances never meet had needed me home. My shirt became tight and baggy in all the places a man shouldn't have, so I zipped up my coat and stumbled down the block. The feeling of the change never fades, same painful twists and turns. However, this time was different. This time was faintly familiar, but rare to someone with my "our" condition. My old Ford pickup just a block away, and all I could think about was if I hade a box of pads at home. I, Alex, she started her very off cycle.
I reached Dean's pickup just in time. My chest has filled out, and there was little to no trace I was once Dean. Well, except his raggity, old, brown leather jacket and faded denim jeans. If it weren't for this damn period, I'd have some fun tonight. Dean's friends aren't bad, but as I was making my appearance I noticed a few good-looking guys. Hey, even some good-looking gals. I unlocked our old ford pickup, I don't think Dean can clean worth a shit. I fumbled to put the key in the ignition, as soon as I hear the engine revv, I also hear a knock at our window.
*I don't know, anyone want to add to this or continue with the story?* |
This has been done already, sadly with only one reply. I want to see what people can do.
EDIT: Jesus Christ 1235 upvotes? | [WP] You were born with a secret curse: you involuntarily alternate between each gender every midnight. As a result, you live two different lives. One night, your friends discover your secret in the worst way imaginable. | "Jack, it's been a good night. I'm really happy you could trust me like that but I really have to go. You know how it is, my apnea will kill me if I'm not in bed by eleven."
With an even voice I stepped out the front door of Jack's house. The moon was full, lighting the road in a pale blue tint. Time was short, I wasn't sure I'd make it home in time to transition. I squirmed at the thought of having to use a public restroom.
"Yeah man, you go get some sleep. Maybe we can talk some more tomorrow?"
"Uh, maybe. Didn't you say you had a thing with Clara? Or something?"
Oh god, how I wish I could stay with him, keep him company and tell him everything is alright. I wish I could tell him how I really feel, how Clara feels.
"Yeah, right," his voice trails off and he gazes into the distance in the adorable way of his, "but I never..."
Once more, his voice flutters into silence, like a flat stone sinking into flowing waters. I would come back in a few minutes, just to press my body against his, to feel his heartbeat next to mine, and show him that Clara would never leave him. If only Clara was allowed to stay. I would do anything for him, to keep him from thinking those thoughts that trouble his dreamy mind. That's the trouble though, he thinks too much, and all that I've done to keep him close and distant at the same time are falling apart.
"I don't know..." He sighs, a tired and dejected sound, "Like I said; things have been weird. I want to see more of her, you know. But half the time she'll blow me off and I'll end up chilling with you. No offense, you're great, you're my best friend in the whole world. I know you'll be there for me when she's not."
He puts his hand on my shoulder and gives it a squeeze, a light gentle squeeze. He's just that kind of guy, not the shoulder punching, macho man. To Max he's a dear and near companion, to Clara he's a kind and caring lover. To each he gives his all and from each he only receives a half.
If I could choose just one life to live I would give up all that the other had ever accomplished. Just to be able to give my all to Jack. To be either a friend or a lover as a whole, not as two unfulfilled halves. It hurts me to see him so torn over me, to think that he's missing a part of Clara when that part is standing in front of him.
"Jack-" My breath catches, I have to be strong, for us "don't give up on her yet. I- I have to tell you something..."
Maybe he'll be ok with it. Maybe we can go on like nothing's wrong.
"I... I met with Clara. Just the other day." My spirit curls into a ball, trembling, I couldn't do it. "We talked, about the two of you. She really cares, she loves you. She's just going through a tough time. It might feel like she's being distant but she doesn't like it, she wishes she could tell you, one day she might. She just asks that you be patient, it's not easy for you, she knows that. She promises to make it up some day. She just needs time. She promises..."
I'm grasping for words, as if Max could talk long enough and make things ok. As I run out of ideas I see that melancholy smile on Jack's face. A genuine smile for his friend, but his eyes are pained. He's been making that smile more and more frequently.
"Max, I love how close the two of you are." His voice is serenely subdued, like a man making peace with a terrible truth. *Oh God*. "Clara has had nothing but praise for you. But I would rather hear these things from her. I'm sure she didn't ask you to tell me this, and you wouldn't have said anything if I weren't this upset. It means a lot to me, that you'd try to reassure me anyway. Clara won't know what you've told me, but I need to hear it from her. I don't know where things will go from here, but; you won't be asked to choose a side. She's not like that, and you know I would never. Even if you were to *ahem* comfort her, I know how close you two are. As long as it doesn't come between you and I, I can deal with it."
"Jack, I would never."
How can you break up with someone without knowing you've done it? I have to fight back the tears, Max has never cried for Clara. All my life, Clara and Max have led separate lives, never intersecting, Max never lifted Clara's trophies and Clara had never cried Max's tears. It wasn't until I met Jack that the two of them came together to find a common joy in life. A single person so perfect that I had to bring both my lives together, as though the two halves could make a whole. Jack didn't see two halves, he took both at face value, and now his trust in Max and Clara was let down. I'd let him down.
"I know, you're too damn loyal. Too loyal for your own good. I'm sure she'd take you, and maybe you should consider it. She's pretty, *ah*, talented."
He grins mischievously, I blush through the pallor of my terror.
"Really though," he pulls me closer, for an all consuming second I think he's going to kiss me. He pulls me into a hug, I can feel his shoulders shake with silent tears, "You mean the world to me. I just wish it could have been a world with Clara too."
His trembling body masks my own distress. If I pull away he'll see me crying. Through everything, I still can't show my best friend any weakness, or my lover any trust. I really don't deserve him. Let me at least enjoy this last embrace; how long after Clara is gone will he realize that Max makes just the same excuses?
How many minutes did we stay there, sobbing silently in each other's arms? I don't know. It was enough. Enough that the familiar spasms began to wrack my body. I didn't care; let it be over. One way or another, let it be over.
Jack felt me convulse in his arms.
"Max? What's wrong?" He held me at arm's length, looking concerned.
I lost the support of his grasp and fell to the ground. Flailing and gasping like a beached fish. The pain, a welcome distraction.
"Jesus, is it the apnea?" Oh Jack, adorably flustered, "I'll call emergency."
He runs inside, tearing the house apart to find the phone he left in the cup of change he keeps by the front door.
I can't spare the consciousness to worry about the coming revelation. He would have left me tomorrow anyway. At least we won't leave any questions hanging.
When he rushes outside I've already changed, not completely but enough. Enough that he recognized the woman he loved, the woman who he confided in and who couldn't return the trust.
Bless you, Jack. For all the confusion, for all the questions I see in your eyes, you only had one thing on your mind; friend, lover, or ex-lover, you made the call.
I don't know how you will stand to sit by my side all night in the hospital, and I know you will, with all those questions buzzing around your head. My love, I don't know how you'll receive the answers. But when I wake up I promise you all the answers I should have given until now. And I promise all the love I had split between Max and Clara. If you'll still have it.
Edit: Perhaps I should have read all the comments first, I didn't know there was a distinction to be made. Sorry that I didn't look into the matter very well before hand. I'll know better for next time. | As I could feel my features shift and fold, I knew I only had moments to leave. Fortunately, I was at the bar with "Dean's" friends, the lighting poor and so was their senses. I grabbed my large, old, leather coat and tried to bid my farewells as quickly as I could, interrupting Jimmy's political rant. He rolled his drunkenly, sluggish eyes and mustered a sarcastic remark about "sheeple". I could feel the stubble on my chin and neck slowly reside. So, I waved to the rest of the guys and rushed out the door. My excuse, was "the wife", Melany, a fictitious woman the work buddies and acquaintances never meet had needed me home. My shirt became tight and baggy in all the places a man shouldn't have, so I zipped up my coat and stumbled down the block. The feeling of the change never fades, same painful twists and turns. However, this time was different. This time was faintly familiar, but rare to someone with my "our" condition. My old Ford pickup just a block away, and all I could think about was if I hade a box of pads at home. I, Alex, she started her very off cycle.
I reached Dean's pickup just in time. My chest has filled out, and there was little to no trace I was once Dean. Well, except his raggity, old, brown leather jacket and faded denim jeans. If it weren't for this damn period, I'd have some fun tonight. Dean's friends aren't bad, but as I was making my appearance I noticed a few good-looking guys. Hey, even some good-looking gals. I unlocked our old ford pickup, I don't think Dean can clean worth a shit. I fumbled to put the key in the ignition, as soon as I hear the engine revv, I also hear a knock at our window.
*I don't know, anyone want to add to this or continue with the story?* |
This has been done already, sadly with only one reply. I want to see what people can do.
EDIT: Jesus Christ 1235 upvotes? | [WP] You were born with a secret curse: you involuntarily alternate between each gender every midnight. As a result, you live two different lives. One night, your friends discover your secret in the worst way imaginable. | "Stick it in my ass!"
"Um, what?"
"Stick it in my fucking ass!"
"Mmm yeah baby"
I looked over at the clock. 11:59. Great.
"Now, dammit!"
"Wow I didn't know you were so...AHH what in the fuck!"
12:00. Too late. I can feel my basement doors snap shut. I should be used to it by now, but this time feels different. Maybe it's the screaming.
"What the fuck! What the FUCK!"
He shuts up for a second as our eyes both settle on what should be his crotch. It's smooth as a Ken doll. We both hesitate before looking at mine.
It looks two sausages making a peace sign. I'm not sure how but I must have somehow absorbed the part of him that was inside me when the clock stuff twelve. I'm a regular Cinderella.
"You can have it back tomorrow."
"What? I...uh....fuck..."
I throw on his clothes and make my way home. I've got an AMA to do.
| As I could feel my features shift and fold, I knew I only had moments to leave. Fortunately, I was at the bar with "Dean's" friends, the lighting poor and so was their senses. I grabbed my large, old, leather coat and tried to bid my farewells as quickly as I could, interrupting Jimmy's political rant. He rolled his drunkenly, sluggish eyes and mustered a sarcastic remark about "sheeple". I could feel the stubble on my chin and neck slowly reside. So, I waved to the rest of the guys and rushed out the door. My excuse, was "the wife", Melany, a fictitious woman the work buddies and acquaintances never meet had needed me home. My shirt became tight and baggy in all the places a man shouldn't have, so I zipped up my coat and stumbled down the block. The feeling of the change never fades, same painful twists and turns. However, this time was different. This time was faintly familiar, but rare to someone with my "our" condition. My old Ford pickup just a block away, and all I could think about was if I hade a box of pads at home. I, Alex, she started her very off cycle.
I reached Dean's pickup just in time. My chest has filled out, and there was little to no trace I was once Dean. Well, except his raggity, old, brown leather jacket and faded denim jeans. If it weren't for this damn period, I'd have some fun tonight. Dean's friends aren't bad, but as I was making my appearance I noticed a few good-looking guys. Hey, even some good-looking gals. I unlocked our old ford pickup, I don't think Dean can clean worth a shit. I fumbled to put the key in the ignition, as soon as I hear the engine revv, I also hear a knock at our window.
*I don't know, anyone want to add to this or continue with the story?* |
This has been done already, sadly with only one reply. I want to see what people can do.
EDIT: Jesus Christ 1235 upvotes? | [WP] You were born with a secret curse: you involuntarily alternate between each gender every midnight. As a result, you live two different lives. One night, your friends discover your secret in the worst way imaginable. | "Well Stephanie," the doctor said with a smile, "the baby's turned and is in good position. We should expect you to deliver some time in the next two hours. Just try to make yourself comfortable until then." He started to leave the hospital room.
I looked up at the clock on the wall. 11:30pm. "Hey, Doc?" I spoke softly, but with enough force to stop him in his tracks. "Ever done a c-section on a man before?" | As I could feel my features shift and fold, I knew I only had moments to leave. Fortunately, I was at the bar with "Dean's" friends, the lighting poor and so was their senses. I grabbed my large, old, leather coat and tried to bid my farewells as quickly as I could, interrupting Jimmy's political rant. He rolled his drunkenly, sluggish eyes and mustered a sarcastic remark about "sheeple". I could feel the stubble on my chin and neck slowly reside. So, I waved to the rest of the guys and rushed out the door. My excuse, was "the wife", Melany, a fictitious woman the work buddies and acquaintances never meet had needed me home. My shirt became tight and baggy in all the places a man shouldn't have, so I zipped up my coat and stumbled down the block. The feeling of the change never fades, same painful twists and turns. However, this time was different. This time was faintly familiar, but rare to someone with my "our" condition. My old Ford pickup just a block away, and all I could think about was if I hade a box of pads at home. I, Alex, she started her very off cycle.
I reached Dean's pickup just in time. My chest has filled out, and there was little to no trace I was once Dean. Well, except his raggity, old, brown leather jacket and faded denim jeans. If it weren't for this damn period, I'd have some fun tonight. Dean's friends aren't bad, but as I was making my appearance I noticed a few good-looking guys. Hey, even some good-looking gals. I unlocked our old ford pickup, I don't think Dean can clean worth a shit. I fumbled to put the key in the ignition, as soon as I hear the engine revv, I also hear a knock at our window.
*I don't know, anyone want to add to this or continue with the story?* |
This has been done already, sadly with only one reply. I want to see what people can do.
EDIT: Jesus Christ 1235 upvotes? | [WP] You were born with a secret curse: you involuntarily alternate between each gender every midnight. As a result, you live two different lives. One night, your friends discover your secret in the worst way imaginable. | "You didn't think I'd find out?" Bonnie yells at me, chucking the room service champagne bucket at my head. "We've been dating for three months now, and I only see you every other day, Kevin! I know you're cheating on me. Who is she? Where is she?"
I want her out, not because she's right, but because her believing that I'm getting some on the side is preferable to her knowing the truth.
But as the alarm buzzes the countdown to Midnight, I know I can't hold her back from making this discovery anyway.
"You want to see her? You want to see the other woman? Then sit down and wait."
The clock strikes Midnight and I take off my suit, letting her get a full view of everything that's about to happen. Because of how rapidly my body changes, I've never had much hair on my body to begin with. But what's left slide right off as if treated with an epilaser.
My legs lose their muscle mass, as the change spreads up from my feet. I go from a size 10 wide in men's shoe, to a size 8 in women's. I can feel my body compressing, as it always does. Three inches in height lost, bringing me down to an even five feet.
My chest balloons outward, and for this part of the transformation, I'm glad the women in my family have small breasts. Nothing over a B-cup. But I can see Bonnie leaning back against the headboard with terror in her eyes. By now, she's become aware of what's happening and she's caught in-between terror and curiosity. And that's what I find strange. The last person to see this happen was only terrified of if being contagious and he bolted.
Bonnie holds her breath as my sexual organs invert into my body, and my face takes on the features of the person I become.
When my hair grows out, I put it in a ponytail and turn to face her.
"Hi, Bonnie. I'm Carolyn. I am the other woman." I look down at her, hoping she'll decide not to run away, but preparing for the worst anyway.
She doesn't say anything, so I open up the suitcase and start putting on Carolyn's clothing. A pair of white panties, and a sheer nightgown. It is after midnight after all.
As I laid down on the second bed, I could feel weight next to me. Bonnie had climbed into bed with me. "Carolyn. I'm so sorry I doubted you. Can you forgive me?"
I had wanted to hear words like that for so long, but now that I was actually hearing them, I was quiet. Instead of responding, I just wrapped an arm around her and held her close through the night.
"Tell me all about it when we wake up, Carolyn." That's all she said, and for the first time since I met her, I felt relieved. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all. | As I could feel my features shift and fold, I knew I only had moments to leave. Fortunately, I was at the bar with "Dean's" friends, the lighting poor and so was their senses. I grabbed my large, old, leather coat and tried to bid my farewells as quickly as I could, interrupting Jimmy's political rant. He rolled his drunkenly, sluggish eyes and mustered a sarcastic remark about "sheeple". I could feel the stubble on my chin and neck slowly reside. So, I waved to the rest of the guys and rushed out the door. My excuse, was "the wife", Melany, a fictitious woman the work buddies and acquaintances never meet had needed me home. My shirt became tight and baggy in all the places a man shouldn't have, so I zipped up my coat and stumbled down the block. The feeling of the change never fades, same painful twists and turns. However, this time was different. This time was faintly familiar, but rare to someone with my "our" condition. My old Ford pickup just a block away, and all I could think about was if I hade a box of pads at home. I, Alex, she started her very off cycle.
I reached Dean's pickup just in time. My chest has filled out, and there was little to no trace I was once Dean. Well, except his raggity, old, brown leather jacket and faded denim jeans. If it weren't for this damn period, I'd have some fun tonight. Dean's friends aren't bad, but as I was making my appearance I noticed a few good-looking guys. Hey, even some good-looking gals. I unlocked our old ford pickup, I don't think Dean can clean worth a shit. I fumbled to put the key in the ignition, as soon as I hear the engine revv, I also hear a knock at our window.
*I don't know, anyone want to add to this or continue with the story?* |
This has been done already, sadly with only one reply. I want to see what people can do.
EDIT: Jesus Christ 1235 upvotes? | [WP] You were born with a secret curse: you involuntarily alternate between each gender every midnight. As a result, you live two different lives. One night, your friends discover your secret in the worst way imaginable. | "Well Stephanie," the doctor said with a smile, "the baby's turned and is in good position. We should expect you to deliver some time in the next two hours. Just try to make yourself comfortable until then." He started to leave the hospital room.
I looked up at the clock on the wall. 11:30pm. "Hey, Doc?" I spoke softly, but with enough force to stop him in his tracks. "Ever done a c-section on a man before?" | "Stick it in my ass!"
"Um, what?"
"Stick it in my fucking ass!"
"Mmm yeah baby"
I looked over at the clock. 11:59. Great.
"Now, dammit!"
"Wow I didn't know you were so...AHH what in the fuck!"
12:00. Too late. I can feel my basement doors snap shut. I should be used to it by now, but this time feels different. Maybe it's the screaming.
"What the fuck! What the FUCK!"
He shuts up for a second as our eyes both settle on what should be his crotch. It's smooth as a Ken doll. We both hesitate before looking at mine.
It looks two sausages making a peace sign. I'm not sure how but I must have somehow absorbed the part of him that was inside me when the clock stuff twelve. I'm a regular Cinderella.
"You can have it back tomorrow."
"What? I...uh....fuck..."
I throw on his clothes and make my way home. I've got an AMA to do.
|
[WP] The last person on Earth is essentially turning off the lights before they leave. | **Where are you now?** 
 
The last person on Earth
Why did he harrow like a hollow?
Why did he strike like a witch? 
 
Where is he now?
Where can we find him?
Is he even a he?
Or her? 
 
Lights are dazed
Lights are blown
Lights 
 
Lights
Lights
*flicker*
*flickering*
Snuffed out 
 
Who knows where the lights will be
You'll only have to look up
And pray 
 
http://nebulus99.deviantart.com/art/Where-are-you-now-572539371
http://nebulus99.deviantart.com/gallery/ | As I stood there,
on the now unoccupied planet,
once over seven billion's lair,
whereas now everyone had departed.
The world had finally collapsed,
the inevitable taking place.
Everyone else had quickly migrated,
while I was in my own pace.
The calamities had destroyed all,
And everyone departed to the stars.
The Earth had met its fall,
and I knew that running was just a farce.
Hence I stayed behind,
because I knew that humanity will eventually end.
And in my own mind,
I knew that someone had to see things end.
I leave these lines as my final words,
in the shuttle meant for me.
And also leave this final [picture](http://www.urbanghostsmedia.com/home/twamoran/urbanghostsmedia.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/09/post-apocalypse.jpg),
for the future generations to see. | |
[WP] The last person on Earth is essentially turning off the lights before they leave. | A blast of cold dust from down the hallway awoke the boy with a start. *Not like this.* Panic overtook his limbs as he scrambled to his feet, making for the front door. It was still about an hour before dawn, but he through the darkness he could make out he tarp over the archway fluttering in the acrid wind like a flag of surrender. The closet. A nail. The hammer. They fell from his shuddering hands over and over again. The wind roared against the tarp. He heard the wood of his ancient house splinter and groan under the weight of his hammer blows. Sudden gusts drove more of the cruel dust into his eyes, tormenting him with fatal dose upon fatal dose of radiation. A final thud drove the nail home, and he collapsed to the ground with a shudder.
Still not fully awake, the boy struggled to shake his latest nightmare from his mind. Scenes of despair, famine, wanton death, and an uncaring eye watching over it all. He'd heard stories from his parents of wanderers who'd stumbled onto their little liferaft of a community. They spoke of the last great cities, now slums attended to by quiet automatons but lorded over by kingpins who stoked blind hatred and addiction. In all their centuries of unfathomable wisdom, the great AIs had failed to solve the problem of human government. With so little to think about since his father's passing, it proved a vast and terrifying canvas for the darkest recesses of his mind.
As he felt unconsciousness slip away, a quiet sense of doom began to overtake him. He was dead, he knew that much. He knew exactly how he would die, too. His father, unflappable and scientific to the end, made sure to point out every symptom of radiation sickness as he slowly succumbed. The latent period that would make fools believe they had escape unscathed. Then the slow headaches, nausea, fever, loss of bodily control, and descent into madness, all escalating until suffering finally eased his cruel grip. There was no doubt as to his fate, either. The only winds that ever blew over the rotting husk of Eden Springs were these great radioactive storms, the final legacy of humanity's ambition. Judging from what he had learned from his father, he had maybe a week to live, and 3 days of lucid thought.
Yet now the boy sensed that the world had experienced a yet greater loss. The rare breeze always carried strange scents, his last contact with human civilization. Maybe he could smell great burning trash heaps from old Los Angeles, mutated flesh, metallic emissions. The strange ways that radiation had warped the world. But this wind had no scent. He shuddered. The world had fallen silent around him, and maybe for the last time. The boy laid on the ground for a long time, gripped with mortal terror. The tarp flapped and growled menacingly in the wind behind him.
But as dawn broke and the winds died, terror had already subsided into quiet repose. There were so many errants he had to run daily to survive, to ensure he would not die in the horrific winters. They grew harder every year as supplies dwindled, and the last one, completely alone, felt like he was in realm of death itself. His estranged relationship with his father was a very small comfort during those winters, but it was better than pure emptiness. Yet now that the end was truly upon him, there were only a few things left to do.
Yanking loose the tarp, the boy stepped outside into the blinding light and began to survey the damage. The shellfish tank had ruptured. His final, most faithful companions had survived nuclear wars and the coldest of winters. Now they were done in by a single plank of wood, driven though the sheet metal and leaving them to bake in the unforgiving sun. No matter. The boy had enough rations to last his final week, and he always thought they tasted rotten anyhow. The house had suffered greatly as well, as it looked like a massive hole had opened up in the roof. The boy sighed. Twenty generations it had lasted, 24 Jefferson Lane. The pride and joy of their neighborhood, his mother always told him. The boy smiled mischievously. He would finally be the generation that got out of repair chores.
Walking back inside, he surveyed the main hallway. The old portraits of the Eden Springs founders had long since been scoured away. The middle ones had begun to fade, but he could clearly see no expense spared in the portraits or outfits, living so wastefully and dooming their descendants. The last portrait of his grandfather Abel as a young man never ceased to make him smile. How could such a crazy old man have ever looked so young? Yet there was a sadness on his face that he wanted to turn away from. Even in his generation, he knew the end was near.
Up the stairs. His parent's room. His father told the boy on his deathbed of a small locked chest in his dresser drawer, only to be opened should open should he ever befall the same fate. The boy had always wondered what was inside. *A radio? An secret antidote? A family revelation?* The key was under the mattress, as promised, and with a little bit of joggling, the box popped open. The boy recoiled in disgust. A revolver. *Did you really think me that weak? That I couldn't take my death the way you did? You're more of a coward than you ever took me for.* He slammed it shut and walked downstairs. He was becoming aware of a growing throbbing in the back of his head.
Down the stairs. The living room. The boy had essentially lived in there and the kitchen alone for the past few years. Inside, the floor was completely coated in clothes, food, and and scraps he had scrounged from other houses, tools that had somehow survived the ages, weapons his father had scrounged from the hands of skeletons who had died in the last factional wars. Unnecessary, as they turned out. Nobody was coming for him, especially not anymore. He packed up everything that still mattered into a plastic garbage bag, those eternal remnants of the old world. There wasn't much left that he needed, and he was beginning to feel woozy. Yet turning, he caught a room he had not yet entered out of the corner of his eye.
He paused and put his hand on the closed dining room door. His father had locked it up ever since that final, fateful fight with his mother on the night of his 5th birthday, and he hadn't been inside in over seven years. It held nothing but fear for the boy, the sheer mortal terror as he watched helplessly as accusations flew and he watched his family tear itself to the ground. As a young child, he felt like the world was ending that night, and in a sense it had. For seven years he had poured all his fears and all his blame into that room. All he had to do was walk away, and he'd never have to see it again.
Suddenly his mind flickered back to the lavish portraits, and a sickening rage rose inside the boy. *So much I could've had*, his mind raved, *if not for you selfish fuckers! You brought me into an empty world, and all you ever did was take!* And with an almighty kick, he took down the door.
The room smelled putrid. The dishes on that night had never been cleaned. Shattered glass on the floor, a blood stain on the old tablecloth. It was somehow so much worse than he had remembered it, like it had all happened yesterday. His head spun, and he grasped the wall to steady himself. He regretted whatever urge had possessed him to relive this nightmare above all his other nightmares.
But on the far wall, he saw something he hadn't remembered. Three portraits. His mother, standing tall and beautiful in a white wedding dress the boy knew she had never owned. The father, young and handsome, holding a baby at a lavish old party the boy knew they had never attended. Both were sloppy, impressionistic, and pored-over, the works of two people who had never painted in their life nor knew any semblance of art, but poured their souls into capturing each other in their mind's eye. And between them, a tiny handprint on a slate of hardened clay. Jrmioh, age 4.
For the first time in years, the boy laughed at his own stupid misspelling. It emerged as a strange guttural wheezing, a choking sound that scratched his throat. He hadn't heard his own voice in years, and the sound of his laugh sent him into even more hysteric fits. He laughed at how wrong he was about everything he thought about the world. He laughed at the thought of the helpless shellfish cooking out in the sun. He laughed at his peculiarity, his idiocy, his strangeness amongst the ghosts of the world who laughed with him. And suddenly the wave of emotion crested over him, and he cried for a long time amongst the broken glass all around him.
In time Jeremiah rose. He noticed a tiny gift-wrapped box on the table, neatly hidden under a napkin. Inside was a fresh matchbox, the kind he had only read about in old books. Inside it, a small note. *Lots of abandoned stuff around town. Go have some fun! Love, Mom.*
He walked out the door for the last time a few hours later. The flame blossomed as if the whole building was kindling. He never needed to light a second match; the smoke and splinters jumped from house to house, and the whole city roared to life. A cacophony of shattered windows and groaning wood planks shattered the stillness, and grew with alarming speed. All the air for miles rushed in to feed the impossible flame. It all siphoned into that central nexus, growing faster still, all the noises finally blurring into a grand roar the likes of which would never be heard again on this earth.
Jeremiah trudged slowly across the salt flats. He never looked back. | As I stood there,
on the now unoccupied planet,
once over seven billion's lair,
whereas now everyone had departed.
The world had finally collapsed,
the inevitable taking place.
Everyone else had quickly migrated,
while I was in my own pace.
The calamities had destroyed all,
And everyone departed to the stars.
The Earth had met its fall,
and I knew that running was just a farce.
Hence I stayed behind,
because I knew that humanity will eventually end.
And in my own mind,
I knew that someone had to see things end.
I leave these lines as my final words,
in the shuttle meant for me.
And also leave this final [picture](http://www.urbanghostsmedia.com/home/twamoran/urbanghostsmedia.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/09/post-apocalypse.jpg),
for the future generations to see. | |
[WP] The last person on Earth is essentially turning off the lights before they leave. | Alexei lingered by the door, eyeing the last silver ship. He looked around at the desolate fields.
The farm had been tended to by generations of his family. Now he was the only one left. And he was being made to leave it behind.
Alexei took the lantern and flicked off the generator switch. The last remaining light on Earth buzzed to a halt. The air was electric.
The air was clear. Harsh, windless cold chilled the lastman's bones. He trudged down the path, stumbling numb over the frozen soil.
Broken, charred stumps marked were the forest once stood. Though he had never seen it, save the last skinny trees of death, he revelled in the stories of the great green pines standing tall and proud like leafy giants. His home had been safe under the rule of the forest.
Nearing the glimmering ship that stood for salvation and hope, Alexei felt a mournful wave of sadness rush over his head.
The purple horizon of toxic smoke that had stretched across the globe was rumbling far away. The last pure part of the Earth moaned with sorrow as its children left.
A single snowflake fell to the ground. *Stay,* it urged, *Stay here! The land is clean here. Don't leave.*
Alexei shook his head silently.
*The earth is crying for you.*
The lastman bit his lip as he clutched the softly glowing lantern to his face.
He whispered a goodbye and blew out the flame. | As I stood there,
on the now unoccupied planet,
once over seven billion's lair,
whereas now everyone had departed.
The world had finally collapsed,
the inevitable taking place.
Everyone else had quickly migrated,
while I was in my own pace.
The calamities had destroyed all,
And everyone departed to the stars.
The Earth had met its fall,
and I knew that running was just a farce.
Hence I stayed behind,
because I knew that humanity will eventually end.
And in my own mind,
I knew that someone had to see things end.
I leave these lines as my final words,
in the shuttle meant for me.
And also leave this final [picture](http://www.urbanghostsmedia.com/home/twamoran/urbanghostsmedia.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/09/post-apocalypse.jpg),
for the future generations to see. | |
[WP] The last person on Earth is essentially turning off the lights before they leave. | An angry red sun burned the sky, giving everything on Earth a sickly blood-red tint. Clark wondered idly if the planet knew what was coming. Did it know its loving father had finally turned violent, and was preparing to swallow it whole? Did it care?
Clark had been having plenty of thoughts like these lately. Knowing Humanity, he'd be one of the few in the universe asking such questions. Most saw Earth the same way a 21st-Century human viewed the Fertile Crescent- a sidenote, a detail of the past with no impact or importance on daily life. Its historical importance acknowledged, but little more. Few had the...perspective... to love and appreciate something that lost its glory so very long ago.
The man walked slowly through the former Metropolis, the place so many called home. He lovingly closed every window, every door, every hatch. He put every last thing in its place, taking special care of the places where people would gather to work or play. He wandered further out, into the few places where Nature had been allowed to thrive. He gave every creature a burial. Years, decades, centuries passed- Clark and the Earth had just enough time to put everything in its place. It opened all its secrets to him, spoke to him of trillions of lives large and small. All had walked across her, and now all had been laid to rest.
His work there done, Clark left Earth for the last time. His home slowly boil and burst away, consumed by the angry father's dying rage.
He flew to Mars, and began again. | As I stood there,
on the now unoccupied planet,
once over seven billion's lair,
whereas now everyone had departed.
The world had finally collapsed,
the inevitable taking place.
Everyone else had quickly migrated,
while I was in my own pace.
The calamities had destroyed all,
And everyone departed to the stars.
The Earth had met its fall,
and I knew that running was just a farce.
Hence I stayed behind,
because I knew that humanity will eventually end.
And in my own mind,
I knew that someone had to see things end.
I leave these lines as my final words,
in the shuttle meant for me.
And also leave this final [picture](http://www.urbanghostsmedia.com/home/twamoran/urbanghostsmedia.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/09/post-apocalypse.jpg),
for the future generations to see. | |
[WP] The last person on Earth is essentially turning off the lights before they leave. | They didn't too bad, all things considered.
I mean, they had the creativity figured out. That holds back at least half of them.
They definitely understood family. Family always came first.
Their intuition failed them in the end, however. They just couldn't work together.
Well, hopefully the next ones do better. | As I stood there,
on the now unoccupied planet,
once over seven billion's lair,
whereas now everyone had departed.
The world had finally collapsed,
the inevitable taking place.
Everyone else had quickly migrated,
while I was in my own pace.
The calamities had destroyed all,
And everyone departed to the stars.
The Earth had met its fall,
and I knew that running was just a farce.
Hence I stayed behind,
because I knew that humanity will eventually end.
And in my own mind,
I knew that someone had to see things end.
I leave these lines as my final words,
in the shuttle meant for me.
And also leave this final [picture](http://www.urbanghostsmedia.com/home/twamoran/urbanghostsmedia.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/09/post-apocalypse.jpg),
for the future generations to see. | |
[WP] The last person on Earth is essentially turning off the lights before they leave. | He rocked back and forth, clutching his daughter's cold body. How long he had been there like that, he was not sure. Hours? Seconds? Neither answer would have surprised him. Tears streamed down his cheeks *Why, why? Why did she have to open her eyes?* He wanted his daughter to go in her sleep -- in peace. But in the half-second before he pulled the trigger, she opened her eyes. A half-second of confusion. A half-second of betrayal. He would have given anything to take that half-second back. He wouldn't taken back the frost that had ravaged the planet for the past 25 years. He wouldn't taken back the fact that he hadn't heard from anyone from the outside world in over 15 years. He wouldn't even take back the fact that they had exhausted their last food supplies. In that moment, the only thing that mattered was that half-a-second.
He brushed her hair back and looked into her glazed eyes one last time before closing them. It wasn't fair. He remembered the day she was born. It was the single best and worst day of his life. To lose the love of his life, to meet someone he loved even more. *Well,* He chuckled to himself, *at least she's with her mother now.* He layed her back down on the bed and walked towards the door. He stopped, turned and looked back one last time. He wanted to pretend she was just sleeping, that he was just tucking her in like he did every night for the past 7 years. "Goodnight, sweet pea." Smiling, he shut the lights. He was leaving too, and he was excited to join them. | As I stood there,
on the now unoccupied planet,
once over seven billion's lair,
whereas now everyone had departed.
The world had finally collapsed,
the inevitable taking place.
Everyone else had quickly migrated,
while I was in my own pace.
The calamities had destroyed all,
And everyone departed to the stars.
The Earth had met its fall,
and I knew that running was just a farce.
Hence I stayed behind,
because I knew that humanity will eventually end.
And in my own mind,
I knew that someone had to see things end.
I leave these lines as my final words,
in the shuttle meant for me.
And also leave this final [picture](http://www.urbanghostsmedia.com/home/twamoran/urbanghostsmedia.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/09/post-apocalypse.jpg),
for the future generations to see. | |
[WP] The last person on Earth is essentially turning off the lights before they leave. | [Hi, first Writing Prompts submission for me, am very open to feedback]
John's eyes fluttered open. His neck cracked and ached as he slowly twisted to look at his clock. Both hands on 12. He had woken up late again - had been waking up late for years now. He thought back and chuckled at how rigid of a lifestyle he used to lead, every minute of the day precision engineered - he had been thinking back a lot recently.
He slipped into his patchwork shirt and slid on his patchwork jacket. He straightened his back, and with a few more cracks, John headed out, ready to face another patchwork day of his life.
After quickly heading back into his little room to put on his pants, John went to pick his breakfast from the green house. Spinach and lettuce made up most of his morning meals, but today he added a little bit of kale to his dish. He really liked the kale.
Maintaining the large collage greenhouse took a long time for one man. But John was glad for it's size. It let him grow more than just spinach and lettuce. He wiped down all the windows and surfaces. He checked all the tubing and hydroponics. He even wiped down the long dysfunctional digital controls. He really liked seeing the sleek monitors glean.
A large part of most of John's days were spent reading. He was almost ready to give himself the final on Algorithms and Data Structures. He wished that he started taking Computer Sciences much earlier. It was difficult to ensure he learnt everything correctly without a functioning computer. It should definitely have come before Business. Probably before World History too.
..
John's eyes fluttered open. He slowly relaxed his body on his bed and turned his eyes to his clock. Both hands on 12 again. Still late. And he discovered to his displeasure, still creaking.
John tried to keep himself calm as he devoured his breakfast of spinach and peas. Today was a day that didn't come very often. It wasn't until after he wiped down the windows and checked his tubing and hydroponics that he realized he forgot lettuce. Oh well.
John breathed out slowly to dispel some of his excitement. His hands shakily slid his answer sheet into the automatic test scoring machine. It was the last working machine in the whole school. He had worked hard to keep it working. All for this day.
Not a minute later the sheet popped out of the machine and into John's hands. A 64%. He had passed! John had to fight hard to keep himself from jumping in elation. He didn't want to hurt himself and sour such a happy day.
John walked as quickly as he could back to his room and signed his name on the 7th certificate stuck to his wall. 7 degrees earned. John beamed with pride. He thought back on how proud of him his parents were when he had earned just 1 degree. He wondered how they would've reacted to his seventh.
He sighed and slowly laid himself on his bed. He knew his parents would've been happy for him even if he didn't have a single degree. All they've every wanted was for him to live a long and fulfilling life. He worked hard everyday to realize their dreams.
He thought about what he would learn next. Maybe it's finally time to start tackling the sciences. There was even material in the library to get started on medicine and pharmacology. He remembered dimly hearing about how hard it was too get though med school. But John didn't care. He had all the time in the world. And he wanted to make his parents happy. John really like making his parents happy.
..
John's eyes fluttered. | As I stood there,
on the now unoccupied planet,
once over seven billion's lair,
whereas now everyone had departed.
The world had finally collapsed,
the inevitable taking place.
Everyone else had quickly migrated,
while I was in my own pace.
The calamities had destroyed all,
And everyone departed to the stars.
The Earth had met its fall,
and I knew that running was just a farce.
Hence I stayed behind,
because I knew that humanity will eventually end.
And in my own mind,
I knew that someone had to see things end.
I leave these lines as my final words,
in the shuttle meant for me.
And also leave this final [picture](http://www.urbanghostsmedia.com/home/twamoran/urbanghostsmedia.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/09/post-apocalypse.jpg),
for the future generations to see. | |
[WP] The last person on Earth is essentially turning off the lights before they leave. | A blast of cold dust from down the hallway awoke the boy with a start. *Not like this.* Panic overtook his limbs as he scrambled to his feet, making for the front door. It was still about an hour before dawn, but he through the darkness he could make out he tarp over the archway fluttering in the acrid wind like a flag of surrender. The closet. A nail. The hammer. They fell from his shuddering hands over and over again. The wind roared against the tarp. He heard the wood of his ancient house splinter and groan under the weight of his hammer blows. Sudden gusts drove more of the cruel dust into his eyes, tormenting him with fatal dose upon fatal dose of radiation. A final thud drove the nail home, and he collapsed to the ground with a shudder.
Still not fully awake, the boy struggled to shake his latest nightmare from his mind. Scenes of despair, famine, wanton death, and an uncaring eye watching over it all. He'd heard stories from his parents of wanderers who'd stumbled onto their little liferaft of a community. They spoke of the last great cities, now slums attended to by quiet automatons but lorded over by kingpins who stoked blind hatred and addiction. In all their centuries of unfathomable wisdom, the great AIs had failed to solve the problem of human government. With so little to think about since his father's passing, it proved a vast and terrifying canvas for the darkest recesses of his mind.
As he felt unconsciousness slip away, a quiet sense of doom began to overtake him. He was dead, he knew that much. He knew exactly how he would die, too. His father, unflappable and scientific to the end, made sure to point out every symptom of radiation sickness as he slowly succumbed. The latent period that would make fools believe they had escape unscathed. Then the slow headaches, nausea, fever, loss of bodily control, and descent into madness, all escalating until suffering finally eased his cruel grip. There was no doubt as to his fate, either. The only winds that ever blew over the rotting husk of Eden Springs were these great radioactive storms, the final legacy of humanity's ambition. Judging from what he had learned from his father, he had maybe a week to live, and 3 days of lucid thought.
Yet now the boy sensed that the world had experienced a yet greater loss. The rare breeze always carried strange scents, his last contact with human civilization. Maybe he could smell great burning trash heaps from old Los Angeles, mutated flesh, metallic emissions. The strange ways that radiation had warped the world. But this wind had no scent. He shuddered. The world had fallen silent around him, and maybe for the last time. The boy laid on the ground for a long time, gripped with mortal terror. The tarp flapped and growled menacingly in the wind behind him.
But as dawn broke and the winds died, terror had already subsided into quiet repose. There were so many errants he had to run daily to survive, to ensure he would not die in the horrific winters. They grew harder every year as supplies dwindled, and the last one, completely alone, felt like he was in realm of death itself. His estranged relationship with his father was a very small comfort during those winters, but it was better than pure emptiness. Yet now that the end was truly upon him, there were only a few things left to do.
Yanking loose the tarp, the boy stepped outside into the blinding light and began to survey the damage. The shellfish tank had ruptured. His final, most faithful companions had survived nuclear wars and the coldest of winters. Now they were done in by a single plank of wood, driven though the sheet metal and leaving them to bake in the unforgiving sun. No matter. The boy had enough rations to last his final week, and he always thought they tasted rotten anyhow. The house had suffered greatly as well, as it looked like a massive hole had opened up in the roof. The boy sighed. Twenty generations it had lasted, 24 Jefferson Lane. The pride and joy of their neighborhood, his mother always told him. The boy smiled mischievously. He would finally be the generation that got out of repair chores.
Walking back inside, he surveyed the main hallway. The old portraits of the Eden Springs founders had long since been scoured away. The middle ones had begun to fade, but he could clearly see no expense spared in the portraits or outfits, living so wastefully and dooming their descendants. The last portrait of his grandfather Abel as a young man never ceased to make him smile. How could such a crazy old man have ever looked so young? Yet there was a sadness on his face that he wanted to turn away from. Even in his generation, he knew the end was near.
Up the stairs. His parent's room. His father told the boy on his deathbed of a small locked chest in his dresser drawer, only to be opened should open should he ever befall the same fate. The boy had always wondered what was inside. *A radio? An secret antidote? A family revelation?* The key was under the mattress, as promised, and with a little bit of joggling, the box popped open. The boy recoiled in disgust. A revolver. *Did you really think me that weak? That I couldn't take my death the way you did? You're more of a coward than you ever took me for.* He slammed it shut and walked downstairs. He was becoming aware of a growing throbbing in the back of his head.
Down the stairs. The living room. The boy had essentially lived in there and the kitchen alone for the past few years. Inside, the floor was completely coated in clothes, food, and and scraps he had scrounged from other houses, tools that had somehow survived the ages, weapons his father had scrounged from the hands of skeletons who had died in the last factional wars. Unnecessary, as they turned out. Nobody was coming for him, especially not anymore. He packed up everything that still mattered into a plastic garbage bag, those eternal remnants of the old world. There wasn't much left that he needed, and he was beginning to feel woozy. Yet turning, he caught a room he had not yet entered out of the corner of his eye.
He paused and put his hand on the closed dining room door. His father had locked it up ever since that final, fateful fight with his mother on the night of his 5th birthday, and he hadn't been inside in over seven years. It held nothing but fear for the boy, the sheer mortal terror as he watched helplessly as accusations flew and he watched his family tear itself to the ground. As a young child, he felt like the world was ending that night, and in a sense it had. For seven years he had poured all his fears and all his blame into that room. All he had to do was walk away, and he'd never have to see it again.
Suddenly his mind flickered back to the lavish portraits, and a sickening rage rose inside the boy. *So much I could've had*, his mind raved, *if not for you selfish fuckers! You brought me into an empty world, and all you ever did was take!* And with an almighty kick, he took down the door.
The room smelled putrid. The dishes on that night had never been cleaned. Shattered glass on the floor, a blood stain on the old tablecloth. It was somehow so much worse than he had remembered it, like it had all happened yesterday. His head spun, and he grasped the wall to steady himself. He regretted whatever urge had possessed him to relive this nightmare above all his other nightmares.
But on the far wall, he saw something he hadn't remembered. Three portraits. His mother, standing tall and beautiful in a white wedding dress the boy knew she had never owned. The father, young and handsome, holding a baby at a lavish old party the boy knew they had never attended. Both were sloppy, impressionistic, and pored-over, the works of two people who had never painted in their life nor knew any semblance of art, but poured their souls into capturing each other in their mind's eye. And between them, a tiny handprint on a slate of hardened clay. Jrmioh, age 4.
For the first time in years, the boy laughed at his own stupid misspelling. It emerged as a strange guttural wheezing, a choking sound that scratched his throat. He hadn't heard his own voice in years, and the sound of his laugh sent him into even more hysteric fits. He laughed at how wrong he was about everything he thought about the world. He laughed at the thought of the helpless shellfish cooking out in the sun. He laughed at his peculiarity, his idiocy, his strangeness amongst the ghosts of the world who laughed with him. And suddenly the wave of emotion crested over him, and he cried for a long time amongst the broken glass all around him.
In time Jeremiah rose. He noticed a tiny gift-wrapped box on the table, neatly hidden under a napkin. Inside was a fresh matchbox, the kind he had only read about in old books. Inside it, a small note. *Lots of abandoned stuff around town. Go have some fun! Love, Mom.*
He walked out the door for the last time a few hours later. The flame blossomed as if the whole building was kindling. He never needed to light a second match; the smoke and splinters jumped from house to house, and the whole city roared to life. A cacophony of shattered windows and groaning wood planks shattered the stillness, and grew with alarming speed. All the air for miles rushed in to feed the impossible flame. It all siphoned into that central nexus, growing faster still, all the noises finally blurring into a grand roar the likes of which would never be heard again on this earth.
Jeremiah trudged slowly across the salt flats. He never looked back. | (I'm not normally a writer, but I had an idea. This is my first post)
Everything he knew was gone. In a blink of an eye, everyone he knew and loved has vanished. He sat in the rubble he could call home, and began to break down. the burns blistered and seared his skin like bacon. he did all he could to make it as long as he could, but the fact was it was little too late. "born in a room, and now, die in a tube. what luck" he said, wincing in pain with every movement. the fires raged outside, the landscape destroyed by what many would say would be god's wrath, but was the work of humanity. he got up slowly, holding on to the frame of a bunk bed, the bottom bed holding the memory of his wife, now above ground with the rest of his life. he flicked the switch on the wall, and the lights went out. in the darkness, he stood for the last time. he had no tears left, nor screams. only a numb pain inside, and the clumps of hair that was left.
it began with a flash and a bang,
and now, it ends with a flash and a bang. | |
[WP] The last person on Earth is essentially turning off the lights before they leave. | Alexei lingered by the door, eyeing the last silver ship. He looked around at the desolate fields.
The farm had been tended to by generations of his family. Now he was the only one left. And he was being made to leave it behind.
Alexei took the lantern and flicked off the generator switch. The last remaining light on Earth buzzed to a halt. The air was electric.
The air was clear. Harsh, windless cold chilled the lastman's bones. He trudged down the path, stumbling numb over the frozen soil.
Broken, charred stumps marked were the forest once stood. Though he had never seen it, save the last skinny trees of death, he revelled in the stories of the great green pines standing tall and proud like leafy giants. His home had been safe under the rule of the forest.
Nearing the glimmering ship that stood for salvation and hope, Alexei felt a mournful wave of sadness rush over his head.
The purple horizon of toxic smoke that had stretched across the globe was rumbling far away. The last pure part of the Earth moaned with sorrow as its children left.
A single snowflake fell to the ground. *Stay,* it urged, *Stay here! The land is clean here. Don't leave.*
Alexei shook his head silently.
*The earth is crying for you.*
The lastman bit his lip as he clutched the softly glowing lantern to his face.
He whispered a goodbye and blew out the flame. | (I'm not normally a writer, but I had an idea. This is my first post)
Everything he knew was gone. In a blink of an eye, everyone he knew and loved has vanished. He sat in the rubble he could call home, and began to break down. the burns blistered and seared his skin like bacon. he did all he could to make it as long as he could, but the fact was it was little too late. "born in a room, and now, die in a tube. what luck" he said, wincing in pain with every movement. the fires raged outside, the landscape destroyed by what many would say would be god's wrath, but was the work of humanity. he got up slowly, holding on to the frame of a bunk bed, the bottom bed holding the memory of his wife, now above ground with the rest of his life. he flicked the switch on the wall, and the lights went out. in the darkness, he stood for the last time. he had no tears left, nor screams. only a numb pain inside, and the clumps of hair that was left.
it began with a flash and a bang,
and now, it ends with a flash and a bang. | |
[WP] The last person on Earth is essentially turning off the lights before they leave. | An angry red sun burned the sky, giving everything on Earth a sickly blood-red tint. Clark wondered idly if the planet knew what was coming. Did it know its loving father had finally turned violent, and was preparing to swallow it whole? Did it care?
Clark had been having plenty of thoughts like these lately. Knowing Humanity, he'd be one of the few in the universe asking such questions. Most saw Earth the same way a 21st-Century human viewed the Fertile Crescent- a sidenote, a detail of the past with no impact or importance on daily life. Its historical importance acknowledged, but little more. Few had the...perspective... to love and appreciate something that lost its glory so very long ago.
The man walked slowly through the former Metropolis, the place so many called home. He lovingly closed every window, every door, every hatch. He put every last thing in its place, taking special care of the places where people would gather to work or play. He wandered further out, into the few places where Nature had been allowed to thrive. He gave every creature a burial. Years, decades, centuries passed- Clark and the Earth had just enough time to put everything in its place. It opened all its secrets to him, spoke to him of trillions of lives large and small. All had walked across her, and now all had been laid to rest.
His work there done, Clark left Earth for the last time. His home slowly boil and burst away, consumed by the angry father's dying rage.
He flew to Mars, and began again. | (I'm not normally a writer, but I had an idea. This is my first post)
Everything he knew was gone. In a blink of an eye, everyone he knew and loved has vanished. He sat in the rubble he could call home, and began to break down. the burns blistered and seared his skin like bacon. he did all he could to make it as long as he could, but the fact was it was little too late. "born in a room, and now, die in a tube. what luck" he said, wincing in pain with every movement. the fires raged outside, the landscape destroyed by what many would say would be god's wrath, but was the work of humanity. he got up slowly, holding on to the frame of a bunk bed, the bottom bed holding the memory of his wife, now above ground with the rest of his life. he flicked the switch on the wall, and the lights went out. in the darkness, he stood for the last time. he had no tears left, nor screams. only a numb pain inside, and the clumps of hair that was left.
it began with a flash and a bang,
and now, it ends with a flash and a bang. |
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