Split (1)

train · 353k rows

post_text stringlengths 0 10k	post_title stringlengths 8 313	chosen stringlengths 1 39.5k	rejected stringlengths 1 13.8k
	[WP] "Too bad, Fairy Queen. I never had a kid, so no firstborn for you to take" you say on your deathbed. "Oh I love it when they don't read the fine print" she responds with a wicked smile.	My eyes trembled as she held the paper close to me, my limbs unable to move from old age. My eyes were barely any better, but I had just enough panic to let me see. As the words written in fine gold became clear, a feeling of calm despair washed over me, my body sinking into the bed. " Ha," my voice rasped, nearly unrecognisable to myself, " I cant believe I missed that. And I was so certain I had thought of everything. No tumor babies, no milking me on my last day," a cough full of phlegm left my throat, eyes closing for a moment. They then locked onto the fairy queen, who was still smiling down but with something one might call pity, and even a little bit of pride. " You did admirably. Enough to had I been one of my subjects and thus lesser, I might have even considered you as a worthy choice for a husband, or at least a consort." Her hand came to gently caress my cheek, eyes lo led with mine as I felt my body fail and collapse, vision fading away. The last I heard was her voice. " But you will make for a fine son."	“I will make that firstborn with you” I looked at her. She was ozing sex appeal, from her sheer thorugh dress, generous curves and a pretty face. I couldn’t help but gulp in anticipation. I also blinked at that moment and everything changed. Form fairy-like beauty she turned into- “I will make that baby from you” \--into a fairy-like beauty with a wicked smile, making her look like a dominatrix. I gulped again. I didn’t blink this time and saw her smile widen. “I am glad you are enjoying yourself,” She said “It is quite a process, hopefully, it would leave you ...satisfied” I … gulped again. Why am I even gulping so much? My thoughts went to the wind when I saw her strech out on her seat. Gulp She bent down before standing slowly. GULP. She was in front of me before I could blink. Then darkness. Another Gulp. Now not my own. \---------------------- On a fairy throne a queen of all fairies for that day lounge. There wasn’t any care in her at all, after all, she is the queen of the day and all would serve her. The thought of another fairy joining the court made her smile and trace her belly. She was pregnant. Pregnant with a fairy.
	[WP] "Too bad, Fairy Queen. I never had a kid, so no firstborn for you to take" you say on your deathbed. "Oh I love it when they don't read the fine print" she responds with a wicked smile.	"A deal with the fae can not be broken" She said with an air of finality. "Well tough luck your majesty, this one has, and the tumor in my chest means there's nothing you can do about it." "No, you do not understand mortal. The deal CAN NOT be broken, the universe will not allow it." I flinch a little, thinking maybe this was another faerie trick. But I can't see what she could possibly do at this point. "The Goddess of fertility herself could come down give me a sloppy blow job and you wouldn't get a single swimmer out of me." I smirked "I've had what's we humans called a vasectomy." "Ah yes, but as I understand it those can be reversed." The queen nodded. "Even after your self mutilation you could still create a child." "Sure if it wasn't for all the drinking and smoking." I responded "must have dropped my sperm count lower than my bank balance." "Even as such, I believe your kind has made great advances in conception through artificial means." the queen replied "despite your low fertility at that point, if you were determined to keep your oath you still could have done so." "Well if the booze and tobacco weren't enough then the mountains of drugs I took would've made sure absolutely none of my tadpoles would amount to anything." "And indeed," She smiled "It was the excess of delights you partook in one year ago today, that marked the date it became impossible for you to create for me a mortal child." One year ago? Was she talking about the night I had nearly died of an overdose? "And on that night you were taken to this very hospital," the queen remarked "how strange that a mysterious tumor unlike any a doctor has ever seen was found to be growing inside you." I suddenly felt a throbbing in my chest. "Oh, it looks like your firstborn is ready to come out." "Wh-" Pain exploded from my heart and a splatter of blood clouded my vision. I looked down and saw a tiny hand protruding from my chest. It grabbed onto my chest hairs, and pulled itself out, revealing a fat misshapen head. At first I thought this foul creature unleashing an ungodly scream before I realized the sound was coming from me. Each yank it gave to free itself from my chest brought about a new wave of pain unlike any I had ever felt. It continued to emerge. Another arm. A bloated body. A gnarled leg. Finally the creature reached down and used both it's hands to tug the last foot from out beneath my skin and detached itself from me completely. In that moment, I expected the pain to take me. For everything to go black, and for death to be the final punishment for my hubris. But what came after was worse. I felt emptiness. Like a part of me I didn't even know was there had suddenly been snatched away. "What, what's happened to me?" I asked. "As I said, a deal with the fae can not be broken," The queen responded, gently holding her hands out as the little monster hopped into her palms. "And once a being could no longer be born of your body, the forces of magic saw fit to spawn one from your soul. This sprite shall go forth into the world and do as I bid. But for now little one, I give you one day of freedom as a birthday gift. To do with as you will." The chubby little being shook the grime off itself like a dog and a pair of dragon fly wings sprouted from it's back. It beheld the world and rubbed it's hands together gleefully before zooming across the room and smashing through the viewing glass on the door. An echo of startled cries and crashing objects could be heard as the being zipped it's way down the hall. There was nothing left for me now. I had lost, all I could feel was the emptiness of a missing part of my soul and the excruciating pain in my open chest would. "Please, just end me." I begged of her. Instead she ran her hand over the hole in my chest and healed the physical wound. Despite feeling healthier than I had in years, I could still feel agony in my existence. "I would not be so quick to join the afterlife mortal" the queen gave one last smile as she opened a portal back to the fae realm. "As you and your child are of one soul, all his sins shall be as yours in the eyes of your divine judge."	“I will make that firstborn with you” I looked at her. She was ozing sex appeal, from her sheer thorugh dress, generous curves and a pretty face. I couldn’t help but gulp in anticipation. I also blinked at that moment and everything changed. Form fairy-like beauty she turned into- “I will make that baby from you” \--into a fairy-like beauty with a wicked smile, making her look like a dominatrix. I gulped again. I didn’t blink this time and saw her smile widen. “I am glad you are enjoying yourself,” She said “It is quite a process, hopefully, it would leave you ...satisfied” I … gulped again. Why am I even gulping so much? My thoughts went to the wind when I saw her strech out on her seat. Gulp She bent down before standing slowly. GULP. She was in front of me before I could blink. Then darkness. Another Gulp. Now not my own. \---------------------- On a fairy throne a queen of all fairies for that day lounge. There wasn’t any care in her at all, after all, she is the queen of the day and all would serve her. The thought of another fairy joining the court made her smile and trace her belly. She was pregnant. Pregnant with a fairy.
	[WP] "Too bad, Fairy Queen. I never had a kid, so no firstborn for you to take" you say on your deathbed. "Oh I love it when they don't read the fine print" she responds with a wicked smile.	My eyes trembled as she held the paper close to me, my limbs unable to move from old age. My eyes were barely any better, but I had just enough panic to let me see. As the words written in fine gold became clear, a feeling of calm despair washed over me, my body sinking into the bed. " Ha," my voice rasped, nearly unrecognisable to myself, " I cant believe I missed that. And I was so certain I had thought of everything. No tumor babies, no milking me on my last day," a cough full of phlegm left my throat, eyes closing for a moment. They then locked onto the fairy queen, who was still smiling down but with something one might call pity, and even a little bit of pride. " You did admirably. Enough to had I been one of my subjects and thus lesser, I might have even considered you as a worthy choice for a husband, or at least a consort." Her hand came to gently caress my cheek, eyes lo led with mine as I felt my body fail and collapse, vision fading away. The last I heard was her voice. " But you will make for a fine son."	" and i have waited forever for this day" i said as i hit the button on the bedrail. a flash of flame traced around the boundary of the room and lit off the powder on the walls and ceiling is further whooshes of flame. in a matter of seconds every wall, the floor, and the ceiling we covered in runes and patterns. on the floor around the bed and the queen were 3 concentric circles, scorched windershins. she was trapped here with me. "its time for a new deal" i said with a dark smile. " the previous debt, the healing of my body back to my prime, and making me fae-touched. all of these for your life. you have less than 5 minutes before iron dust is blown into the room, at which point i will watch you burn before i pass on. or you can kill me and ill still die knowing you will be right behind me." i reveled in her stricken look. " im the only one who can stop the trap, and no one will come to the room." with a defeated sigh she shook my hand and i was enveloped in her magic. i rose from the bed, back in my 25 year old body, though now my ears were slightly pointed, my i-teeth slightly sharper and longer, and my eyes a bright amethyst rather than blue. i walked to the wall and used the hidden iron topped panel to disarm the trap. i gripped the iron doorknob and started to leave the room. "WAIT! we had a deal!" she cried. "our deal was for your life, not your freedom. for that i want my pick of your daughters as my consort and a binding oath that no harm will befall me and mine." i smiled that dark smile once again. she was at a loss, her magic could not leave the circles, the bed was painted iron, and i had planned it all and outsmarted her. she hung her head and pouted for a moment, then stood tall and congratulated me. "well blast it all to the makers, you outwitted me and hold me by the wings as it were. i agree to the terms. are you sure you aren't a fae in disguise?" "no, just had far to much time to plan while my body failed me." i said as i used a chisel to break the binding circle. she stepped out and out of the room, just as she made ready to disappear i dropped the last surprise on her. "now dont be long your highness, and have a pleasant trip Titania-vortas-oberon" she froze at the sound of her true name. " how... how do you know that name? WHERE DID YOU LEARN THAT NAME?!?!" "I told you highness, i had far too much time to think, plan, and prepare." i laughed as i thought back to the siren i had caught years ago at the cliffs, and the days it took to drag the information out of her. the location of other fae, one who i forced to teach me the true language of the fae. and other who i dragged the bits of information about the queen out of, a bit here, a piece there, until finally i had the ability to stitch her true name together. she didn't even realize i had tested it, whispered it to the wind and called her here to my bedside to start with. and now she knew what it felt like to have the consequences of her pride, hanging over her head, just as mine from my youth had damned me.
	[WP] "Too bad, Fairy Queen. I never had a kid, so no firstborn for you to take" you say on your deathbed. "Oh I love it when they don't read the fine print" she responds with a wicked smile.	"A deal with the fae can not be broken" She said with an air of finality. "Well tough luck your majesty, this one has, and the tumor in my chest means there's nothing you can do about it." "No, you do not understand mortal. The deal CAN NOT be broken, the universe will not allow it." I flinch a little, thinking maybe this was another faerie trick. But I can't see what she could possibly do at this point. "The Goddess of fertility herself could come down give me a sloppy blow job and you wouldn't get a single swimmer out of me." I smirked "I've had what's we humans called a vasectomy." "Ah yes, but as I understand it those can be reversed." The queen nodded. "Even after your self mutilation you could still create a child." "Sure if it wasn't for all the drinking and smoking." I responded "must have dropped my sperm count lower than my bank balance." "Even as such, I believe your kind has made great advances in conception through artificial means." the queen replied "despite your low fertility at that point, if you were determined to keep your oath you still could have done so." "Well if the booze and tobacco weren't enough then the mountains of drugs I took would've made sure absolutely none of my tadpoles would amount to anything." "And indeed," She smiled "It was the excess of delights you partook in one year ago today, that marked the date it became impossible for you to create for me a mortal child." One year ago? Was she talking about the night I had nearly died of an overdose? "And on that night you were taken to this very hospital," the queen remarked "how strange that a mysterious tumor unlike any a doctor has ever seen was found to be growing inside you." I suddenly felt a throbbing in my chest. "Oh, it looks like your firstborn is ready to come out." "Wh-" Pain exploded from my heart and a splatter of blood clouded my vision. I looked down and saw a tiny hand protruding from my chest. It grabbed onto my chest hairs, and pulled itself out, revealing a fat misshapen head. At first I thought this foul creature unleashing an ungodly scream before I realized the sound was coming from me. Each yank it gave to free itself from my chest brought about a new wave of pain unlike any I had ever felt. It continued to emerge. Another arm. A bloated body. A gnarled leg. Finally the creature reached down and used both it's hands to tug the last foot from out beneath my skin and detached itself from me completely. In that moment, I expected the pain to take me. For everything to go black, and for death to be the final punishment for my hubris. But what came after was worse. I felt emptiness. Like a part of me I didn't even know was there had suddenly been snatched away. "What, what's happened to me?" I asked. "As I said, a deal with the fae can not be broken," The queen responded, gently holding her hands out as the little monster hopped into her palms. "And once a being could no longer be born of your body, the forces of magic saw fit to spawn one from your soul. This sprite shall go forth into the world and do as I bid. But for now little one, I give you one day of freedom as a birthday gift. To do with as you will." The chubby little being shook the grime off itself like a dog and a pair of dragon fly wings sprouted from it's back. It beheld the world and rubbed it's hands together gleefully before zooming across the room and smashing through the viewing glass on the door. An echo of startled cries and crashing objects could be heard as the being zipped it's way down the hall. There was nothing left for me now. I had lost, all I could feel was the emptiness of a missing part of my soul and the excruciating pain in my open chest would. "Please, just end me." I begged of her. Instead she ran her hand over the hole in my chest and healed the physical wound. Despite feeling healthier than I had in years, I could still feel agony in my existence. "I would not be so quick to join the afterlife mortal" the queen gave one last smile as she opened a portal back to the fae realm. "As you and your child are of one soul, all his sins shall be as yours in the eyes of your divine judge."	"What? Let me see that," I mumble, clearly dying. The Fairy queen hands me the contract out of her clipboard. With the thick layer of dust and the dim fluorescent lighting I can't read a thing. I try and blow off the dust, but my lungs are so old they just blow more dust onto the page. "I don't see any fine print." I say, truthfully. The fairy queen sighs, waves her wand and the dust all dances off the page. My eyes are drawn to some tiny text near the bottom, now glowing. "If the signee does not produce a firstborn by time of death, yadda yadda, alternative payment, yadda yadda, in the form of, oh no, my 2005 Kia Sorento!" I gasp out, my soul beginning to leave my body. As the light faded for the last time, I realized how foolish I had been. The Fairy queen's lip curled into a cruel smile as she reached into my pocket, and took my key ring out of my cold dead hands. I had lived for 700 years, and thought I had defeated the fairy queen. I had been a fool for 700 years.
	[WP] You're a witch with a penchant to bargain for firstborn children... to adopt and train as apprentices. You've done it hundreds of times now, and considering how wretched the biological parents tend to be you're really doing the kids a favor.	"And Rose," the child asked, grinding sage leaves to a fine dust, "were there other children? Like me? Before me?" A melancholy smiled played at the corners of my mouth. A tear drops from my eye. I allow its slow descent while my mind travels back to the others. The ones before her. All so hopeless when they arrive. Bartered and forgotten. A burden finally unloaded. I wipe the tear away before I turn to face her. "Yes, Violet. You have had many older brothers and sisters. I hope one day you'll meet them. Aria was just like you when she was young. Curious, brave. I think you two would get along." Violet's eyes sparkled as she ground the leaves more quickly. Stems flew out of the mortar as her arm grew more excited. "Aria! What a beautiful name. How did she make it here? Was she forgotten like me?" My hand finds solace on the top of her head. Her curls look just like flaxen wheat. Polished, shining. Giving her a small pat, I turn and amble my way towards the hearth. The bones within me are growing tired. Weary. Violet might be my last apprentice yet, time willing. Many lost souls have entered this home, and each one leaves with a piece of me. A shining talisman, tucked away. A piece of me, protective armor from the world. I give them their swords, and I teach them to wield. And I teach very well. It's the least I can do for them. Because my apprentices, you see, all share one common weave. A delicate thread linking them all together. They are forgotten first-borns. Bartered to me in exchange for something petty. Money, a cow. The roof preemptively thatched against next years rains. Bushels of oranges, wheat. Tea, spices, and dark red wine. How little a life is worth to them. A life they created. My lips curl into a sneer as I recall Aria's beginning. "My child, I've kept this from you for a very long time. My only wish is to protect you. But you are growing much older now, perhaps I tell you a story. A story of your beginning. And ending. And your rebirth." Violet's mouth hung open in awe. Her small hand circled the mortar, slowing, until it finally came to a rest. "Her parents were cruel people. Cruel, broken people, that lot. Their daughter to them was naught but a bargaining tool. A prize to be eventually wed, and paid for in kind. A burden to them until she could be foisted onto another family. They knew naught of her loves or hates. The fire that sparked in her eyes as she learned to read. The graciousness that came from caring for the baby goat we brought home one night, soaked from the rain. She named him Philip. they spent hours in the summer laying in the grass, staring at the sky. She would fashion little flower crowns for Philip, and as they lay in the fresh spring grass, she'd recite him stories. They knew none of this, never cared to learn, and will never know. I met them one night in the tavern. I smelled the desperation on them, the apathy. Like a moth to a flame, I drew to them, and made them my offer. Without a moment of hesitation, Aria was mine. And for what, you ask? A box of coal, my dear girl. To heat their home in the winter." I paused, drawing a breath deep into my aching lungs. The window rattled as the wind forced its entry. It swirled in and danced with the fire, and finally settled. I felt the disgust that had crept into my facial features while thinking of Aria's parents. I had been bargaining children for years, but it never got any easier. "Violet, my dear. You know I am a witch," Violet's head bobbed enthusiastically up and down in a YES motion, "but there is a catch. Only barren women can become a witch. You must first give up life, in order to receive power. A natural balance, a physical transaction. And you, first born children, have a natural talent for magic. The most powerful witches of our time have had such upbringings. Persephone, Hecate. Imagine, such a gift, born into apathy. Born into despondence. Ingrates." The witch practically spat the last word. Violet could hear the anger creeping into the witch's voice. She's acutely aware of a coldness creeping in her stomach. Crawling up her back. The uneasiness manifested in nervously kicking her legs as she listened to the witch. Poor Aria. But the witch continues. "So I took her. I took Aria from those terrible people and brought her into the light. Into the warmth. I nurtured her as our mother nature demands the young be nurtured. She bloomed. She transformed. Like a wildflower on sheer willpower. And when the time came. The night I sat her down and had the same discussion we're having now... explained the garden from which she grew... when I let slip the injustices of her birth.. well.. She changed. forever." Violet was the one crying now. Fat, slow tears broke from her eyes. She had returned to grinding flowers, in a slow hypnotic manner. Her mind was blank. Her heart was blank. All she could focus on were the flowers. The herbs. Philip in the backyard. The witch's shoes crunched on the dirt floor as she made her way to Violet. Her trembling hand raised to wipe the tears from Violet's face. She knelt down, hugging the child tightly. She could feel V stop trembling as she wrapped her arms around her small frame. Hooking a finger under her chin, she raised the child's face to look her in the eyes. "Violet, this is your new beginning."	"You call me a witch like that's a bad thing you monster!" Hyra exclaimed "You're trying to buy my child, what would you have me call you? And what you're offering, peanuts. With a magical child I can have all you offer plus more" Hyra laughed internally, it was over, the child would be returning with her. The negotiation was now a mere formality. You see, people have tells, little ways of indicating exactly what they are thinking. This low life wasn't even clever about it. Those unwilling to sell don't haggle. The comment about offering peanuts tipped his hand. He could care less about his own child. He's not worried about the child's safety, comfort, or well being. What this scum cares about is being offered "peanuts" for his precious baby girl. It was difficult for Hyra to hold her anger in check, but she wasn't the bad guy here. She had the best interests at heart for this child. All I need to do is get this clown to agree to give up the kid, then I am out of here. Looking around she couldn't help but feel bad for these people, the way they lived was a small step above homeless. The daughter, horribly malnourished, black circles under her eyes, grossly underweight. But her eyes, those golden eyes that have her marked as magical. "Sir, let us make a deal here. You and I both know you cannot train this child to perform magic, or likely any task. So your position that you can 'have all this plus more' a little ridiculous don't you agree?" "You can't talk to me like that in my own home" "On the contrary, I am superior to you in each and every way, you are as the cockroach beneath my shoes. I can stamp you out with a flick of my wrist. You're lucky that all I want to do is to give your daughter a better life" "Yes you're altruistic, all you care about is the well being of my daughter..." This gave Hyra pause, altruistic? That was a word, looking around, she didn't expect the man would know, much less use it properly in a sentence. How could this man possibly... "Hyra Coldblood, You're under arrest for crimes against warlock kind! For the last 2 millennia you have systematically bargained for the firstborn child of many a warlock and human alike. Your crimes cannot continue" And with that he slashed his wand in the air, and her head fell cleanly from her body.
	[WP] You're a witch with a penchant to bargain for firstborn children... to adopt and train as apprentices. You've done it hundreds of times now, and considering how wretched the biological parents tend to be you're really doing the kids a favor.	The door opened unaided as she stepped up the wooden stairs. Not pausing for a moment, she walked across the moonlit threshold, her movements loud in the dark of the night. She made no effort to silence the thud of her heel or the creaking of the dusty wood floor. She looked straight into the corner, finding her quarry huddled against the cold stone. The boy was about six years old and tiny, his thin frame lost in the filthy nightclothes he wore. He cowered away from the intruder, and her stern eyebrows rose on her pale forehead. "You called for me." It wasn't a question. Her sharp voice sliced through the air, straight to the back of the house. The boy's large dark eyes widened at the noise of someone waking up. Roused from his position, he bolted for the door, hissing at her. "Come on, he's coming!" The woman stood her ground, her eyebrow ticking up again. "We will not." She said, beckoning him with a finger. He stopped at the door, panic in his eyes as he looked down the hall behind her. She turned. The noises in the back had solidified into a large man, stumbling down the hall toward them. "Boy!" He bellowed drunkenly. "Wha's all this noise?" He came to a halt as he entered the room, registering slow surprise at the belated realization that they had a guest. "Who're you? You get oudda my house!" He caught a glimpse of the boy who cowered behind her, and started for him. "Stop." The drunk man stopped in his tracks, suddenly unable to move. His eyes widened in shock and moved to look at her, the rest of his body unnaturally frozen midstride. She looked him over, and crooked her finger at the boy, pointing at the floor next to her. When he didn't move, she looked at him. "I do not ask twice." The boy came, his footsteps small and hesitant. When he stood next to her, she turned back to the frozen man. "He beats you." Not a question. The boy nodded, then, noticing that she wasn't looking at him, squeaked out a tiny "Yes". "Come." She turned and strode out of the house, and he scrambled after her, his little legs struggling to keep up. Halfway across the grass toward the woods, there was a loud thump from inside the house, followed by an angry roar. They both turned to see the man limping angrily out the door and toward them. "Stop him." The woman said, again without looking at the boy. "What?" The boy was terrified. He tugged on the woman's skirt, trying to pull her toward the woods. "Come on, he'll get us!" She didn't move. "Then he will get us." She said, still watching the man. "Unless you stop him." "I don't know how!" The man was having a difficult time walking, but he could see the fury that would be turned on him when the man reached them. "Then he will get us." She repeated. The boy looked at her, flabbergasted, before turning his attention to their pursuer. His eyebrows scrunched up on his forehead, and he put his hands out in front of him, and the man fell as if tripped. But then he got up again, and continued his pursuit. "Help!" He pleaded to the woman. She kept her eyes on the man. "There is no help." She said curtly, and turned to look into his eyes. There was a change in the air. He felt her gaze burn into him, and her voice wove into the spaces between his ribs, filling him. "It does not come from you. It comes through you. Feel it, and direct it. Know that if that man reaches you, you will die, and make. Him. Stop." She stepped back, leaving him to face the big man alone. He turned, trembling, as the man neared him, and closed his eyes. She watched as he raised his hands toward the man. Unnecessary, but not unusual. He took a deep breath, and she saw when he found it. Her lips quirked up at the corners. His dark eyes popped open, and narrowed at the man. Screaming, he unleashed a wave of power toward him, and in the blink of an eye, the man was thrown back, smacking into the wall of his house, and sliding down into a heap on the ground. The boy, still shaking to face the woman, his eyes saucers. "Did I kill him?" He whispered, and she finally allowed herself a tiny smile. "No. He will have a terrible headache when he wakes, but he will live." The boy's shoulders slumped in relief. "Come with me, and I will train you further." She told him, turning around and striding into the forest. He caught up with her as she continued to speak. "You will live with others who I teach, and you will grow in your knowledge of the natural arts. Oh, and-" She stopped and turned toward him, capturing his gaze with hers. "You will never come back here." He stood for a moment before his eyes filled with grateful tears and he threw his arms around her. She returned the hug for a split second before shaking him off. "None of that," she said, not unkindly. Then, hiding a smile, she marched off into the woods, her new apprentice trailing behind.	"You call me a witch like that's a bad thing you monster!" Hyra exclaimed "You're trying to buy my child, what would you have me call you? And what you're offering, peanuts. With a magical child I can have all you offer plus more" Hyra laughed internally, it was over, the child would be returning with her. The negotiation was now a mere formality. You see, people have tells, little ways of indicating exactly what they are thinking. This low life wasn't even clever about it. Those unwilling to sell don't haggle. The comment about offering peanuts tipped his hand. He could care less about his own child. He's not worried about the child's safety, comfort, or well being. What this scum cares about is being offered "peanuts" for his precious baby girl. It was difficult for Hyra to hold her anger in check, but she wasn't the bad guy here. She had the best interests at heart for this child. All I need to do is get this clown to agree to give up the kid, then I am out of here. Looking around she couldn't help but feel bad for these people, the way they lived was a small step above homeless. The daughter, horribly malnourished, black circles under her eyes, grossly underweight. But her eyes, those golden eyes that have her marked as magical. "Sir, let us make a deal here. You and I both know you cannot train this child to perform magic, or likely any task. So your position that you can 'have all this plus more' a little ridiculous don't you agree?" "You can't talk to me like that in my own home" "On the contrary, I am superior to you in each and every way, you are as the cockroach beneath my shoes. I can stamp you out with a flick of my wrist. You're lucky that all I want to do is to give your daughter a better life" "Yes you're altruistic, all you care about is the well being of my daughter..." This gave Hyra pause, altruistic? That was a word, looking around, she didn't expect the man would know, much less use it properly in a sentence. How could this man possibly... "Hyra Coldblood, You're under arrest for crimes against warlock kind! For the last 2 millennia you have systematically bargained for the firstborn child of many a warlock and human alike. Your crimes cannot continue" And with that he slashed his wand in the air, and her head fell cleanly from her body.
	[WP] You're a witch with a penchant to bargain for firstborn children... to adopt and train as apprentices. You've done it hundreds of times now, and considering how wretched the biological parents tend to be you're really doing the kids a favor.	\[Trigger Warning: Horrible Family Life/Parents\] Nobody knew it was a doll unless Julia told them. Some sticks and bits of grass tied up with ribbon into the general shape of a human. But it was the only toy that Julia had, and the ribbon was the only thing left she had of her mother. She clutched it to herself while she hid under the house, listening to her father fight with her evil stepmother Martha. In her head when Julia thought of her stepmother, she always added the word 'evil', even though Martha tried sometimes to take care of her. When she was sober. Julia couldn't quite hear what they were fighting about this time, but it was probably about money. Her dad had been working as a Roof Thatcher for the past two months, and should have been bringing home plenty to start saving up for the winter, but it got spent somewhere or gambled away. Things had been better when her mother was alive. She had loved Julia, calling her 'my little miracle'. Julia had loved her, too. She had never punished Julia too much when she was naughty, though she would often warn her that if she wasn't good a witch would come and take her away. She'd say that father and her had made a deal with the witch. A miracle baby of their own, but they'd had to agree to give her to the witch if she wasn't good. Julia had thrown a rock at Widow Franklin today. She sometimes did that to see if the witch would show up. But she never got caught. The fight had quieted down, that meant that her father was eating. She grabbed her doll and came out from under the house. She had to get in or she knew there would be nothing left. "Julia, you're late! And your smock is filthy." Julia barely dodged the broom that Martha threw at her. "Well, you'll be starting the laundry tomorrow. Get some stew. You missed out on bread. If I had a daughter she wouldn't go around filthy like you. And she'd help around the house, too." Julia had made the stew. And the bread. And had actually started on the laundry that morning. Martha had been missing most of the day. "But I do help around the house, Ma'am." "Don't lie to your mother, girl." Father barely looked up from his bowl. "She's not my mother! She's a fat, lazy slob and I wish I could run away." Martha gasped. Father wasn't about to defend her, so she grabbed the ladle from the stew and raised it to strike Julia. She was interrupted by a knock on the door. The door opened on its own and smoke filled the room. From a fog a figure appeared, crook-backed and haggard, dressed all in black. Martha dropped the ladle. "You," croaked Father. "But it's been so long." "You remember our agreement, then, Tarquin Redhill. I have come for the girl, your firstborn, Julia Redhill." "What is this," gasped Martha, choking on the smoke. "I am Glinda from Child Protective Sorcery. I will be taking this child away. You are not a party to the agreement, it was made with her mother and father before she was born. Come here child. I'm your guardian now." Julia stuck her doll into her smock and didn't look back. \[More at r/c_avery_m\]	"You call me a witch like that's a bad thing you monster!" Hyra exclaimed "You're trying to buy my child, what would you have me call you? And what you're offering, peanuts. With a magical child I can have all you offer plus more" Hyra laughed internally, it was over, the child would be returning with her. The negotiation was now a mere formality. You see, people have tells, little ways of indicating exactly what they are thinking. This low life wasn't even clever about it. Those unwilling to sell don't haggle. The comment about offering peanuts tipped his hand. He could care less about his own child. He's not worried about the child's safety, comfort, or well being. What this scum cares about is being offered "peanuts" for his precious baby girl. It was difficult for Hyra to hold her anger in check, but she wasn't the bad guy here. She had the best interests at heart for this child. All I need to do is get this clown to agree to give up the kid, then I am out of here. Looking around she couldn't help but feel bad for these people, the way they lived was a small step above homeless. The daughter, horribly malnourished, black circles under her eyes, grossly underweight. But her eyes, those golden eyes that have her marked as magical. "Sir, let us make a deal here. You and I both know you cannot train this child to perform magic, or likely any task. So your position that you can 'have all this plus more' a little ridiculous don't you agree?" "You can't talk to me like that in my own home" "On the contrary, I am superior to you in each and every way, you are as the cockroach beneath my shoes. I can stamp you out with a flick of my wrist. You're lucky that all I want to do is to give your daughter a better life" "Yes you're altruistic, all you care about is the well being of my daughter..." This gave Hyra pause, altruistic? That was a word, looking around, she didn't expect the man would know, much less use it properly in a sentence. How could this man possibly... "Hyra Coldblood, You're under arrest for crimes against warlock kind! For the last 2 millennia you have systematically bargained for the firstborn child of many a warlock and human alike. Your crimes cannot continue" And with that he slashed his wand in the air, and her head fell cleanly from her body.
	[WP] You're a witch with a penchant to bargain for firstborn children... to adopt and train as apprentices. You've done it hundreds of times now, and considering how wretched the biological parents tend to be you're really doing the kids a favor.	"I am very careful-" I begin, fixing the man across the table with a look that was at once uncompromising and empathetic. "-to never demand it in return for... vital services. I won't ask for a firstborn to save a life, to repair a limb, or anything like that. Just..." A frown grows across my face as I try to come up with an example that fits, but my drinking partner interrupts me. "Sounds a lot like excuses to me." He replied, leaning back. I wasn't usually one to keep the company of locals when I visited a tavern, but on occasion someone approaches me that's either interesting enough to catch my attention or lucky enough to have caught me while particularly bored. This one had offered his name, but I hadn't bothered to remember it. He was firmly in the second camp, but he had brought drinks with him, so it was the least I could do to entertain his questions. And his interruptions. I shrug, the contents of my tankard sloshing around with the movement of the motion. "I don't need excuses, it's legal in most kingdoms. But you asked how I justify it, and I'm answering your question." I narrow my eyes and look off towards the ceiling as I try to find my train of thought. "Right, anyway, last month I visited the city just down the river, near the coast, you know the one. So I was there, and this Duke approached me asking me to help with his buisness fortunes. At first I was willing to cut him a pretty fair deal, but he was an asshole. Kept pushing for more and more and more, and refused to offer decent coin for my trouble, so I offered him an alternative deal." "He took it?" The man tilted his head, curious though not quite yet convinced. "I wouldn't be telling you about it if he didn't. Simple deal: His first born son for some pretty powerful enchantments and such. I held up my end of the deal, he held up his." I let out a sigh. "I almost feel bad for him." "The kid? You're the on-" "No, not the kid. Gods, not the kid. He's much better off now than he was before. You should've seen how that oaf treated his own flesh and blood." I lean across the table and lower my voice till it's no longer audible over the din of the tavern. "It's usually nobles that jump at it, and they can be nasty pieces of work. Besides, no-one willing to hand over their own children for something like that cares much about them. It shouldn't surprise you that they get treated like shit. I've been doing this for hundreds of years now and-" "Wait, just how old are you?" The man shirks back with an expression on his face that could be produced either by eating a lemon or suddenly realising that you were (poorly) attempting to court a woman 300 years your senior. He was firmly in the second camp. "Don't you know it's rude to ask a woman her age? Or interrupt people?" I give him a stern look, and he replies with what I take to be apologetic silence. "My point was - is that if you're willing to give up your child for something that petty you don't treat them well to begin with. Frankly, they're better off with me." "So... what do you do with them?" He asks, a little more cautiously now. "I raise them, usually with the help of prior students. Teach them magic. Once they come of age, they're free to do whatever they'd like... and I suppose if they wanted, they could just run away. Doesn't happen too often though." "The parents ever come looking for them?" "That happens more often, but probably less often than you'd think, and when it does it usually settles itself. After a week or two, the children find that they don't much feel like leaving to rejoin their families." I look to each side, to make sure no-one was watching to listen in, before lowering my voice again. "Besides, for clients like that? They get a... karmic outcome from my magic. Seems only fitting. I am a witch, after all."	"You call me a witch like that's a bad thing you monster!" Hyra exclaimed "You're trying to buy my child, what would you have me call you? And what you're offering, peanuts. With a magical child I can have all you offer plus more" Hyra laughed internally, it was over, the child would be returning with her. The negotiation was now a mere formality. You see, people have tells, little ways of indicating exactly what they are thinking. This low life wasn't even clever about it. Those unwilling to sell don't haggle. The comment about offering peanuts tipped his hand. He could care less about his own child. He's not worried about the child's safety, comfort, or well being. What this scum cares about is being offered "peanuts" for his precious baby girl. It was difficult for Hyra to hold her anger in check, but she wasn't the bad guy here. She had the best interests at heart for this child. All I need to do is get this clown to agree to give up the kid, then I am out of here. Looking around she couldn't help but feel bad for these people, the way they lived was a small step above homeless. The daughter, horribly malnourished, black circles under her eyes, grossly underweight. But her eyes, those golden eyes that have her marked as magical. "Sir, let us make a deal here. You and I both know you cannot train this child to perform magic, or likely any task. So your position that you can 'have all this plus more' a little ridiculous don't you agree?" "You can't talk to me like that in my own home" "On the contrary, I am superior to you in each and every way, you are as the cockroach beneath my shoes. I can stamp you out with a flick of my wrist. You're lucky that all I want to do is to give your daughter a better life" "Yes you're altruistic, all you care about is the well being of my daughter..." This gave Hyra pause, altruistic? That was a word, looking around, she didn't expect the man would know, much less use it properly in a sentence. How could this man possibly... "Hyra Coldblood, You're under arrest for crimes against warlock kind! For the last 2 millennia you have systematically bargained for the firstborn child of many a warlock and human alike. Your crimes cannot continue" And with that he slashed his wand in the air, and her head fell cleanly from her body.
	[WP] You're a witch with a penchant to bargain for firstborn children... to adopt and train as apprentices. You've done it hundreds of times now, and considering how wretched the biological parents tend to be you're really doing the kids a favor.	Walking around the marketplace, Rhiannon paused to peer closely at a cart of turnips. She had only been in this town for a few weeks, but the last time she'd gone to the market, one of her potatoes had been moldy. This time, she would be more careful. Carefully selecting one of the root vegetables, she lifted it up to eye level for closer inspection. Then, a tug at her pocket. Whipping around, she snatched her wallet back. Rhiannon was wearing her robes and hat today, and her familiar, Kaya, prowled by her side. Who would be stupid enough to steal from a witch? Opening her mouth, she prepared to unleash a spell that would curse the victim to jingle whenever they walked for the next month. No more innocent pockets would be picked. Rhiannon quickly stopped when she saw the perpetrator. A small girl, likely not even eight years of age. Large almond eyes, one with pale purple bruising around the edges. Too terrified to speak, the girl stood stock-still. In a flash, Rhiannon was reminded of Kaya ten years ago, caught in the cruel snare. Tentatively, she stretched out a hand. "I won't hurt you," she said, softly. "What's your name?" Startled from her momentary paralysis, the girl fled. Rhiannon cursed, trying to figure out whether or not to pursue. "That would be Caro," the turnip vendor grumbled. "She's stolen from quite a few of my customers. I myself have caught her nicking some of my turnips. But I let her have 'em. Goodness knows she's got a hard enough life with those brutes for parents. They're probably taking whatever she manages to steal, anyways." "Parents, you say," Rhiannon murmured. "Where could I find these parents? What are their names?" The shop owner crossed himself warily. "This won't get back to them if I tell you, will it?" Rhiannon stroked Kaya absentmindedly, thinking of her own childhood from many years ago. "No," she answered. "No, it won't." "They run the casino in the shady part of town. Lars and Brenda Vickerman." "Thanks much," Rhiannon replied, flipping him a copper coin. "I'll be on my way, then." \-------- [/r/theBasiliskWrites/](https://www.reddit.com/r/theBasiliskWrites/)	"You call me a witch like that's a bad thing you monster!" Hyra exclaimed "You're trying to buy my child, what would you have me call you? And what you're offering, peanuts. With a magical child I can have all you offer plus more" Hyra laughed internally, it was over, the child would be returning with her. The negotiation was now a mere formality. You see, people have tells, little ways of indicating exactly what they are thinking. This low life wasn't even clever about it. Those unwilling to sell don't haggle. The comment about offering peanuts tipped his hand. He could care less about his own child. He's not worried about the child's safety, comfort, or well being. What this scum cares about is being offered "peanuts" for his precious baby girl. It was difficult for Hyra to hold her anger in check, but she wasn't the bad guy here. She had the best interests at heart for this child. All I need to do is get this clown to agree to give up the kid, then I am out of here. Looking around she couldn't help but feel bad for these people, the way they lived was a small step above homeless. The daughter, horribly malnourished, black circles under her eyes, grossly underweight. But her eyes, those golden eyes that have her marked as magical. "Sir, let us make a deal here. You and I both know you cannot train this child to perform magic, or likely any task. So your position that you can 'have all this plus more' a little ridiculous don't you agree?" "You can't talk to me like that in my own home" "On the contrary, I am superior to you in each and every way, you are as the cockroach beneath my shoes. I can stamp you out with a flick of my wrist. You're lucky that all I want to do is to give your daughter a better life" "Yes you're altruistic, all you care about is the well being of my daughter..." This gave Hyra pause, altruistic? That was a word, looking around, she didn't expect the man would know, much less use it properly in a sentence. How could this man possibly... "Hyra Coldblood, You're under arrest for crimes against warlock kind! For the last 2 millennia you have systematically bargained for the firstborn child of many a warlock and human alike. Your crimes cannot continue" And with that he slashed his wand in the air, and her head fell cleanly from her body.
	[WP] You're a witch with a penchant to bargain for firstborn children... to adopt and train as apprentices. You've done it hundreds of times now, and considering how wretched the biological parents tend to be you're really doing the kids a favor.	\[Trigger Warning: Horrible Family Life/Parents\] Nobody knew it was a doll unless Julia told them. Some sticks and bits of grass tied up with ribbon into the general shape of a human. But it was the only toy that Julia had, and the ribbon was the only thing left she had of her mother. She clutched it to herself while she hid under the house, listening to her father fight with her evil stepmother Martha. In her head when Julia thought of her stepmother, she always added the word 'evil', even though Martha tried sometimes to take care of her. When she was sober. Julia couldn't quite hear what they were fighting about this time, but it was probably about money. Her dad had been working as a Roof Thatcher for the past two months, and should have been bringing home plenty to start saving up for the winter, but it got spent somewhere or gambled away. Things had been better when her mother was alive. She had loved Julia, calling her 'my little miracle'. Julia had loved her, too. She had never punished Julia too much when she was naughty, though she would often warn her that if she wasn't good a witch would come and take her away. She'd say that father and her had made a deal with the witch. A miracle baby of their own, but they'd had to agree to give her to the witch if she wasn't good. Julia had thrown a rock at Widow Franklin today. She sometimes did that to see if the witch would show up. But she never got caught. The fight had quieted down, that meant that her father was eating. She grabbed her doll and came out from under the house. She had to get in or she knew there would be nothing left. "Julia, you're late! And your smock is filthy." Julia barely dodged the broom that Martha threw at her. "Well, you'll be starting the laundry tomorrow. Get some stew. You missed out on bread. If I had a daughter she wouldn't go around filthy like you. And she'd help around the house, too." Julia had made the stew. And the bread. And had actually started on the laundry that morning. Martha had been missing most of the day. "But I do help around the house, Ma'am." "Don't lie to your mother, girl." Father barely looked up from his bowl. "She's not my mother! She's a fat, lazy slob and I wish I could run away." Martha gasped. Father wasn't about to defend her, so she grabbed the ladle from the stew and raised it to strike Julia. She was interrupted by a knock on the door. The door opened on its own and smoke filled the room. From a fog a figure appeared, crook-backed and haggard, dressed all in black. Martha dropped the ladle. "You," croaked Father. "But it's been so long." "You remember our agreement, then, Tarquin Redhill. I have come for the girl, your firstborn, Julia Redhill." "What is this," gasped Martha, choking on the smoke. "I am Glinda from Child Protective Sorcery. I will be taking this child away. You are not a party to the agreement, it was made with her mother and father before she was born. Come here child. I'm your guardian now." Julia stuck her doll into her smock and didn't look back. \[More at r/c_avery_m\]	The door opened unaided as she stepped up the wooden stairs. Not pausing for a moment, she walked across the moonlit threshold, her movements loud in the dark of the night. She made no effort to silence the thud of her heel or the creaking of the dusty wood floor. She looked straight into the corner, finding her quarry huddled against the cold stone. The boy was about six years old and tiny, his thin frame lost in the filthy nightclothes he wore. He cowered away from the intruder, and her stern eyebrows rose on her pale forehead. "You called for me." It wasn't a question. Her sharp voice sliced through the air, straight to the back of the house. The boy's large dark eyes widened at the noise of someone waking up. Roused from his position, he bolted for the door, hissing at her. "Come on, he's coming!" The woman stood her ground, her eyebrow ticking up again. "We will not." She said, beckoning him with a finger. He stopped at the door, panic in his eyes as he looked down the hall behind her. She turned. The noises in the back had solidified into a large man, stumbling down the hall toward them. "Boy!" He bellowed drunkenly. "Wha's all this noise?" He came to a halt as he entered the room, registering slow surprise at the belated realization that they had a guest. "Who're you? You get oudda my house!" He caught a glimpse of the boy who cowered behind her, and started for him. "Stop." The drunk man stopped in his tracks, suddenly unable to move. His eyes widened in shock and moved to look at her, the rest of his body unnaturally frozen midstride. She looked him over, and crooked her finger at the boy, pointing at the floor next to her. When he didn't move, she looked at him. "I do not ask twice." The boy came, his footsteps small and hesitant. When he stood next to her, she turned back to the frozen man. "He beats you." Not a question. The boy nodded, then, noticing that she wasn't looking at him, squeaked out a tiny "Yes". "Come." She turned and strode out of the house, and he scrambled after her, his little legs struggling to keep up. Halfway across the grass toward the woods, there was a loud thump from inside the house, followed by an angry roar. They both turned to see the man limping angrily out the door and toward them. "Stop him." The woman said, again without looking at the boy. "What?" The boy was terrified. He tugged on the woman's skirt, trying to pull her toward the woods. "Come on, he'll get us!" She didn't move. "Then he will get us." She said, still watching the man. "Unless you stop him." "I don't know how!" The man was having a difficult time walking, but he could see the fury that would be turned on him when the man reached them. "Then he will get us." She repeated. The boy looked at her, flabbergasted, before turning his attention to their pursuer. His eyebrows scrunched up on his forehead, and he put his hands out in front of him, and the man fell as if tripped. But then he got up again, and continued his pursuit. "Help!" He pleaded to the woman. She kept her eyes on the man. "There is no help." She said curtly, and turned to look into his eyes. There was a change in the air. He felt her gaze burn into him, and her voice wove into the spaces between his ribs, filling him. "It does not come from you. It comes through you. Feel it, and direct it. Know that if that man reaches you, you will die, and make. Him. Stop." She stepped back, leaving him to face the big man alone. He turned, trembling, as the man neared him, and closed his eyes. She watched as he raised his hands toward the man. Unnecessary, but not unusual. He took a deep breath, and she saw when he found it. Her lips quirked up at the corners. His dark eyes popped open, and narrowed at the man. Screaming, he unleashed a wave of power toward him, and in the blink of an eye, the man was thrown back, smacking into the wall of his house, and sliding down into a heap on the ground. The boy, still shaking to face the woman, his eyes saucers. "Did I kill him?" He whispered, and she finally allowed herself a tiny smile. "No. He will have a terrible headache when he wakes, but he will live." The boy's shoulders slumped in relief. "Come with me, and I will train you further." She told him, turning around and striding into the forest. He caught up with her as she continued to speak. "You will live with others who I teach, and you will grow in your knowledge of the natural arts. Oh, and-" She stopped and turned toward him, capturing his gaze with hers. "You will never come back here." He stood for a moment before his eyes filled with grateful tears and he threw his arms around her. She returned the hug for a split second before shaking him off. "None of that," she said, not unkindly. Then, hiding a smile, she marched off into the woods, her new apprentice trailing behind.
	[WP] One day you help an old lady cross the road. The next day, you find three old ladies waiting in the same spot, seeking your help. It's now day eight and you need to figure out how to help 932 old ladies cross the road before work.	I could hear the beep of the crosswalk signal, it is letting the old blind lady know that it's time to cross the busy intersection. As she steps onto the crisp white lines painted in the crosswalk I hear the loud roar of a 60s muscle car approach, I grab the elderly woman's shoulder and pull her back off the road. "Watch out!" I shrieked, she stepped back just as the dark green car blew by, I could feel the thunder of the motor in my chest, making it hard to breathe. "Thank you!" says the woman. She insists on giving me a dollar, and asking if I can escort her across the street. I tell her that I would love to, and we carefully stroll across the junction. I finish my hike to the office and excitedly tell my coworkers what happened, they ask about all the details and everyone is thankful that I happened to be there to save the old lady's life. The next day, I get to the intersection where the previous days events occurred. This time there are 3 old ladies waiting. I greet the ladies and they all thank me for helping out yesterday. We all walk across the intersection without incident, but each lady gave me a dollar, I tried to refuse but they wouldn't let me not accept it. Day 3, according to my theory, there should be 9 ladies at the intersection. I get there and no one is to be found. I make my hike to work and have a pretty good day. Nothing unusual happened for the next 4 days. I still think about the old ladies every time I cross the intersection and kind of miss them at times. Day 8... WTF, I get to the intersection and there is a mob. Almost a thousand old ladies are walking around and when I get there they start clapping. The original blind old lady comes up to me and thanks me again, she said that all of her retirement community wanted to meet me. She states that they all want to be helped across the street. I agree, and they form a straight line going back several blocks. One at a time I help each lady cross, I'm drenched in sweat and my pockets are bulging from all the dollar bills they are giving. 929.. 930.. 931.. Finally, I'm at the last old lady, but something is different. She tells me that the community is grateful for my heroism and they have a gift for me. The dark green muscle car rumbles up to the intersection and an elderly man wearing dark black sunglasses gets out, he gets out of the car with a disgusted look on his face and hands me the keys. "Here, it's yours now!?!!" he shouts. The old ladies then tell him to walk back to the community, he's no longer allowed to drive.	On one Sunday morning, I had helped an old woman cross the street. She was very sweet, walking to church as she said she only lived a block away. I was happy to help, of course. Monday morning on my daily walk, I encountered the same nice woman with two other friends of hers. We chatted along the way as I helped them across. The next day, there were even more women. I had only assumed that this old woman I helped was very lucky to have so many wonderful friends. Then it just started getting weird. Day after day, more and more little old ladies. I helped them the best I could, acting as a cross guard if sorts to let them pass across. On the eighth day, what the hell. There had to be like, 900 women. Maybe more. This was a small town, why the hell are there so many old women here? Nonetheless, I didn't know what to do other than my daily duty and help them cross the street. Towards the tail end of the group, someone pulled me into the slow mob. Another old woman, a foot smaller than I, pinched my cheek and took my arm to follow. I had been so kept with escorting the women that I wasn't even thinking about what they were doing where they were. Church, yes, but hundreds of people that the small church house couldn't possibly handle. The group slowly filed into the church and into its basement. I didn't even know it had a basement! Taking a look around, my eyes adjusting to the dark, I could see that this church basement turned to a long hallway. The women held lit candles with them. "Sweetie," the one who pulled me away called. "Congratulations!" "Uhh... congratulations for what?" "Being chosen!" She shouted. The surrounding women hollered "Amen!" In response. She saw the massive confusion on my face and chortled. "You were the only one to help all of us across the street." She explained. "No one else helps us after around 30 or so." "I... what?" "You have the kindest heart for miles, dear. You were chosen! Hallelujah!" The others chanted more "Amen!"s and "Hallelujah!"s. She came and pinched my cheek again. "Welcome to the revolution!"
	[WP] A dragon found a baby human in the woods. However since they are incapable of caring for a human child they decide the best way to help is to simply bring a human to raise them. This is where you come in, as you and your house are now being carried hundreds of feet above the ground by a dragon.	"That was very rude," I said, folding my arms. What care do I have for human social customs? was the response from the dragon. The sound she made was a thundering grumble so low it was more akin to vibration than true sound, but the meaning was loud and clear in my head. "That's just not how you ask for help. You don't just lift my house up into the sky like that," I said, glaring straight at her eyes. Please, rumbled the dragon, mind-voice positively dripping with cynicism. You call that a house? "Okay, that was just insulting," I huffed. Sure, my house was barely a wooden shed with two rooms, but I had worked hard on it. "Look at the state of it! All my hard work, ruined by a dragon who doesn't understand what knocking is." This was quicker, came the rumbling reply. I had need for your expertise, so I brought you here, she huffed, blowing a gust of hot air at me that nearly knocked me off my feet. "I ought to teach you a lesson or two, you old hag of a dragon," I said. You can try, human, she said, standing to her full size, dwarfing me even further. I drew power to my fists. I'd tangled with dragons before. I could take her. Probably. We were interrupted by the muffled sound of a crying child. It was so unexpected that I released the energy I had built up in my fists to turn around and look for the source of it. "What was that?" I asked, puzzled. You never let me finish, said the dragon. I found a human hatchling in the woods whilst hunting. I was unsure how to proceed, and thus I fetched you. She moved aside and opened a treasure chest that was lying on her hoard of treasures. Inside, there was a crying baby. "You put a baby in a chest? Are you crazy?" I asked, rushing to the treasure chest and smacking aside a claw that was uncomfortably close to the soft, vulnerable skin of the baby. "I really should have pummeled you." You would have tried, grumbled the dragon. Though I seem to recall the last time we fought, you ended up bedridden for a week, Destin. "I went easy on you," I replied, carefully picking up the child. She was remarkably okay for having been stuffed into a chest by a dragon. The treasure chest's lid seemed to have been perforated for air holes, so at least she wasn't at any risk of asphyxiation. The dragon snorted, sending another rush of hot air which only served to make the baby cry even louder. I winced at the sound and turned to glare at the dragon. "Don't do that," I said, rocking the child to try to calm her, to no avail. ...My apologies, she rumbled. I did not mean to upset the hatchling. Oddly enough, the dragon's rumbling seemed to calm the baby down somewhat, though she was still crying. "She's hungry," I said. I have a goat I hunted just last night, she said, turning to grab said goat and unceremoniously dropping its carcass right in front of me. "That is not what babies eat," I said matter-of-factly. That is not something I would have known. This would be a suitable source of nutrition for a hatchling dragon, she grumbled. This is why I required your assistance. "I'm a man of many talents, but child-raising is not one of them. Though I might have something in my house that will feed her," I said, starting towards the ruined wooden building. Shed, came the response. I whirled around and narrowed my eyes at the dragon. "You really want to fight me don't you, dragon?" I asked. I do have a name, you know. I wish you would use it, replied the dragon. "Yeah, I would, if it weren't just a bunch of rumbling dragon noises. I can't actually make those sounds, so I'll just call you the dragon," I responded, turning back towards my house to hopefully feed the hungry child in my arms. --- I didn't expect to stay long with the dragon and the baby, but she absolutely refused to part with the baby. Something about how a dragon never willingly relinquishes anything from its hoard. And I was definitely not going to leave a child in the claws of a dragon of all creatures. I also now had no home to return to, so I ended up setting up in the dragon's cave while rebuilding my house. I rebuilt it sturdier, with help from the dragon's magic. I also made sure that it could be grabbed by the dragon without it being destroyed since I had planned on having her move it back once I was done. Meanwhile, I sought the child's parents. The dragon would have relented if she truly was an ill-gotten treasure. Or I would have made her. I visited every town within a reasonable distance, tracked down every person who may have had a baby in the last year or two in the hopes that someone would claim this child. There were many leads, but all of them led to dead ends. A year after arriving, I had finally exhausted every avenue in my search. The child's parents were either dead or had never existed in the first place. Or knew it was her when I showed up and didn't claim her, I thought bitterly. It wasn't unheard of, and if she was found in the woods, chances were high that she had been abandoned. It was an ugly possibility to consider, but an increasingly likely one. I wasn't sure what to do. What could I do? If I left them, the kid wouldn't survive. She was only learning to walk, she couldn't take care of herself with the very limited help the dragon could provide. I didn't want to just take her and go, either. The dragon might have considered me a friend, but I couldn't count on that to stop her from trying to kill me for stealing from her. I was confident in my strength, but it was still a 60-40 chance that I would die if I fought her to the death. Or I could stay, live out the best years of my life in this cave taking care of an abandoned child. Fortunately or unfortunately, the decision would be taken from my hands. One night, a column of knights appeared, nearly fifty in total, riding towards the cave. They weren't exactly subtle about it, and we both sensed their approach long before they arrived. I cursed. There were always knights who thought that dragons were a prize to hunt rather than actual sentient beings. Heads filled with tales of glory from an age where we warred with elves and enslaved anything that wasn't us. It was despicable and still a widely held belief. We might have been fine facing twenty, even thirty knights. But fifty fully trained and armoured knights? That was not a fight we could win. "Dragon," I said. She turned her head to look at me. "We don't stand a chance." Agreed, she said. "I believe we should run. I can take the kid, and you can take to the skies," I said. No, she replied. We will leave together. The dragon craned her neck to gently nudge the child, who had been sleeping curled up next to the dragon's warm belly. They had both surprisingly taken to each other very strongly. The girl rolled around and sat up, blinking the sleep from her eyes. I picked her up and went into the rebuilt house, closing the door behind me. A few moments later, the building lurched to one side as the dragon picked it up, lifting us into the air, the air displaced by the beating of her wings rattling the walls around us. It was, frankly, terrifying, though the child shrieked with joy and began giggling giddily, the little monster. --- "Didn't you say you'd never give up a treasure from your hoard?" I asked. The response was just a grumble. No meaning to it, just an earth-shaking rumble. "You know, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you liked us," I continued, a note of smugness finding its way into my voice. The dragon lifted her head, turned it so that it was facing away from me, then dropped it again. "Oh, come on, don't be like that. I'm only messing around. It must have been hard to leave all that treasure behind," I said, patting her neck. After a few moments of silence, I admitted defeat and sat back down, the child running up to me clutching a handful of leaves that she thought were very interesting. It had been four months since we had left the cave. We had made a habit of setting down for a few nights, maybe a week or two, then taking flight again, looking for a more permanent place to settle. We were currently in a meadow. The dragon hadn't seemed too happy at first, leaving her treasure behind like that. It had doubtless been sacked by those knights already, so there was little point in going back and possibly running into a trap they had left behind. The only good thing to come of the whole situation was that we finally named the girl. Sky, due to the fact that she always seemed to be giddy with exhilaration every time we took to the skies. It wasn't, the dragon rumbled after a few minutes. "It wasn't what?" I asked, looking up from braiding Sky's hair, the context of the previous conversation long gone from my head. It wasn't difficult to leave my treasure, she rumbled sulkily. I had thought it would be more so. But in the end, I abandoned it without much difficulty or guilt. "So you've been sulking this whole time because you're feeling guilty about not feeling guilty?" I asked. I have not been sulking, she huffed indignantly. I have been contemplating. "Oh? About what?" I queried. Among dragons, the instinct to collect and hoard is great. We spend our lives collecting treasure and keeping it closely guarded because we know, deep in our bones, that we will one day find one piece of treasure that is worth giving our soul for. For that one thing, we would sacrifice all in this world, she explained. I am an old dragon. I have searched for many centuries for my own soul's treasure. Most dragons will die without finding theirs. All dragons know this. Yet we search. And I searched. The dragon lifted her head now, turning to look at Sky. Sky squealed and ran off to hug the dragon's snout, undoing all the work I had done on her braid. The dragon looked back at her with such care in her eyes. I just never imagined that the treasure of my soul could be a human child.	For a house that was always roaming through the vast wilderness, movement was a known and often unnoticed thing. Had a mind of its own, really. Sometimes it wanted to stand proud on the side of a mountain. Other times it walked to the lake to cool its splayed feet at the water's edge. Or maybe it wanted to squat down and rest a while. Today, it's feet were scrambling and frantic in the air, panicking at the inability to find purchase. By the time she noticed, they had become quite high up in the air and she had nearly fallen walking out the front door. From her thin, old lips spilled a string of curses so terrible and foul that demons would faint in shock had they heard them. By the sound of beating wings coming from overhead, she knew exactly what had happened to her frantic home. Or more accurately, who had happened. Summoning her mortar, she hopped into it impatiently, using pestle to steer herself upward to face the nuisance who'd all but ruined her day. "Marwvyr, you great, scale-brained snake!" she called just before coming into his range of view. Her voice boomed and carried farther than it should through the sounds of wind and wing. "Ah, there you are!" he sounded quite pleased. "Here I am!" the old woman seethed. "Wondering why we're surrounded by as much air as is in your head!" The dragon laughed, the windows of her home rattling from the vibration. "I knew you'd be mad, but you would have refused my request if I asked. Sometimes asking forgiveness is better than seeking permission." "I'm going to boil your innards in my next pot of soup if you don't put my house down this instant!" "Don't be like that. I didn't have anyone else to turn to, and you said you'd owe me a Favor after I lit the fire in your hearth while you were sick a few Winters back." "I never should have made a Promise about it!" she wailed in fury. "Fine! I will hear your Favor and honor my Promise." "Great! Because we are here now," the dragon offered a toothy grin before circling downwards. His descent to the ground was long and slow for care of the struggling house, which upon setting feet on loamy soil caused it to drop into a squat with a small shiver. The old woman landed beside her house and stroked the wood timber fondly. "There, there, my love. Be a good lad and stay put while I sort this out." A shrill cry cut through the air that made the old woman whirl on the dragon. "What is that!?" The dragon angled his head toward the woods to the south. "A human hatchling. Twenty paces south on the large rock." "By the deepest pits of the otherworld, why do you have a child!?" she hissed, striding forward. "And I see the edge of rock through the trees but that is most definitely not twenty paces." "Not with your puny little human legs it isn't," the dragon snorted. "I meant proper paces." "You're an overgrown newt and have no respect!" she scoffed, stepping back into her mortar to glide over the ground towards the sound of wailing. "Well, you're a mother now," the dragon laughed, following behind. The old woman looked over her shoulder with a menacing glare. "No, don't you dare-" "By Promise made and bound, I invoke my favor, Baba Yaga. Take care of the hatchling and raise it to adulthood," the dragon spoke in a gloating tone. "By Promise made and bound, I honor the Favor called upon me by Marwvyr, Guardian of the Wooded Wild," she replied through clenched teeth. "I hope you choke on your tongue, you insufferable beast!" The dragon grinned in deep satisfaction as she retrieved the infant, taking it in one arm and steering her pestle with the other hand. "Wipe that smug look off your face." "Don't be like that, my dear," he laughed. "I'm just happy that you will not be alone. Such reclusion is not good for you." "I get visitors all the time," she sniffed. "You get leeches looking for favors who you exchange for impossible quests," he snorted. "You have no true companions of your kind." "Not too many thousands of years old witches about. There aren't any of my kind," she sighed. "Meddling wyrm." Returning to her house, she stepped out of her mortar and peered down into the face of the infant. Warm in her arms, the wails had ceased and in their place wondrous blue eyes studied her old, wrinkled face. And then it smiled. With a sigh, she stepped into her home. "Marwvyr, if i see you anytime soon I'm going to take your wings as trophies. It would be wise to steer clear of both me and Marja until I find time to forgive you." "Marja?" he grinned his toothy grin. The witch looked over her shoulder and smiled. "The child's name." And then she slammed the door in his face for the house to walk away.
	[WP] A dragon found a baby human in the woods. However since they are incapable of caring for a human child they decide the best way to help is to simply bring a human to raise them. This is where you come in, as you and your house are now being carried hundreds of feet above the ground by a dragon.	"That was very rude," I said, folding my arms. What care do I have for human social customs? was the response from the dragon. The sound she made was a thundering grumble so low it was more akin to vibration than true sound, but the meaning was loud and clear in my head. "That's just not how you ask for help. You don't just lift my house up into the sky like that," I said, glaring straight at her eyes. Please, rumbled the dragon, mind-voice positively dripping with cynicism. You call that a house? "Okay, that was just insulting," I huffed. Sure, my house was barely a wooden shed with two rooms, but I had worked hard on it. "Look at the state of it! All my hard work, ruined by a dragon who doesn't understand what knocking is." This was quicker, came the rumbling reply. I had need for your expertise, so I brought you here, she huffed, blowing a gust of hot air at me that nearly knocked me off my feet. "I ought to teach you a lesson or two, you old hag of a dragon," I said. You can try, human, she said, standing to her full size, dwarfing me even further. I drew power to my fists. I'd tangled with dragons before. I could take her. Probably. We were interrupted by the muffled sound of a crying child. It was so unexpected that I released the energy I had built up in my fists to turn around and look for the source of it. "What was that?" I asked, puzzled. You never let me finish, said the dragon. I found a human hatchling in the woods whilst hunting. I was unsure how to proceed, and thus I fetched you. She moved aside and opened a treasure chest that was lying on her hoard of treasures. Inside, there was a crying baby. "You put a baby in a chest? Are you crazy?" I asked, rushing to the treasure chest and smacking aside a claw that was uncomfortably close to the soft, vulnerable skin of the baby. "I really should have pummeled you." You would have tried, grumbled the dragon. Though I seem to recall the last time we fought, you ended up bedridden for a week, Destin. "I went easy on you," I replied, carefully picking up the child. She was remarkably okay for having been stuffed into a chest by a dragon. The treasure chest's lid seemed to have been perforated for air holes, so at least she wasn't at any risk of asphyxiation. The dragon snorted, sending another rush of hot air which only served to make the baby cry even louder. I winced at the sound and turned to glare at the dragon. "Don't do that," I said, rocking the child to try to calm her, to no avail. ...My apologies, she rumbled. I did not mean to upset the hatchling. Oddly enough, the dragon's rumbling seemed to calm the baby down somewhat, though she was still crying. "She's hungry," I said. I have a goat I hunted just last night, she said, turning to grab said goat and unceremoniously dropping its carcass right in front of me. "That is not what babies eat," I said matter-of-factly. That is not something I would have known. This would be a suitable source of nutrition for a hatchling dragon, she grumbled. This is why I required your assistance. "I'm a man of many talents, but child-raising is not one of them. Though I might have something in my house that will feed her," I said, starting towards the ruined wooden building. Shed, came the response. I whirled around and narrowed my eyes at the dragon. "You really want to fight me don't you, dragon?" I asked. I do have a name, you know. I wish you would use it, replied the dragon. "Yeah, I would, if it weren't just a bunch of rumbling dragon noises. I can't actually make those sounds, so I'll just call you the dragon," I responded, turning back towards my house to hopefully feed the hungry child in my arms. --- I didn't expect to stay long with the dragon and the baby, but she absolutely refused to part with the baby. Something about how a dragon never willingly relinquishes anything from its hoard. And I was definitely not going to leave a child in the claws of a dragon of all creatures. I also now had no home to return to, so I ended up setting up in the dragon's cave while rebuilding my house. I rebuilt it sturdier, with help from the dragon's magic. I also made sure that it could be grabbed by the dragon without it being destroyed since I had planned on having her move it back once I was done. Meanwhile, I sought the child's parents. The dragon would have relented if she truly was an ill-gotten treasure. Or I would have made her. I visited every town within a reasonable distance, tracked down every person who may have had a baby in the last year or two in the hopes that someone would claim this child. There were many leads, but all of them led to dead ends. A year after arriving, I had finally exhausted every avenue in my search. The child's parents were either dead or had never existed in the first place. Or knew it was her when I showed up and didn't claim her, I thought bitterly. It wasn't unheard of, and if she was found in the woods, chances were high that she had been abandoned. It was an ugly possibility to consider, but an increasingly likely one. I wasn't sure what to do. What could I do? If I left them, the kid wouldn't survive. She was only learning to walk, she couldn't take care of herself with the very limited help the dragon could provide. I didn't want to just take her and go, either. The dragon might have considered me a friend, but I couldn't count on that to stop her from trying to kill me for stealing from her. I was confident in my strength, but it was still a 60-40 chance that I would die if I fought her to the death. Or I could stay, live out the best years of my life in this cave taking care of an abandoned child. Fortunately or unfortunately, the decision would be taken from my hands. One night, a column of knights appeared, nearly fifty in total, riding towards the cave. They weren't exactly subtle about it, and we both sensed their approach long before they arrived. I cursed. There were always knights who thought that dragons were a prize to hunt rather than actual sentient beings. Heads filled with tales of glory from an age where we warred with elves and enslaved anything that wasn't us. It was despicable and still a widely held belief. We might have been fine facing twenty, even thirty knights. But fifty fully trained and armoured knights? That was not a fight we could win. "Dragon," I said. She turned her head to look at me. "We don't stand a chance." Agreed, she said. "I believe we should run. I can take the kid, and you can take to the skies," I said. No, she replied. We will leave together. The dragon craned her neck to gently nudge the child, who had been sleeping curled up next to the dragon's warm belly. They had both surprisingly taken to each other very strongly. The girl rolled around and sat up, blinking the sleep from her eyes. I picked her up and went into the rebuilt house, closing the door behind me. A few moments later, the building lurched to one side as the dragon picked it up, lifting us into the air, the air displaced by the beating of her wings rattling the walls around us. It was, frankly, terrifying, though the child shrieked with joy and began giggling giddily, the little monster. --- "Didn't you say you'd never give up a treasure from your hoard?" I asked. The response was just a grumble. No meaning to it, just an earth-shaking rumble. "You know, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you liked us," I continued, a note of smugness finding its way into my voice. The dragon lifted her head, turned it so that it was facing away from me, then dropped it again. "Oh, come on, don't be like that. I'm only messing around. It must have been hard to leave all that treasure behind," I said, patting her neck. After a few moments of silence, I admitted defeat and sat back down, the child running up to me clutching a handful of leaves that she thought were very interesting. It had been four months since we had left the cave. We had made a habit of setting down for a few nights, maybe a week or two, then taking flight again, looking for a more permanent place to settle. We were currently in a meadow. The dragon hadn't seemed too happy at first, leaving her treasure behind like that. It had doubtless been sacked by those knights already, so there was little point in going back and possibly running into a trap they had left behind. The only good thing to come of the whole situation was that we finally named the girl. Sky, due to the fact that she always seemed to be giddy with exhilaration every time we took to the skies. It wasn't, the dragon rumbled after a few minutes. "It wasn't what?" I asked, looking up from braiding Sky's hair, the context of the previous conversation long gone from my head. It wasn't difficult to leave my treasure, she rumbled sulkily. I had thought it would be more so. But in the end, I abandoned it without much difficulty or guilt. "So you've been sulking this whole time because you're feeling guilty about not feeling guilty?" I asked. I have not been sulking, she huffed indignantly. I have been contemplating. "Oh? About what?" I queried. Among dragons, the instinct to collect and hoard is great. We spend our lives collecting treasure and keeping it closely guarded because we know, deep in our bones, that we will one day find one piece of treasure that is worth giving our soul for. For that one thing, we would sacrifice all in this world, she explained. I am an old dragon. I have searched for many centuries for my own soul's treasure. Most dragons will die without finding theirs. All dragons know this. Yet we search. And I searched. The dragon lifted her head now, turning to look at Sky. Sky squealed and ran off to hug the dragon's snout, undoing all the work I had done on her braid. The dragon looked back at her with such care in her eyes. I just never imagined that the treasure of my soul could be a human child.	Part One I wake up with a start to panicking horses, and a gust of wind strong enough to rip the shutters off my bedroom window. Before I really have time to process what in the Seven Hells is happening, the house groans, cracks, and tears with a jolt that sends me tumbling from the bed and onto my ass. "Sonuva- ow," I mutter, clutching at my bulging belly and rubbing my back. Being tipped head-over-teakettle out of bed when I'm a mere month from giving birth is not my idea of rest. My kid seems to agree, squirming uncomfortably, apparently just as shaken up by the violent awakening as I am. I rub my stomach reflexively with one hand, clutching at the bed with my other for balance - the house is still creaking and groaning alarmingly, and almost seems to sway like a ship around me. A look out my window doesn't really give me a lot of confidence, either - where there's supposed to be lush woodland at the edge of the garden, there's nothing but sky. Muttering a series of choice curses under my breath, I crawl on hands and knees over the heaving floor to the window. I slowly ease myself upright, holding onto the wall for balance - then I carefully peek out the window, and look down. And very nearly lose last night's dinner, as a sense of vertigo sends my mind reeling. I swallow. "Okay," I gasp aloud, "Why the fuck is my house flying?" I take another cautious look out the window. Now that I'm closer to the open air, I notice the tell-tale, rhythmic beat of massive wings over the groaning and creaking of my tortured house. Sure enough - when I look up I see the underside of a great honkin' dragon, that's apparently decided to up and kidnap me by grabbing the entire building. While I was sleeping. "Oi!" I yell. "If you were looking for maidens to eat, you're about eight months late!" They don't even react. "Hey! Big flying lizard housenapper! Hello!?" If they can hear me over the roar of the wind and wail of a flying house, they're not giving any indication. "Your dam was a rock worm and your sire smells like a bog shambler!" Nothing. Hell with it. I'm not going to try to learn how to fly, so I'll have to get out of this the old fashioned way. Wouldn't be the first dragon I fought, won't be the last if I have anything to say about it. I get back down on all fours and laboriously - not that kind of labour - start making my way over to the storage closet. I may be retired, but every sensible adventurer keeps their gear handy for this sort of thing. As long as I can fit in the armour...
	[WP] A dragon found a baby human in the woods. However since they are incapable of caring for a human child they decide the best way to help is to simply bring a human to raise them. This is where you come in, as you and your house are now being carried hundreds of feet above the ground by a dragon.	It had started out as a fairly normal day, all things considered. I had just woken up to the light of the sun shining through the window. Tired and groggy from staying up all night. It seemed that even a vacation at a lakeside cabin couldn't break me of the habit. I believe I had continued writing for hours before retiring for the night, the stars and moon the only witnesses to my labour. The stars and moon were now replaced by clouds. Not clouds up in the sky, I should mention. A cloud right outside my window. It promptly proceeded to enter through the window, leaving me with a faceful of condensation. That was when I realised that the house might not be on the ground anymore. I only vaguely remember the feeling of bobbing up and down in the air. Then, darkness. \-------- "-AHHHH!" I awoke to see a distinctly annoyed face. "Oh," it boomed, "not you too. Are humans all this loud?" Now, what does one do when confronted with a gigantic talking reptile breathing in your face? With said reptile also displaying several rows of sharp teeth, each longer than an arm? I stared at the possibly-a-dragon for a second, mind refusing to work. Or, perhaps working too fast. A dragon. Right in front of my face. A creature of myth and legend. A creature that really looked like it was about to bite me in half. "Oh, for- Are you really-" Naturally, I fainted again. \-------- Third time's the charm, as they say. There's truth to that, I can attest. For the third time in a day, I awoke. On my bed, of course. As always. I felt a sense of deja vu. Although, I was not in my cabin this time. I was in the middle of a cave, and- "Hello." Oh, right. Big dragon. I looked up. I had lived a decent life. If I was going to die, then so be it. I only hoped to stare Death in the eye and maybe insult its mother before it took me away. Death looked... exasperated. "Human." For a brief second, I considered fainting again. Then, I noticed the dragon's increasingly annoyed expression. "Human. If you fall unconscious again, I will replace you with another of your kin." Well, that got my attention. 'Replaced' never meant anything good in my experience. I snapped my gaze up to look at the dragon. "Good," it rumbled. "I require your assistance." It motioned to the far corner of the cave. I squinted my eyes in the dim light, and saw... a baby? Yes, a human baby, asleep and laying on a bed of... paper. Liberated from my writing supplies, I could tell. I'd recognise the dense, almost illegible scrawl of my handwriting anywhere. I stare at a week's worth of work, all down the drain. It's a few seconds before I realise the dragon is waiting for an answer. "I- what?" I manage to get out. The dragon stares at me as if I'm an idiot. "It is simple, is it not? That-" It gestures again. "-is a human infant. You are a human. Unless I am mistaken, humans know how to take care of their young." "You want me to... take care of that baby? That's it?" I could feel my brain beginning to shut down again. Grand deals I could fathom. Selfish desires I could imagine. But this? "No. I am requesting that you teach me how to take care of the baby." "...I mean- alright, but just that? You're not keeping me here?" "No. I shall release you as soon as you are done with your teaching." I blinked. Then, I turned to look at my cabin, sitting right outside the cave. Its foundations were ripped up, and the cabin itself seemed to be half-broken from the stresses of being carried into the air. "...Then why the fuck did you take my whole cabin along?" The dragon had the decency to look slightly sheepish about that, at least. But only slightly. "It seemed... expedient. And more comfortable for you. Or would you rather I snatched you up like a hawk does a rabbit?" "That's not the point! I rented that cabin! I'm not going to return it like that!" "...Ah." For the first time in the conversation, the dragon paused, off balance. "If you assist me with my issue, I will... help to restore your dwelling to its former state." "How, exactly?" "...Magic?" The dragon vaguely waved its claws in the air. "Right. And you're going to tell me that you magicked up the baby too." "I did not. I found it. In the forest, without its parents around." "...Really?" "Yes." I considered it for a second. "You do realise that we have adoption services, right? Which take care of children who have lost their parents?" "I will not allow this infant to be taken away from me. I found it. It is mine." "But-" The dragon humphed. "Do you wish to have your cabin restored?" "Wha- is that blackmail? Is that what we're doing?" "No. Yes. Well, technically-" The dragon shook its head. "No, it is not relevant. The point is, you will teach me to take care of the infant." "Really? Because I could just walk away and leave you to kidnap another-" A wail pierced through the cave. Two pairs of eyes turned to the baby, now awake and crying loudly. I looked at the dragon. It stared back. The baby's cries echoed through the cave. "...Fine. I should have some milk saved up in the cabin. Let me check." "What milk is needed? Shall I acquire more?" "Cow milk, I think? But, uh, actual milk formula would probably be better. And no, please don't 'acquire' some. Not straight from the cows, anyhow. There should be a supermarket around here somewhere, but I don't think they would like a dragon appearing out of nowhere." "Ah. I shall require your assistance then." "To buy the formula? Sure, but you're paying me back for it. And how are you going to carry me...?" I turned to face the dragon's shit-eating grin. "...Oh, no. Please don't tell me-" "That would be the comfortable option, yes. Would you rather I carried you like a log of wood?" "...You better put everything back exactly where it's supposed to be." If nothing else, this was going to make for a good story. \-------- At the edge of a nearby lake, a fisherman sat, relaxing. The air was fresh, with the slightest hint of rain on the horizon. White, wispy clouds floated serenely through the light blue sky. The fisherman looked up. He did a double take. Was that-? But no, it had already vanished behind a cloud. The fisherman kept watching the sky for a minute, then two. The strange sight never reappeared. Five minutes later, he shrugged. Cast his rod again. It was probably just his imagination. There was no way he had seen a whole house flying up in the sky. Although, he had heard... \- a faint scream from up high, carried far, far away by the rushing wind. And equally faint - but no less lively - was the rumbling chuckle of a dragon in flight. \-------- Edit: My shift key seems to be particularly fickle today. Fixed the capitalisation issues. And a bit of minor editing. r/FlareWrites	The last light of day was fading as the sun dipped behind the horizon. Already, the chill of the forest evening was beginning to settle into Fafnir's bones. The babe's lips were already beginning to turn blue from the whipping winds. Fafnir remembered little about how to care for flesh and blood, for it had been many moons since he last walked the earth as a man. Recalling the warmth of his mother's embrace, he wound his sinuous coils around the babe, trying to protect it from the chilly wind. But his sharp scales scratched the child, and she began to cry. At this rate, she infant would not last the night. Abruptly, Fafnir came to a decision. Nudging a few boulders into a shoddy circle, he piled a few branches and twigs in the center. A sharp exhalation, and the tinder was ablaze. Acting quickly, Fafnir spread his powerful wings and took to the air. He would only have a few minutes before the pitch blackness of night took hold. His heart was heavy, as it had been many moons since Fafnir had seen humans near his dwelling. The nearest village was more than an hour's flight away. And besides, the village had archers, with their flinty arrows that pierced his hide like so many little needles. There. In the dying light, Fafnir's keen eyes picked out two small figures at the forest's edge. Swooping down, he picked up the two mortals, cradling them carefully. He winced at the alarmed yells and held onto them tightly, no matter how hard they struggled. Strange, that. Fafnir had not seen a mortal in his clearing in over a century, and today, there happened to be three. Fafnir would have brought the babe to them, but she was so small that he worried that with a single squirm, she would slip between his claws and fall to the hard earth below. Hurrying back to the clearing, Fafnir hoped that the girl had come to no harm in the few minutes he had been gone. \--- /r/theBasiliskWrites
	[WP] In a violent metropolis, taxidrivers don’t just get you from A to B - they also serve as your bodyguard along the way.	Call me crash cab, call me taxi raver, call me whatever the hell you want. But call me the best damn driver in this city, you hear? Because that's the truth. After all, I've been running these streets since the Concords decided to give us this nightmare paradise we call Moon City. Place is filthier than a dump. Got garbage coming out of every part of it. From the sewers to the businesses, I'll tell you that. This place is the world's greatest dumping ground. Tragic, don't you think? We get called the worst place to live. But we're the only damn city named after the moon. Makes you wonder why no one made it to the moon after those damn idiots tried all those years ago? Because we're fools, kid. We, the human race, are the greatest fools of all. But enough about that, kid. Tonight's a busy night, let me tell you. There's a kid in the back seat, all bunched up like fear's smothering him. I've seen the type before. The kind of kid that wants to run and run all the way from the bad place. Gonna have to break it to the kid at some point that you can't run from this. But hey, kids got to have a dream or two, right? What else is reality gonna crush? "Where you headed?" I ask, figure it's reasonable as my little cab roars itself to life. Real easy, these cars. Just stick the metal key in, turn it, and it purrs like a tiger. Nothing like those fancy new cars, all kitted out with biometrics. Tried boosting one from this bigwig, and let me tell you, the cops weren't happy when they found me. Thank God the cops were bigger assholes than me and riddled that hunk of junk with bullets and holes. Let me tell you, if that was a boat, then it'd be the worst damn boat ever. But my car's purring like it's ready to do murder, and whew baby, I can't wait to show Moon City what I got up my sleeve tonight. "Away," the kid says, and my face crawls up into a frown. Away? The kid wants to go away? I sigh, shaking my head. I turn around, arm around the headrest. "Hey, kid." My fingers drum against the cracked leather. "Look, I know it's a bit hard, but if you're living around here, then I don't think you wanna go away. Not that much nice stuff out on those streets, I promise." But the kid shakes his head, all exaggerated, hair flicking back and forth, back and forth. "No, we go away." I'm hearing an accent now; the words are coming out a bit too perfect, kind of like how those geezers on T.V. speak. It ain't sloppy like mine. I breathe in, letting my back rise a little. Kid's noticed. Maybe he'll come to his senses. "Look, kid. Don't want to be an asshole, but you got the funds for this?" The kid nods and pulls out a black cred card. I get quiet, my mouth's watering just lookin' at that card; I know I'm staring at the little black thing like it's made of gold. And to me, it's the closest thing possible. But my brain kicks back, reversing, turning, and reminding me of the first damn rule of Moon City. Don't trust anyone. I blow out air and shrug, splaying my hands out and raising my shoulders. "Ain't real." After all, who's gonna give a kid some obsidian card, huh? But the kid shakes his head, pushing the card towards me. "Check." He don't got that scared look anymore; his eyes are fierce with a slick determination that I don't think I could stop. I shake my head, but I grab the card. It's a dumb thing trying to run some joke of a card. Probably gonna be some fake, or it'll trick my systems, saying something stupid. Something real stupid. I almost grin, thinking how I'd do that. But that grin disappears as I see the numbers start rolling up and up and up and up. Ain't nothing prepares you for numbers that big. My mouth's gone dry, and I look back; I'm sure my eyes are wide, but I don't care. "Where'd you get this?" "It's mine." And the kid's looking smug as he looks at me. I shake my head. "Nope, ain't no kid with this kind of cash." I'm getting that warmth in my fingertips like something bad's coming. "Now tell me, whe—." My voice cuts off as I see fear in those eyes of his. I know the kind of fear. It's the kind you get whenever something comes straight at you and you can't move. And I slam my hand down, setting the car into reverse, and crash my foot down on the pedal. My little old car screeches to life and blasts it backwards, tires screaming on black concrete. I know, it might seem like a foolish thing to do. But let me tell you, fear don't lie. And I learned to trust fear after all these years. And I'd rather look like a fool nine times out of ten if it means my ass doesn't die that one time. The world's a blur as I spin my head around. The blacks and browns and neon greens and scarlet reds merge into a montage of smears. Moon City's loud, let me tell you that. And right as I look in front, finally seeing what that kid saw, I ground my teeth. Two sleek metal cars chase my little tiger, and they've got that chrome glow of speed. I huff and shake my head. "Well," I yell, pitching my voice louder than that road gale of roaring cars, "kid! Looks like you get your wish! Away it is!" After all, I'm the best damn driver in Moon City.	I pulled on my coat and sighed. Since the crime surge last year, leaving my home, something I'd once loved, had now become an activity I dreaded. Unfortunately today, I had no choice as I was out of food. I quickly opened my Nokia (all the other kinds of phones had been destroyed, thankfully this brand was seemingly indestructible) and texted the number at the top. Within seconds, a ding sounded, confirming my request for a taxi. I slide my combat boots on and grabbed my keys, which I slid into my coat pocket. Finally, I patted my other pocket, checking for the hard, black object I had come to rely on. In this day and age, a gun was worth more than diamonds. I reached my door after what seemed like an eternity. I pushed it open a crack, only for a bullet to shatter a centimetre from my eye. Slamming the door shut, I waited a few moments before trying again. This time I was greeted with nothing but silence. As I stepped out, I ducked on instinct, which proved to be lucky, as a spear sailed over my head. I scrambled over to the large group of vehicles lying directly in front of me. Zigzagging between cars to avoid any other attacks I opened my phone to see where my ride was at, as a loud boom sounded nearby. I squeezed my eyes shut as smoke started to drift towards me. I felt an arm grab me and drag me into a nearby vehicle, and felt it begin to move. Coughing, I looked up. A figure in a black ski mask was staring at me as they weaved between burning cars and trees. "Welcome to hell. We've been waiting for you."
	[WP] In a violent metropolis, taxidrivers don’t just get you from A to B - they also serve as your bodyguard along the way.	"You want me to do what!?" Fred, the taxi driver eyeballed the green young lady standing in front of him and she flung the look back at him, adding a squint. "I thought you said that you could get anybody anywhere." "Well, I can." He cleared his throat, then burst out. "But I didn't know you wanted to go through THERE." She narrowed the squint. "There's a problem with that area?" Fred, who was a brawny human looked away. He was trying to find a way to save face and fare, but ended up realizing where he was: In front of Taeris' Place. And this . . . elven green face suddenly clicked into place in his mind and he sighed."Look, it's not like I can't hold my own . . . it's just that my . . . kind . . . are not appreciated there." "I am still waiting for a good reason." The young woman very nearly looked like she was going to start tapping her foot on the polished pavement. Fred bit down on the words that wanted to escape his mouth. Taeris and his green lovely Aili weren't exactly welcome in \this\ part of town and yet here they were. Thriving. So, he accepted, against better judgement, maybe, and let her climb up on the box seat beside him. Usually customers rode inside the small wheeled contraption, but she didn't have the look of someone who wanted to ride inside. She had a small bag with her, which she put firmly in her lap and smiled sweetly at him. "Any time now." She said. Fred took a deep breath and twitched the harness leads. The fleet dragon in the traces started up at a good trot, which quickly took them out of the posh residential area and into the more commercial area. Flagstones gave way to cobble stones. Down past the market, the cobbles weren't well maintained and Fred was afraid that his dragon would trip. He didn't tell the dragon to slow down though, because he didn't like the look the loiterers had. "Ah, ma'am, maybe you oughta should get inside . . ." he trailed off at the look she gave him. She slipped a blowgun out of her bag and lay it almost invisibly in her lap. "I think I'm good." He shrugged, regretting taking this fare, and did tell his dragon to slow down a tad. Gave people time to case them better, but on the other hand, they wouldn't run into ambushes quite as fast. The first attack came in the next block over, where the street was wholly mud and rancid smells floated in the air. A young orc(probably, Fred didn't turn around to look for sure), jumped on the back of the taxi, causing the back trace to scrape in the mud. A second thug of indeterminate origins sprang up under the dragon's head, startling him. Fred snapped the reins down, hoping that it'd remind the lizard his training. The dragon, while not able to spit fire, could hold its own, what with its sharp teeth and flexible neck. All this Fred considered and did in a split moment, before an ogre jumped on his side of the taxi, shoving him across the seat, into Aili and almost pushing her off the other side of the box seat. The ogre growled then . . . shuddered? Fred didn't have time to think before he was grabbed from behind. The iron staff, which he had drawn but not used, reminded him to move. He jabbed it into the person(yep, it was an orc), and was rewarded by curses. The grip loosened enough that he freed himself and jumped to the roof of the contraption, immediately wading in and dispatching the orc, kicking him back to the street. He got back down to his box seat, dispensing of the dart stunned ogre into the street as well. He flipped the reins and the dragon stopped harrying its quarry and leaped into action. Fred had to use his iron staff only three more times, and Aili her blowgun once or twice. But then, they were through the worst - of that part of town. The neighborhood they entered was not much better, in Fred's opinion, but the streets were packed dirt, not mud, and he didn't really see any ne'er do wells. Aili gave him directions to a cottage, and he pulled up in front of it, trying not to get the wheels on the narrow sidewalk. "Are you willing to wait for me?" Aili asked, before she hopped down. Fred looked at her, away and back again. "Folks know this is Taeris' mom's house and they saw us pull up here. And they saw you keep me safe all the way over here. They won't bother you. Probably." "Even with the iron I'm packing?" She grimaced. "It's not our favorite but we don't begrudge any being their weapon to keep body and soul together." He sighed. Regretting the words he was about to say, before he even said them. "I'll wait for you." "Awesome." Aili looked up, from where she stood on the cracked pavement and tossed a small bag, which clinked, to him." It'll be worth your while. See you in a bit." Fred didn't know it, but that was the most important decision of his life. r/yoroshikuwriting	I pulled on my coat and sighed. Since the crime surge last year, leaving my home, something I'd once loved, had now become an activity I dreaded. Unfortunately today, I had no choice as I was out of food. I quickly opened my Nokia (all the other kinds of phones had been destroyed, thankfully this brand was seemingly indestructible) and texted the number at the top. Within seconds, a ding sounded, confirming my request for a taxi. I slide my combat boots on and grabbed my keys, which I slid into my coat pocket. Finally, I patted my other pocket, checking for the hard, black object I had come to rely on. In this day and age, a gun was worth more than diamonds. I reached my door after what seemed like an eternity. I pushed it open a crack, only for a bullet to shatter a centimetre from my eye. Slamming the door shut, I waited a few moments before trying again. This time I was greeted with nothing but silence. As I stepped out, I ducked on instinct, which proved to be lucky, as a spear sailed over my head. I scrambled over to the large group of vehicles lying directly in front of me. Zigzagging between cars to avoid any other attacks I opened my phone to see where my ride was at, as a loud boom sounded nearby. I squeezed my eyes shut as smoke started to drift towards me. I felt an arm grab me and drag me into a nearby vehicle, and felt it begin to move. Coughing, I looked up. A figure in a black ski mask was staring at me as they weaved between burning cars and trees. "Welcome to hell. We've been waiting for you."
	[WP] In a violent metropolis, taxidrivers don’t just get you from A to B - they also serve as your bodyguard along the way.	The Mercedes' door was flush to the exit of the hotel. They ducked through the aperture, moving from a half crouch to collapse on the cushions lining the interior. Their companion, a squirrelly boy they'd brought from the party in the projects they'd attended sniffed the air, eyes scanning opulence presented. The boy crinkled his nose. "It smells like my grandmothers house" he said disdainfully. "Patchouli. Get in, or I'll swipe for your elevator back." They scurried into the interior, a flat oval lined with ultrasuede cushions and skinny windows displaying the flittering cars passing outside. He tucked his ropey body under their offered arm, snuggling into their shoulder. After a moment, the door snapped shut and blanked out the sounds of the projects filtering from the entrance. There was the barest hint of G-force before the compensators engaged. It gave them the feeling of soaring, like the jets of a bygone age at cruising altitude. Lights dimmed from exposing white to a deep rusty orange and the windows became flat black. A soft, husky voice with a hint of Saudi sprawl accent came from all around them. "We are headed south on I-6219 at present, passing under the northeastern metropolitan reservoir. May I have your heading please?" "Where are we going, Sam?" The boy's voice held a twitch of terror. He had come here on a whim, not intending to upend his life and one bedroom project flat. He was just after some strange with an interesting person, drawn by their flowing amethyst blouse and the gently shimmering Audemars Piguet fastened around their wrist. The scent of money was thick about them, and the boy named Allen knew that scent better than most. Sam turned their gaze to Allen, smiling. "Paris?" He immediately squirmed and they patted his shoulder knowingly. "Too far. How about Maine? I've got some friends with a schooner we can jump on. Five days at the most. Does that sound amenable? I like you Allen, you've got...stories. Not the shit ones either, about how rich you are, like a lot of my friends." Like an affectionate cat Allen rubbed against Sam in the affirmative. Sam smoothed his hair back with the hand heavy with it's mechanical watch. "Ahmed! To Rockland if you please, surface streets only by necessity." The voice returned, accompanied by a little blue light illuminated on the Mercedes' ceiling "Route confirmed. It will be six hours at assumed pace, with only one and one half on the surface. The charge will be six hundred thousand bits with dinner served at midnight. Is this to your liking?" They grinned. "Charge it to my quicksilver account. Two dinners, if you would, and whatever wine you have throughout. Thank you, Ahmed." "Your augmentations have been confirmed. Enjoy your ride." The pair snuggled, nuzzled, talked about things past and things yet to be, about politics, taxi food and the difference that money made in a person's life. They smoked from a dab pen Sam wore as a hair stick, drank the diluted liquor of the taxi, feeling the delirium of drugs and liquor waft over them. They were splayed across each other, laughing with abandon at a story belonging to Allen when Ahemd came to the speaker. "Xadame? There was an ornithopter that has just scanned our identity pad. Piloted by James Franz, ID number 34542432. The thopter broke pattern immediately after reading our tag." Sam rose from the cushions, slapping a finger to Allen's lips. He silenced. Sam lifted their fingers into the blue light on the ceiling, and began to speak in ASL to their driver. "Do you have them on your scopes?" They asked "Yes Xa'me. They're coming about, circling inwards." Ahmed responded. "Where are we?" They asked, looking over at Allen trying to conceal their fear. "On highway 329, just outside of Boston. There are no other vehicles in the area." Said Ahmed. "Of course not." Said Sam, snapping the phrase off and turning to Allen. "Should I prepare myself?" He said, hands flashing perfect ASL. There was a full thump, vibrating from the roof down through the cars windows. Allen slipped a hand into his coat, and Sam grabbed the pommel of a sabre at their belt. "I am trying to maintain...stand by..." Ahmed's voice was tense and filled with stress. There was another heavy thump, and the compensators failed slamming the pair together with the whip snap of sudden G-force. The car was spinning, skidding across the asphalt. The pair in the cabin clutched both each other and their weapons. "There was an electromagnetic pulse. The engine is offline. Restart procedures have been engaged, but the thopter is circling. Shall I deploy countermeasures?" Asked Ahemed. "By all means!" Hollered Sam, drawing her Sabre. "And open the left-hand door when we've stopped. Allen, stay inside. The tritanium will protect you if..." "Fuck that." Said Allen. "I won't die in here like a rat." He drew a short knife, testing it's emitter against his hand. Sam shrugged, the door popped open and Sam leapt out into the rain and dark. Overhead, they saw the blinking green lights of the circling thopter through the rain. As they dove out, a pencil-thin beam of red light scrapped across the asphalt. Sam popped up to a crouch and aimed the emitter of their Sabre and fired, a blue steam streaking across the dark sky. It clipped one of the wings and the craft began to spin. Ahmed and Allen leapt out, the laser beams of their weapons raking the crafts tail. Metal shards were ripped clear, the tail wings flapping uselessly as they tumbled. With an impossible mix of speed and slowness, the thopter rolled and slammed onto the tarmac. It's canopy popped open and a beam of red light shot out. "SAM!" Screamed Allen, and Ahmed crouched and fired at the point where the light emanated. A spot of deepest black shot from the canopy of the thopter just before the laser pulse blasted the craft to ash. Sam dropped to their knees, clutching their shoulder. "That's ENOUGH!" They roared, the muzzle of their Sabre tracking the black spot as it circled. The three of them began to circle towards the person, crouched at the ready. "How much?" They shouted, lifting the wristwatch that contained their credit chip. "How MUCH?" They repeated, three weapon muzzles trained on the figure. "No price, just death." Came the voice over the rain. Before the thopter pilot could raise their weapon, Ahmed strobed their beam. The person's arm fell off, they screamed and a collapsed. "Nice shot" said Sam. "Just part of the job. Get back in, before more lock to your credit chip." Said Ahmed	I pulled on my coat and sighed. Since the crime surge last year, leaving my home, something I'd once loved, had now become an activity I dreaded. Unfortunately today, I had no choice as I was out of food. I quickly opened my Nokia (all the other kinds of phones had been destroyed, thankfully this brand was seemingly indestructible) and texted the number at the top. Within seconds, a ding sounded, confirming my request for a taxi. I slide my combat boots on and grabbed my keys, which I slid into my coat pocket. Finally, I patted my other pocket, checking for the hard, black object I had come to rely on. In this day and age, a gun was worth more than diamonds. I reached my door after what seemed like an eternity. I pushed it open a crack, only for a bullet to shatter a centimetre from my eye. Slamming the door shut, I waited a few moments before trying again. This time I was greeted with nothing but silence. As I stepped out, I ducked on instinct, which proved to be lucky, as a spear sailed over my head. I scrambled over to the large group of vehicles lying directly in front of me. Zigzagging between cars to avoid any other attacks I opened my phone to see where my ride was at, as a loud boom sounded nearby. I squeezed my eyes shut as smoke started to drift towards me. I felt an arm grab me and drag me into a nearby vehicle, and felt it begin to move. Coughing, I looked up. A figure in a black ski mask was staring at me as they weaved between burning cars and trees. "Welcome to hell. We've been waiting for you."
	[WP] You've figured out how to hack real life. As a sniper in the military, one of your team just noticed you fired three consecutive shots from your bolt-action rifle without ever chambering a new round. They're asking how you're doing that...	"172 confirmed extreme long range kills, 0 bullets fired. I figured it out in basic, I closed the chamber before saying something to Sam, when I looked back I was convinced I had already loaded a round. I was convinced it was loaded. I was convinced when I pulled the trigger I would hit the target. And I did, the best shot I had made all day, didn't even realize until I went to eject the expended casting that it was empty. But the gun fired, it had recoil, I could still feel it in my shoulder. But nothing was there. I probably would have gone crazy, but Sam saw it too. It took me three months to repeat the event, Sam did it in two. We realised if you can convince yourself, be truly convinced in something it can be made real by your absolute certainty. My weapon of choice was a rifle, it took me a moment to get in the right head space, but Sam, Sam always carried two mini guns after one shreaded itself overheating. We became an unstoppable duo, me at extreme range protecting Sam, a mobile weapons platfrom. We were heroes until some greenhorn just out of basic saw me arguring with Sam and told the CO. I was detained and questioned for hours. They wanted to know who I was comunicating with and where my radio was. I was so confused until they showed the footage, I was arguing with... no one, Sam was not there. By the end of the night I was on a plane back home, so tell me Doc you think I am crazy too?" I said from the wheelchair I was strapped too. The Doctor stood up, walked over to his phone, I could not hear what he said but I think it has been about three days since they medicated me. Today I finally started to feel lucid, once I can walk straight, I'm getting out of here. One thing I didn't tell the Doc, Sam and I figured out one other thing. You didn't have to actually have the gun, you just have to be CERTAIN your figner guns are loaded. And I know Sam will have the car waiting. I can hear the engine already.	“Magic,” snickered Brad as he turned back to his scope. Salt tinged wind blew all about the team as the ocean waves crashed against the cliff face below them. The two men lay down, studying the target on the boat way out on the waves. “No seriously, Brad,” demanded Troy, who had crouched walked over to Brad’s position, not worried about losing the exercise. “You have to tell me how you did that. Three bullets at once? I know what I saw and if I don’t find a way to improve the brass are going to kick me from the sniper elite and bus me back down to the grunts. I can’t survive that, Brad. I need to be here.” Brad paused for a moment, wondering why today of all days he decided to show off. Was it boredom? They had been practising on the coast of Ireland now for three weeks with no end in sight. The repetitive nature of the work would make any man start to grow restless. “I told you already,” Brad drolled, “It was magic.” Troy could only scoff and stand up, his voice now booming around, making their comrade’s heads turn their way. “Don’t give me that nonsense, Brad,” Troy raged, his hands on his hips. “ I know you're hiding something.” Brad sighed as he rolled over, looking his friend in the eye, ready to tell him the truth. Though, before he could, Sergeant Peirce hurried up to their spot, his face a flurry of rage and shock. “Did I not tell you fools that this is a war simulation?” snapped the Sergeant, his face growing red and red, as spit flew from between his teeth. “That means you're dead right now, Troy.” “Sir. Yes Sir. Sorry, Sir.” Troy shouted, laying down beside where Brad was. “It’s just…” The Sergeant had already turned to move on but hung back when Troy’s sentence trailed away. “Just what, Soldier?” asked Peirce, his eyes flickering between the two men. Brad focused on the sniper in his hands, the cold metal, the heat from the barrel. Looking down the scope he saw his target, a large block of wood with three holes in it already. Screw it. Brad pulled the trigger, thinking the same thoughts as he did the last time. Three bullets flew from the gun, cutting through the thick salty air before landing on the target, sending splinters of wood flying into the air before disappearing into the cold, dark ocean below. “Son…” the Sergeant gasped, taking a tentative step back towards where the rest of the company were still firing away, unaware of what was happening. “How on earth did you do that?” The Sergeant rubbed his eyes as if that would make what had just happened to make more sense. “See?” exclaimed Troy, his face full of curiosity and annoyance. “How could I not be asking him how he did that?” “I told you,” muttered Brad, “Magic!” “Magic my ass!” snapped Sergeant Peirce, striding towards where Brad lay and taking the sniper out of his hands. The Sergeant inspected the gun, looking at it from every angle possible, even looking down the barrel to check for any trickery. “Son, you have about five seconds to explain yourself and I better like it. If not then I will bust your ass back to private so quickly, by God, you'll have whiplash. Do I make myself clear?” the Sergeant ordered. Brad froze for a moment, looking out at the waves of the sea, lifting up and then crashing down. Again and Again and Again. “One!” Should I just tell them? “Two!” Nah. They’d kill me for hiding it! “Three!” Or maybe I could win the war? If they’d let me. “Four!” Don’t be daft. They’d kill what they don’t understand. “Five!” Unless… “Alright, that’s that Priv…” the Sergeant started before being interrupted. “Fine then, have it your way,” Brad shouted, just wanting to be heard over the shouts of the Sergeant. “I can hack real life. Shoot multiple bullets, walk through walls, go invisible. Stuff like that.” Troy’s jaw dropped, his eyes grew wide, a face that screamed fear. The Sergeant though, was different. “Invisible you say?” asked the Sergeant. “Prove it.” Brad closed his eyes for a moment, thinking about his body disappearing. When he heard Troy’s gasp he knew he had achieved it. When Brad turned visible once more, the three of them stood in silence for a minute, completing what to do next. “Son,” smiled Sergeant Pierce, cracking his knuckles, “I think we’re going to have some fun with you.”
	[WP] Everyone thought it was going to be chimpanzees or dolphins that first approached human level intelligence and somehow started an interspecies dialog. But as the first self aware giant octopus, you have a few things you'd like to talk about with those messy, inconsiderate bipeds.	Well this is awkward, the 7 meter tall sentient octopus thought as the humans of the Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk fled in terror. They reminded Everflow of a school of fish all fleeing the same direction as if the rippling reactions carried through from one animal to the next. Saltwater taffy stands were up-ended and unaware bystanders found themselves knocked off the pier to the water below. Panic had struck all that now fled the pier. Humans were curious. Stupid. But curious. Everflow used her eight long tentacles to pick up the ones in the water and plop them back on the shoreline. She wasn’t hungry and frankly humans tested awful based on her suckers taste test. Too salty for her healthy diet too. She singaled out one particularly strong man in a chief outfit for communications. The black mustached man was straining in her grip and she brought him to eye level. He paled before she waved a single plastic bag in front of him and shoved the plastics into his hands. Octopus can communicate in a variety of methods from color to shape to sell. But humans only seemed to respond to a very direct approach of charades so she adapted. The message was simple and clear, get your trash off my lawn. Dumbfounded, the man too the plastic in hand and she released him onto the now empty pier. She willed him to get the message but as soon as she set him down, the chef ran for the nearest building and ducked inside. Clearly, he wasn’t the one to deliver her message. Everflow crawled forwards with her plan B in mind. There was the source of most of the trash that flowed into her small portion of the ocean. The Boardwalk amusement park with it’s packaged products and tickets and so on. The liter of which inevitably made it to the water where she resided. As a young spawn she’d even made a home from some plastic cups from this place. Now as she climbed the rollercoaster to the sounds of humans screams she sat on top the contraption and organized her protest. A sit in. Humans were visual creatures though so she did her best to leave a message and sprayed ink all across the boardwalk. Coating the rides and any unfortunate lingering humans who’d decided to hide rather than flee. There the helicopters that later would fly above would see her message spelled out in perfect English. No clean up? No peace. r/laughingbriar	The room was tense, no one had said a word yet. The only sound was from the ticking clock. And all Willem could think about was how much this reminded him of those Lovecraft tales from the days of old. He was both not qualified enough for the job yet the only one capable of it: Direct Translation. He looked beyond the window that split the single room into two and looked up at the seven feet tall cephalopodic beings. Their room was humid and dewy fog was staining the clean glass. Their habitation requirements were vastly different than what Humans needed. During humanity’s absence on the Earth, another species quickly took dominion over the planet, and it was not the most commonly speculated primates or dolphins; but in fact the Octopus. Humanity left because of the global destruction they have caused which made the planet uninhabitable on land and caused the extinction of most landlocked life. Humans made starships and traveled to the closest planet to them. And due to time dilation, almost two and a half million years had passed on Earth while humans themselves left only thousands of years ago. When they came back, Earth was unrecognizable in terms of life. But the most shocking revelation was the discovery of a new civilization born on Earth. And contact was swiftly made; but quickly scorned by the cephalopods. They had advanced rather quickly both evolutionarily and technologically. Past advanced human technologies left over were uncovered and re-engineered. They studied and learned of Earth’s history and knew that a mass extinction event was caused by a previous, and otherwise assumed to be extinct sapient society. They all felt incredibly nervous once they discovered that the beings that came from the stars and down to them were the very same species that caused that detrimental extinction. Willem had spent nearly a year learning the cephalopod’s mostly non-verbal language as their tentacles created a form of complex sign language. And after almost 20 minutes of both parties studying each other, the cephalopods were the ones to make first direct communication. He watched intently as a snow-white cepalopoid with brown spots moved their many arms slowly to help him understand his one question, one that has been on his mind ever since they all learned humans were still alive. ”W.” ”H.” ”Y.”
	[WP] After stumbling upon ancient, cosmic secrets, a forgotten God has made you an offer. With fractions of his power, you hunt and kill others who seek to summon the Old Gods back into the world. You are the keeper of Forgotten Lore, the Hunter of the Dark.	I pressed myself against the stone, my stomach feeling gravity's siren lure all too well. Fifty feet below, the jungle floor begged for me to fall, but my feet were wedged well into the wall's aged cracks. My climb would not have been possible when this temple had first been built, but time had given me, given us, a secret entrance. Climb. "Alright," I spoke aloud. With a deep breath, I reached above my head and found another crack in the stone. My muscles ached as I pulled myself higher towards the temple summit. Nearly there, my fingers found a mossy patch and slipped. I fell. The shock took a precious second to wear off. The path I had climbed shot away from me, or more precisely, I from it. I closed my eyes and opened the palm of my left hand and drew a flat line across with my finger, left to right. Then I drew another back to where the first had started. I opened my eyes to a curious frog. It stared at me, its throat puffing with every loud croak as I hung inches above it in mid-air. Then suddenly I was gripping the temple wall again, the slippery moss above me. The frog's croaks had rejoined the jungle blend. Climb. "Alright," I spoke aloud for the third time that night. I took a deep breath, reached, slipped, and fell again. It wasn't until the seventh try that my hands found a grip. I had scraped enough moss off the stone from my prior attempts that I could finally hold on. My gut was a bit surprised to not be in free fall, and my arms trembled. But I was finally steady. Upon reaching the top, I collapsed on the flat stone and took a moment to appreciate gravity again. It felt strange to rest in it rather than fight against it. The sudden shift from foe to friend struck me as odd, despite how natural it had been. Time. I grumbled like a teenager being called out of bed for school, but I too relented and stood on my feet. It was not wise to disobey a God. Atop the temple, I crept towards the center where the flicker of fire showed an opening. I peered over the edge and into a chamber, where six priests encircled a flaming basin. Their chants were unmistakably a summoning spell, and by the color of the flame they were close to calling upon their God of Fire. "Time is a line," my God had once told me. "So just cut it." I opened my palm and again drew a line across it, left to right. Then I drew a single line down across it at the end, and then clinched my fist. The flame froze, casting eternal shadows against the temple walls. I dropped into the chamber, making sure not to let go of my fist. With just one free hand, I'd have to get creative to stop them. If I were to try and stab them with a knife while frozen in time, it'd be like trying to stab stone. The six stood in a circle, each about five feet from the basin. There was no way to line them up for a one-shot kill, nor could I position myself to take them out after restarting time. The only way to stop them would be to interrupt their spell. The rest would just have to follow. __________ Stopping here as my son woke up and I have to take my writer hat off and put on my dad hat. Thanks for the prompt!	My job, my life, has not been a pretty one. It has not been filled with love, happiness or friendship as any normal human’s life should be. But it has been a life of purpose, and it will continue as long as I am needed. As long as there are those that seek to wake the old ones, I will continue to hunt. My methods may change over time, but the result is always the same. When I began, when I still possessed some of my humanity, when I was my old self, I kept a count of how many lives I took. I would dream of their faces for days afterward, and these faces would haunt me. But years of this changed me. I am no longer who I was, I no longer remember who I was. Now I am known by numerous names, but most simply, I am The Hunter. &nbsp; **** &nbsp; The inky darkness of the night seemed to suck the light of the old church in like a hungry beast. A small group gathered in the nave of the church around what appeared to be a severed hand. Eyes closed, hands clasped in front of them, they chanted. Little to no threat. I leapt from a raised enclave to the centre of the group, crushing the severed hand as I landed. Almost as one, the group’s eyes snapped open. &nbsp; ‘Kill the heathen,’ they intoned, before moving towards me as one. &nbsp; They never stood a chance. I was walking from the church as the final acolyte slumped forward, the sound of their torso thumping into the old church floorboards the only sound now gracing the churches walls.
I saw that this prompt was originally posted 4 years ago, and I liked it, so I copy-pasted it.	[WP] You are a retired Dark Lord living in the countryside. 10 years after your crushing defeat, the heroes come for your help.	I sit on my rocking chair, rocking back and forth. The sun is setting, and I see someone on horse riding towards me. I haven’t seen anyone ever since my defeat because I am ashamed that the hero could beat me. I tried being nice, but no one took me seriously. So I became meaner and became the “villain“ of the story (even though the hero is honestly a horrible person). I once saw him KICK A DOG! But back to the horse. The person is closer, and I can see him clearer now. He took off his helmet and flipped his long, blonde hair. I realized who this person was, and didn’t know what to do. Was he going to kill me? I retired 10 years ago, so I don’t know why anyone would want to come kill me, but he is a horrible person. And, I know that he wouldn’t come to me for another reason. Why else would the hero come? He is right next to me now, and I look away. I accept my fate and say, “Kill me now. I am ready…” He looks at me and chuckles. “Why would I kill the only hope for defeating the hero?” I realize that the person who is here is actually the “hero”’s brother. He is one of the people who helped me because he knew how truly bad his brother is. He is truly more of a hero than his brother. He says, “My brother is out of control. Everyone realizes you weren’t bad and he is the bad one. He is the new villain to the townspeople’s. That is why we need you. Me and you will be the new heroes of this story.	I was once a different man, power, greed, hatred fueled me. I needed no one, nothing stood in my path for achieving my goal of world domination. Until the heroes came, they decimated all my plans, machines, minions, My evil insurance premium went up 100% that day! The plans, which were cultivated through many years of plotting and scheming, were no match for the heros, every single time I thought I won, they would unleash, the power of friendship, this power would decimate, bring all my plans to a screeching halt as the heros destroyed everything. I put that all behind me now as I live in a small, countryside village, not feared, but cared for. One Sunday afternoon, I was watering my tulips. I had gotten them from farmer Joe the other day and thought they would look beautiful in the front yard. When, Pop, Subcinctus phases right next to me. "What a friendly reunion," I mutter "Look, I'm not happy about it either, but we need your help," Subcinctus barks "Fine," I muttered, as I reluctantly got up to join them. Pop, my entire world shifted, blue sparks traveled along my hands up my arms, my vision distorted, skew of colors danced in my vision As I landed in the hero's HQ. Several people worked on monitors. I had once despised these people, but now I am helping them. "I'll give you the rundown, you teacher which we banished has risen again and is plotting to take over the world. His lab, which is under the city, is unreachable, if we dig down, the entire city will collapse," Celeritas says. "Why don't you ask Subcinctus to teleport down there?" I ask. "Of course we tried that. Your master put some spell over his lair to prevent teleportation." Subcinctus shouts. "Don't worry, I have a plan to take us inside the layer" All of us dress up as construction n workers and head to the mayor's office, using my mesmer I "convince him" to let us drill under the city to fix a pipe leak. Underground, Vi holds the cave up while raiding the lair. We enter to find several orcs with double-edged axes awaiting us. Using our powers, the orcs are swiftly defeated, ahead lay my teacher. Malum, while effortlessly launching purple lightning at us he unveils his plot. "Using this potion, I shall taint the city's water supply. Once everyone has drank it, I shall be able to control them." He cackled. Using his potion against him, we subdue his minions and turn them against him. Makum, no match for our strength combined, begs for mercy. We face each other, enemies fighting aside each other, we decide to spare him; I tell him about all the perks of retirement; him, liking the idea, joins me in the small countryside town. How was it? Any tips or feedback?
I saw that this prompt was originally posted 4 years ago, and I liked it, so I copy-pasted it.	[WP] You are a retired Dark Lord living in the countryside. 10 years after your crushing defeat, the heroes come for your help.	And the Yi Empire was collapsed. All the effort I have spent to form my empire ended in one week. All my army betrayed me. The arth is same again, and every scapegoat of all problems is me. Who am I? I am Dark Lord Theodor, or as in my non-regal name Sahaba. Well, I was the Dark Lord Theodor. I always hated politics. Federalists and Confederalists fighting over miniscule things and concluding nothing. I have recruited large army to end this, and I have united the earth. But those three teenagers, I hated those. They just gone out and said "ooooh freedom rebellion!!! why? because empire bad!" and ended my empire. So, in year 2673, I had to resign and change my identity. All my past real names are gone and now I am Joseph, living in countryside in Andes. Another morning and I once again go to village to sell chicken eggs. While listening cillagers. The modified brain of mine can nderstand any language I hear. A young lady wearig villagers' outfits came by and asked me: "How much are those eggs?" "Six of them are for two pesos. Well, how was the elections yesterday Madam Dolores?" "Well, I have lost again. Confederatists won majority of votes. I guess this is my whole political carrier. So, where were you last month? You disappear very often." "I am a nomad, Sometimes I go to Bolivia, sometimes I go to Peru. And now, it is Chile again." "Well, sometimes you have some good political ideas. I hope you use this opportunity. Here, two pesos. Have a good day!" "Bye." Meanwhile other customers gathered around. And hours passed and it is afternoon again. I could only sell half of the eggs, if I don't act quick and go to another town these eggs will spoil. So, I got back to my encampment and picked up my stuff. In loneliness I have gone and my chickens followed me. And Set down somewhere near the plains. When I woke up because of chickens on my head, I saw a grey smoke in distant place. And I recognised the tents. Quechuas. I have gone there and set up my camp too. And one of the guys greeted me, my old friend. He wore thick clothes and fashioned a long hair. "Hello there Jose." "Joseph, nice to meet you too Anca. Are you guys doing good here?" "Yeah we are good but I see you haven't sold your eggs yet again. We can use them bro. How many are there? Hmm, 127?" "128 friend. So what do you offer?" "20 pesos friend." "No, 15 pesos is enough. Economy nowadays are going in the shitter." "Correct, this moon colony bullcrap is effecting us natives man." "I am not a native." "You are nomad like us too. So, can you stay with us for a while?" "Sure." I stayed with them and migrated with them for weeks, until reaching close to Argentina. Where I parted ways and I have gone to some natural park to rest. And I woke up in 6 AM after seeing a nightmare. I saw in my nightmare that I would be executed by another Dark Lord. I woke up and looked around but just chickens, camp fire and the tent above me. Let me continue my sleep and few seconds later I saw three human sillouttes and I took my electric gun and hid behind a tree. And in front of me a young man was standing and standing and I screamed. A familiar face though, 5 years ago... I remember! This was one of the main heroes. "What do you want from me again!?" "Calm down, we are here to help you." "No, you are not. Go away, I am not emperor anymore!" When i returned to my tent and tried to sleep three sillhouettes gathered. Girl: "Guys, what should we do." Man 1: "He gone under that tent again." Man 2: "How do we communicate with that guy even..." Me: "Execute me already cowards. I am tired." They took off the tent and I recognized their faces once again. Angry blue haired girl is Isabel, the beardless tall guy is Ivan and short guy is Luke. The team "threeforce". "What do you want from me again? You all gre up too much. Last time That girl was 19 year old. Isabel right? Grow up, liberation and other cool kids stuff are old fashion." Isabel: "No, world needs saving." "I am not dark lord you moron. Go help some lady or disable a nuke. Only thing I have are chickens." Isabel: "No, let us explain. We have swiss cheese." "Alright, you nought me. Let's sit by fire." And we are all sat by fire. While listening to sounds of wilderness. Ivan: "So, you know. The Yi Empire is long gone." "Yep, I still wonder why did you guys ended it." Isabel: "Because empire means bad, right?" "That was the human empire and senate elections were to happen. Like the Roman Empire, can you count the Roman contributions? I were to stop wars. It is not my problem that they voted for Theodor for second time." while eating cheese	If I told you I was once the ruler of this world would you belive me? Would you belive they used to call me the dark one? I have run my own little far on the coutryside for about 10 years now, the older people know who I am and fear me, but the young ones see me only as the guy who wears "silly" dark capes and keeps to himself, their parents tell them to stay away but the kids show up every once in a while. After my humiliating defeat, I decided to retire from my 'evil and destruction' days, life out here isn't easy, having superpowers helps I guess, I plant food and raise some animals, it's a quiet and simple life, was being a evil overlord more fun? Yes, but I gave that up, I never wanted to see a superhero in front of me again, imagine my surprise when 4 of them came asking for my help to save the world, Speed, Falcon and I didn't bother to learn the names of the other two, the same guys who overthrew me, its hilarious. -Please miss Strong is dead. they said, pleading. The self-righteous bitch. -We will all die if you don't stop it. -I am a villan, I don't help people, I might be retired but that hasn't changed. -C'mon, you are also going to die if you don't help us stop it. -And you are? -Zipper! -Well that is a stupid name. Hahaha. -Let's just go he wont help, I told you it was useless to come here, villans never change. -Falcon wait, comeone psycho -I go by Richard these days. -Fine Richard, we need your help there are a series of events happening the earth is cracking, there have been lava spills, tsunamis you name it, it has probably happened somewhere, our only hope was miss Strong and tried and failed. You have most of the same powers as her except you are unknown to our enemy and also has some tricks up your sleeve she won't be prepared for. -uhmm, and who might she be? -Tempest, she sees human kind as a plague and wants to "restore earth to its natural state" but she is a maniac, who is going to end up breaking the planet in half. - An eco idiot, it could be fun to kick her ass, but what to gain with this? -Well you know maybe the planet not exploding! Said Zipper -Yeah you are going to need more than that to make me show my face next your dumb ass. -What do you want? -Well money would be fun. Be revenge is much better , I want the right to fight all of you afterwards, if I win you die and this planet is mine again. -Don't. -Fine! He looks away from and to his companions. -We are all going to die anyway if he doesn't help we are all dead anyway. And with that I took my old suit from the closet and went with them, and I saw the destruction, up north, whole cities sinked into the ground, enormous gashes in the earth that ran, instead of blood, lava, burning woods and houses, as we neared the coast you could see cities undewater as if the story of Atlantis was true, with a lot more death and destruction, but true. It was beautiful. But if she was that powerful how could I defeat her. The humble heroes had a jet in which the ones who couldn't fly went, I not wanting to tire myself by flying across the entire country went inside of it. In a little island off the coast there was a castle and an evil one at that, it seemed to be drilling into the ground and emitting pulsating waves into the grounds thag made it shake and in a spike on to of it, it was the corpse of miss Strong. Her blonde hairs in the wind, birds eating her eyes, that lifeless expression I wish I had brought upon her myself a long time ago, but looking at her didn't make me feel better and I started to question if I really wanted revenge afte all. -We will give you support, now zipper will open a door for you. And just like that, in the middle of the air as if pulling a zipper she opened a portal and I could see inside the castle. And there stting in a throne she was -Younger than I expected. I said as I jumoed through. -Goo evening you lady I heard yoy killed miss Strong and came here to thank you for it. I said bowing -And you are? She said in a petulant voice. Kids, they don't fear what they don't know. -Oh I am but a humble villan call me Psycho. -Get out of here Psycho, if you don't want to die. Tell the heroes to leave as well. I recognize a Zipper door when I see one. -Those idiots don't worry I just used them to get here.
I saw that this prompt was originally posted 4 years ago, and I liked it, so I copy-pasted it.	[WP] You are a retired Dark Lord living in the countryside. 10 years after your crushing defeat, the heroes come for your help.	I sighed, tending to my plants. The aloe-vera swayed gently in the breeze, and I carefully made a shallow cut on the leaves. The spines rose, the leaves shriveled and curled together as if forming a protective dome while the plant bled. Drops of crimson trickled down the intricate rifts, valleys, and folds of the sea-green skin. My name is Raven Pretium, and I am a dark lord. Once I was a warlock of renowned and feared power, but now, several years after the collapse of my empire, I was nothing. Nothing, if not furious, and perhaps a bit perplexed. I frowned at the man that stood before me, the lights flickered ominously as magic steamed off my body in short, rapid bursts of tingling energy. The man, now seemingly as cowardly as a small boy, looked around in fear tinged with surprise. The woman besides him rolled her eyes, before holding up her hand and speaking. "Enough". She placed her hand up and closed her eyes, a deep, nearly black shade of blue emanating from her palm as she siphoned the magical energy seeping off of my skin. I could barely conceal my annoyance. Of course they would send a thief witch here. It was not enough to force me to flee from my empire in humiliation, they decided to collect a fair bit of salt and pour it all in the wound, one torturous trickle at a time. Perhaps a mentis incantation would do the trick? Or maybe a corpus charm... "Agh! What is that?!" I was startled out of my thoughts when the other man created a few sparks of magic from his hand. Particles of a bright, aquamarine light flew from his palm and formed a sickeningly bright orb of light that blinded me for a few moments. I scowled in anger, holding out my hand. Shadows danced around us, and a mocking laughter echoed through the cavernous walls of my cave. The darkness clung to the man, vanishing as it assimilated into his flesh. I finally got a better glimpse of him. He was young, certainly attractive, and definitely someone I would be happy to get in bed with, if not for the current circumstances. That, and the fact that I was far too shy to ever voluntarily speak to anyone I had a romantic interest in. Oh well. "I-I-I'm sorry...You seemed to be lost in thought. I tho-" He clammed up as I held up my index finger, using yet another corpus charm to silence him. Corpus charms were spells and incantations that dealt with the physical body, and this was no different. A flap of skin emerged over his lips, a perfectly executed silencing. "Be silent" I ordered. Of course, like all so-called "heroes", the thief witch refused. I wanted to grab my knife and stab her, but I was happy here, with my new life. Somewhat. And I certainly had no interest in being captured by other agents of the Light for assaulting a respected heroine. I pushed my black hair out of my grey eyes and focused on the mage. I noticed the stone he was holding in his hand, and chuckled. A mage? We don't get too many of those around here... I looked at him, trying to gauge his abilities and recalling all I knew about such a rare species of humans. A mage was a human being at birth, but after undergoing certain processes he could become something more. A half-breed, capable of performing magic by channeling it through talismans. Not too different from a thief witch, honestly, save for the fact that thieves were born that way, not to mention the rigorous preparation talismans undergo in order to be of any use to the wielder. I focused more on the stone. It was a simple river-rock, but with arcane symbols drawn onto it with what seemed to be dried blood. I would have to utilize yet another spell to be certain, but I was fairly sure it was the mage's blood that worked for the task. Using another person's blood commonly rendered the entire talisman useless. I let go of the mage, and he fell onto the stone floor, gasping desperately for air. It seemed like the spell had been a bit too powerful, gathering the magic around it to increase in strength. Such arcane power could be quiet unpredictable at times. "I apologize dearly for that" I said, but I could not hide my proud smile at what I had done. It felt good to triumph over one of my enemies, even if only for a time. The mage and witch glared at me, as if to say they had no trust in my regret. Of course, I would not blame them. Still, they would be quite wrong to assume I cared. I lost the ability to care years ago, when the Light's agents first ransacked my village and burned down entire houses just to find me. I hated them with a burning passion, and so that was how I became a thief of darkness, wearing shadows like a second skin and cruelty like a second flesh. They were searching for me, not because I had done anything wrong. Only because I existed. They despised me for it. I was a thief witch, but had a secondary ability. That of a normal, very powerful witch. My mother's magic flowed through my blood, alongside the powers of my father. They made me who I am today, and they hated me for it. For being an abomination, something they had no control over. A few took pity on me, and so I was allowed to keep my freedom. Of course, that did not aid me in the taunts and abuse I faced from the rest of the society. They abused me, stole from me, lied to me. And then, they fought me. After an entire decade of rejection, taunting, bullying, and torture, they had the gall to fight me. To hinder my vengeance. But I showed them the true extent of my power, how strong I truly was. The seas turned to blood and lightning crashed upon the shelters of my enemies that day, the day I showed them all the truth of what I really was. I guess they were right, in the end. A monster I was born, and a monster I always will be. No...not a monster, a savior. A savior of society. They would rather my kind hide in the shadows, but I brought my people into the light and they hated me for it. But that is besides the point. I looked at the people in front of me, tearing away from my urge to further explore memory lane, where I had been at the height of my power. "What do you want? Explain quickly, or else I will kill you both. I'm sure those back-bones of yours would make for a delightful belt" I threatened. They were empty, of course. I had great interest in torturing these heroes, but not so much in the judicial proceedings such an endeavor would cost. I was one of the greatest warlocks to ever live in terms of innate strength, but even I could not stand against the combined might of the Trinity, the three grand high witches and mages that ruled over the realm with a fist of magical strength. They regarded me with suspicion, and perhaps, to my immense pleasure, the slightest bit of fear. But of course, as much as I hate to admit it, it was them who caused me fear when I heard what they had to say next... "We want the Deus Auctoras, the God-Makers"	If I told you I was once the ruler of this world would you belive me? Would you belive they used to call me the dark one? I have run my own little far on the coutryside for about 10 years now, the older people know who I am and fear me, but the young ones see me only as the guy who wears "silly" dark capes and keeps to himself, their parents tell them to stay away but the kids show up every once in a while. After my humiliating defeat, I decided to retire from my 'evil and destruction' days, life out here isn't easy, having superpowers helps I guess, I plant food and raise some animals, it's a quiet and simple life, was being a evil overlord more fun? Yes, but I gave that up, I never wanted to see a superhero in front of me again, imagine my surprise when 4 of them came asking for my help to save the world, Speed, Falcon and I didn't bother to learn the names of the other two, the same guys who overthrew me, its hilarious. -Please miss Strong is dead. they said, pleading. The self-righteous bitch. -We will all die if you don't stop it. -I am a villan, I don't help people, I might be retired but that hasn't changed. -C'mon, you are also going to die if you don't help us stop it. -And you are? -Zipper! -Well that is a stupid name. Hahaha. -Let's just go he wont help, I told you it was useless to come here, villans never change. -Falcon wait, comeone psycho -I go by Richard these days. -Fine Richard, we need your help there are a series of events happening the earth is cracking, there have been lava spills, tsunamis you name it, it has probably happened somewhere, our only hope was miss Strong and tried and failed. You have most of the same powers as her except you are unknown to our enemy and also has some tricks up your sleeve she won't be prepared for. -uhmm, and who might she be? -Tempest, she sees human kind as a plague and wants to "restore earth to its natural state" but she is a maniac, who is going to end up breaking the planet in half. - An eco idiot, it could be fun to kick her ass, but what to gain with this? -Well you know maybe the planet not exploding! Said Zipper -Yeah you are going to need more than that to make me show my face next your dumb ass. -What do you want? -Well money would be fun. Be revenge is much better , I want the right to fight all of you afterwards, if I win you die and this planet is mine again. -Don't. -Fine! He looks away from and to his companions. -We are all going to die anyway if he doesn't help we are all dead anyway. And with that I took my old suit from the closet and went with them, and I saw the destruction, up north, whole cities sinked into the ground, enormous gashes in the earth that ran, instead of blood, lava, burning woods and houses, as we neared the coast you could see cities undewater as if the story of Atlantis was true, with a lot more death and destruction, but true. It was beautiful. But if she was that powerful how could I defeat her. The humble heroes had a jet in which the ones who couldn't fly went, I not wanting to tire myself by flying across the entire country went inside of it. In a little island off the coast there was a castle and an evil one at that, it seemed to be drilling into the ground and emitting pulsating waves into the grounds thag made it shake and in a spike on to of it, it was the corpse of miss Strong. Her blonde hairs in the wind, birds eating her eyes, that lifeless expression I wish I had brought upon her myself a long time ago, but looking at her didn't make me feel better and I started to question if I really wanted revenge afte all. -We will give you support, now zipper will open a door for you. And just like that, in the middle of the air as if pulling a zipper she opened a portal and I could see inside the castle. And there stting in a throne she was -Younger than I expected. I said as I jumoed through. -Goo evening you lady I heard yoy killed miss Strong and came here to thank you for it. I said bowing -And you are? She said in a petulant voice. Kids, they don't fear what they don't know. -Oh I am but a humble villan call me Psycho. -Get out of here Psycho, if you don't want to die. Tell the heroes to leave as well. I recognize a Zipper door when I see one. -Those idiots don't worry I just used them to get here.
I saw that this prompt was originally posted 4 years ago, and I liked it, so I copy-pasted it.	[WP] You are a retired Dark Lord living in the countryside. 10 years after your crushing defeat, the heroes come for your help.	((Part 1/2)) \\cracks knuckles and laughs in Dungeon Master\\Y’all can’t stop me this time… \~\~\~ “What part of ‘this is a tomb’ is incomprehensible to you and your party?” The lich’s normally intimidating voice was laced with an ancient weariness only the defeated yet spared villains could muster. “You know I had a perfectly good door waiting there right?” “It was locked with a door puzzle and your bloody Gnoll skeletons knocked the shit out of the Wizard in the first two minutes so none of us could figure out how to open the damn thing. And once again, Acererak, you know that Thog the Barbarian would have knocked it down either way.” The response came from the shadows clustered near the back of the former atropal nursery, or what had been the nursery while the Soulmonger and the Death Curse had been still active. Old days and old sins for an even older lich. Acererak sighed at the Rogue’s remark, and the sight of thousands year old lich pinching the bridge of his nose would have been amusing if not for the fact he was hovering about three feet above a magma pit.“Why are you here, paladin? Destroyed my phylactery already?” He might as well stop dancing around the point and get to it already. It wasn’t as if he actually prepared a monologue for the boss fight since his defeat and imprisonment nearly three eons ago. “Came here to finish the job I presume?” Not that he’s going down without a fight, prepared spells or not. “We came here to talk.” Acererak looked up from his spellbook with a mixture of surprise and amazement. “And you believed that asking me, the Archlich and architect of the Death Curse, would be the best candidate for that?” Paladin Illendir the Shining shook their head, lowering the tower shield once they’ve confirmed that the lich was not indeed going to fireball them into the next dimension. “We need a favor, Acererak. And I’m not sure who else we can ask. We quite literally have no other options.” If the aasimar paladin was trying to convince the lich to help the party, they were surely doing a poor job of it. “Well then...let’s see what options you do have... You have your Cleric for resurrections and healing, and I'm sure you'd take a Cleric over a necromancer any day. Your party has a Divination Wizard for the more arcane approaches that involve more than 'smash the door down' or your Rogue to pick the lock. There’s Thog the barbarian for when things go sideways. Finally there's you, Paladin, to be the face and defender of the party since the unfortunate death of the Bard a few centuries ago. To be perfectly blunt, you need no aid from me, and you want no aid since the unfortunate death of your favorite storyteller Bard at my hands a few centuries ago. Or has it been longer than that? Time gets funnier the longer you remain here you know."Acererak gestured at his surroundings, shrugging skeletal demon wings on his back as the necromancer waited for the paladin's response. Illendir winced at the reminder of their friend's death, choosing to avert their gaze. “Like it or not, we need your help. This involves more than just you and your phylactery Acererak, I thought you would have learned some bloody common sense during your one thousand years of imprisonment here. And yes, your remark about time was very on point, our last Chronology Wizard made sure to draw out your suffering for as long as possible in this tomb.” Acererak might have chuckled, and the cambion lich ceased hovering to land next to the paladin, and hell be damned if the paladin decided to smite him the instant he entered melee range. “What a noble band of heroes you are, choosing to bury a lich alive in the tomb he designed after first hacking him to a tenth of his health and destroying all traces of his phylactery from his own memories. Although I am reluctant to admit it, the wards are impressive, nearly three thousand years in this demiplane and I have yet to find a way out.” The rogue took the lich's landing as his cue to cease their hiding in the shadows, slipping silently into view as the Tabaxi instantly began scouring the room for trinkets. “Yes, most impressive indeed.” Illendir knew next to nothing about the wards placed on this tomb or how they even managed to seal the ancient archlich away, just that the cambion necromancer had yet to find a way out of the demiplane their party threw him into after his defeat, Illendir themself had barely escaped combat by the skin of their teeth. The Bard and former Wizard had not been as lucky. Their souls had been fed to the lich's phylactery, the same lich that now stood defeated and exhausted after centuries of imprisonment and starvation. Illendir’s god would have recoiled from the prospect of working with such evil, but Illendir themself did not. “I would like to propose you a deal, Acererak.”	If I told you I was once the ruler of this world would you belive me? Would you belive they used to call me the dark one? I have run my own little far on the coutryside for about 10 years now, the older people know who I am and fear me, but the young ones see me only as the guy who wears "silly" dark capes and keeps to himself, their parents tell them to stay away but the kids show up every once in a while. After my humiliating defeat, I decided to retire from my 'evil and destruction' days, life out here isn't easy, having superpowers helps I guess, I plant food and raise some animals, it's a quiet and simple life, was being a evil overlord more fun? Yes, but I gave that up, I never wanted to see a superhero in front of me again, imagine my surprise when 4 of them came asking for my help to save the world, Speed, Falcon and I didn't bother to learn the names of the other two, the same guys who overthrew me, its hilarious. -Please miss Strong is dead. they said, pleading. The self-righteous bitch. -We will all die if you don't stop it. -I am a villan, I don't help people, I might be retired but that hasn't changed. -C'mon, you are also going to die if you don't help us stop it. -And you are? -Zipper! -Well that is a stupid name. Hahaha. -Let's just go he wont help, I told you it was useless to come here, villans never change. -Falcon wait, comeone psycho -I go by Richard these days. -Fine Richard, we need your help there are a series of events happening the earth is cracking, there have been lava spills, tsunamis you name it, it has probably happened somewhere, our only hope was miss Strong and tried and failed. You have most of the same powers as her except you are unknown to our enemy and also has some tricks up your sleeve she won't be prepared for. -uhmm, and who might she be? -Tempest, she sees human kind as a plague and wants to "restore earth to its natural state" but she is a maniac, who is going to end up breaking the planet in half. - An eco idiot, it could be fun to kick her ass, but what to gain with this? -Well you know maybe the planet not exploding! Said Zipper -Yeah you are going to need more than that to make me show my face next your dumb ass. -What do you want? -Well money would be fun. Be revenge is much better , I want the right to fight all of you afterwards, if I win you die and this planet is mine again. -Don't. -Fine! He looks away from and to his companions. -We are all going to die anyway if he doesn't help we are all dead anyway. And with that I took my old suit from the closet and went with them, and I saw the destruction, up north, whole cities sinked into the ground, enormous gashes in the earth that ran, instead of blood, lava, burning woods and houses, as we neared the coast you could see cities undewater as if the story of Atlantis was true, with a lot more death and destruction, but true. It was beautiful. But if she was that powerful how could I defeat her. The humble heroes had a jet in which the ones who couldn't fly went, I not wanting to tire myself by flying across the entire country went inside of it. In a little island off the coast there was a castle and an evil one at that, it seemed to be drilling into the ground and emitting pulsating waves into the grounds thag made it shake and in a spike on to of it, it was the corpse of miss Strong. Her blonde hairs in the wind, birds eating her eyes, that lifeless expression I wish I had brought upon her myself a long time ago, but looking at her didn't make me feel better and I started to question if I really wanted revenge afte all. -We will give you support, now zipper will open a door for you. And just like that, in the middle of the air as if pulling a zipper she opened a portal and I could see inside the castle. And there stting in a throne she was -Younger than I expected. I said as I jumoed through. -Goo evening you lady I heard yoy killed miss Strong and came here to thank you for it. I said bowing -And you are? She said in a petulant voice. Kids, they don't fear what they don't know. -Oh I am but a humble villan call me Psycho. -Get out of here Psycho, if you don't want to die. Tell the heroes to leave as well. I recognize a Zipper door when I see one. -Those idiots don't worry I just used them to get here.
I saw that this prompt was originally posted 4 years ago, and I liked it, so I copy-pasted it.	[WP] You are a retired Dark Lord living in the countryside. 10 years after your crushing defeat, the heroes come for your help.	Moving slowly as had always been his way the figure would sweep his hands through the long grass as he traversed the meadow of his own creation. A place devoid of all life save the plants he had nurtured into existence in what was once a barren wasteland, his own small plot of peace and solitude tucked away from the noise of any other heartbeat save his own. Far into the East he had fled, over hills and under mountains, through winding riverways and across oceans after they had struck him down and taken from him all he had cared for and desired. For his was a self-imposed banishment, rendered upon him by a realization that his dream of revenge on the world that had taken from him his only true love. The woman who had ensnared his soul and dragged him down that dark path to damnation, yet he followed her willingly and with a righteous fury and emblazed passion. But it had all been for naught, the great houses of the West had rallied together after millennia of infighting and brought upon them a wave of destruction and fury of which the world had never seen for in their arrogance and belief that they would never unite, they had granted them the sole reason to do so and acted as both catalyst and reagent in bringing about his and his loves fall. And so here he waded, remembering a time before he had met her when he had been a noble man of some repute and then a time after when he had commanded legions of dread beings to battle in her name. A time when she had been taken from him by their mightiest heroes, her soul stripped from body and cast into the void and he had fought on in her stead burning hearth, home and field to ash until the day came when his own strength waned in the presence of their mightiest force gathered and despite all his greatest efforts he could not hold back the tide and was cast from his throne into the dust. Overcome with remnants of his mortality and fragility without his beloveds protection he ran, ran into the shadow and the dark until he could run no more and reached this field of nothing. Here he built himself something of his own away from all that could bother him, a place to dwell and reminisce of times now gone. He had not aged nor waned in the years as a lingering effect of her magics cast upon his very bones and soul, and though he wielded a fraction of his former powers and had not used them in nigh on perhaps a decade or nearly two he was still by far a formidable opponent. A crack would emanate in the distance, the faintest of sounds that none would have noticed, yet he had lived here in solitude for long enough to know every one of those sounds down to the subtle creak of each branch in the trees. Crouching down he would blend into the long grass and cast his gaze to the front of his cabin as three then four no five individuals clad in an array of plate, leather or silks and all hooded or helmed came into view and stopped in front of the structure. Craning his ear and sharpening his thoughts to hear any conversation as the wind carried it "There is no way this is where he resides, we must be lost or the rumors were lies." the tallest of them turned and waved a plated hand "I see flowers and trees... A far cry from the man who burnt mighty Cresy to the ground". A lingering silence would hold before one would reach a hand out towards his direction and speak with a slow confidence but with an old tone "He's there... Watching.. His presence causes the very air of the mysterium to tear and cry". At this he knew there was little point in hiding and instead threw himself up, eyeing the group calmly but with a hand behind his back casting a small sign of protection in case any of them thought themselves able to deliver a blow to him from range. Smiling ever so faintly before opening his mouth to speak but stopping, realizing it had been a great time since he had spoken openly to another taking an extra moment "I believe you are likely lost travelers, naught to see here save a simple gardener". One of the masked figures would take a few long strides forward, lowering his head lightly and glaring at the man with an audible scoff before remarking "He hasn't aged a day.. Perks of being in bed with that hag I suppose", the remark stinging at the man but not prompting any reaction. They couldn't know, likely they sought another and best he not blast their very souls from existence without good reason, he didn't want the attention, he didn't need the attention, misguide them and redirect them would be his plan but before he could open his mouth to respond the largest of them stepped forward and drew his blade planting the tip into the ground and speaking firmly. (I'll try to continue a bit later, threw this up at work and wanted to get this idea out).	If I told you I was once the ruler of this world would you belive me? Would you belive they used to call me the dark one? I have run my own little far on the coutryside for about 10 years now, the older people know who I am and fear me, but the young ones see me only as the guy who wears "silly" dark capes and keeps to himself, their parents tell them to stay away but the kids show up every once in a while. After my humiliating defeat, I decided to retire from my 'evil and destruction' days, life out here isn't easy, having superpowers helps I guess, I plant food and raise some animals, it's a quiet and simple life, was being a evil overlord more fun? Yes, but I gave that up, I never wanted to see a superhero in front of me again, imagine my surprise when 4 of them came asking for my help to save the world, Speed, Falcon and I didn't bother to learn the names of the other two, the same guys who overthrew me, its hilarious. -Please miss Strong is dead. they said, pleading. The self-righteous bitch. -We will all die if you don't stop it. -I am a villan, I don't help people, I might be retired but that hasn't changed. -C'mon, you are also going to die if you don't help us stop it. -And you are? -Zipper! -Well that is a stupid name. Hahaha. -Let's just go he wont help, I told you it was useless to come here, villans never change. -Falcon wait, comeone psycho -I go by Richard these days. -Fine Richard, we need your help there are a series of events happening the earth is cracking, there have been lava spills, tsunamis you name it, it has probably happened somewhere, our only hope was miss Strong and tried and failed. You have most of the same powers as her except you are unknown to our enemy and also has some tricks up your sleeve she won't be prepared for. -uhmm, and who might she be? -Tempest, she sees human kind as a plague and wants to "restore earth to its natural state" but she is a maniac, who is going to end up breaking the planet in half. - An eco idiot, it could be fun to kick her ass, but what to gain with this? -Well you know maybe the planet not exploding! Said Zipper -Yeah you are going to need more than that to make me show my face next your dumb ass. -What do you want? -Well money would be fun. Be revenge is much better , I want the right to fight all of you afterwards, if I win you die and this planet is mine again. -Don't. -Fine! He looks away from and to his companions. -We are all going to die anyway if he doesn't help we are all dead anyway. And with that I took my old suit from the closet and went with them, and I saw the destruction, up north, whole cities sinked into the ground, enormous gashes in the earth that ran, instead of blood, lava, burning woods and houses, as we neared the coast you could see cities undewater as if the story of Atlantis was true, with a lot more death and destruction, but true. It was beautiful. But if she was that powerful how could I defeat her. The humble heroes had a jet in which the ones who couldn't fly went, I not wanting to tire myself by flying across the entire country went inside of it. In a little island off the coast there was a castle and an evil one at that, it seemed to be drilling into the ground and emitting pulsating waves into the grounds thag made it shake and in a spike on to of it, it was the corpse of miss Strong. Her blonde hairs in the wind, birds eating her eyes, that lifeless expression I wish I had brought upon her myself a long time ago, but looking at her didn't make me feel better and I started to question if I really wanted revenge afte all. -We will give you support, now zipper will open a door for you. And just like that, in the middle of the air as if pulling a zipper she opened a portal and I could see inside the castle. And there stting in a throne she was -Younger than I expected. I said as I jumoed through. -Goo evening you lady I heard yoy killed miss Strong and came here to thank you for it. I said bowing -And you are? She said in a petulant voice. Kids, they don't fear what they don't know. -Oh I am but a humble villan call me Psycho. -Get out of here Psycho, if you don't want to die. Tell the heroes to leave as well. I recognize a Zipper door when I see one. -Those idiots don't worry I just used them to get here.
I saw that this prompt was originally posted 4 years ago, and I liked it, so I copy-pasted it.	[WP] You are a retired Dark Lord living in the countryside. 10 years after your crushing defeat, the heroes come for your help.	The heavy fall of a booted foot being extremely out of place alerts Josin that something is wrong. The metal striking the wooden floorboards sends a tingle down her spine from memories best left long buried. "Mortana?" the gruff voice asks. She reflexively holds her breath at being addressed by a name she had not heard in many decades. "I'm not she," Josin quickly replies. Thankfully she knew that years had taken a toll on her once youthful face, and her natural blonde hair had long since paled to a silver sheen. "Your breath paused when you heard the name, and no one around here should know it. Your own nerves betray you Lady." "Is this a reckoning?" Josin asks, as she turns from her stove to finally witness the intruder; a knight of the kingdom that she had once left, clad in the regalia she feared. "Nay," the knight says quietly. "I come for help." Josin raises a pale eyebrow questioningly. "You don't seem to be suffering from any malady I can assist with." "Not I Lady, but the Queen." Josin had heard of a new Queen being crowned, but dared not ask questions. People in this hamlet cared not for the affairs of a long distant realm and asking would create suspicion. She had, to all appearances, lived here her whole life. "I decline." The knight shifted his weight slightly, metal plate creaked against metal plate in a chord to set the teeth on edge. "I hadn't asked." "Then I refuse." The knight glares at Josin, and sighs. "I thought with your particular history, you would have some compassion for her plight. She's an innocent afflicted with a blight. The healers can do nothing." Josin flinches at the words. Too many memories of past deeds done held back by wilful benevolence and time. Only in her sleeping dreams did she wrestle with the wrongs her history had wrought in her. Josin raises her chin towards the knight, "If you know of my past, then you must know the reason." "I do, Lady." "Then you must know that I can't, and you must know why." The knight shifts slightly again, "I would not have come if I thought it were in vain. I have a writ of safe passage here and you will returned unharmed." Josin shakes her head, "That is not why, I do not feel threatened." "Then surely the love you once had extends to the people of the land you once cared for, Lady." Josin hurls the nearby plate at the knight where it shatters into a thousand fragments on his chest. "How dare you use that against me." The knight draws his sword in response, "It wasn't an attack, Lady." "Then why do you draw steel?" "To defend myself, Lady, and it is on my honour to bring you back." "I'm not going." "Then so be it." Josin's eyes dart between his blade and the intruder's eyes and he begins to step forward to apprehend her. A wealth of black knowledge springs forth from the dark recesses of Josin's mind, left dormant but not forgotten for a century. Opening up a sight that had stayed closed is almost blinding as she comprehends the flow of energy of the world. Powers gained from forbidden books studied secretly in gloomy basements springs to her fingertips once more. She surveys the steel sword in front of her seeing the fire used in it's creation living deep within the metal and it only takes a little twist to set it free. The knight having barely taken a step yelps in surprise as his main weapon leaps from his grasp before a keening noise breaks it into pieces. The now-empty hilt drops to the floor as various fragments of hot metal scatter around the room. "You ARE the witch I seek," the knight exclaims, taking a step away from her. Josin's hair had turned pitch black again, her pupils engulfing her eyes reflecting a void wellspring. As the knight backed further towards the door, Josin foresaw the probably future. He would return with more knights. She would run again. She should be harried. She would have to kill many, and lose others. Friends would be lost. Her life as she knew it would be ruined. She'd have to start again. What was the cost of one knight's life against all of that all over again. She was old, very old, and she had lost so many friends already. Her sight digs further down into his energy, until it closes in on his force of life. It pulses with the energy of a man at his prime, but Josin had snuffed out thousands in her time. She twists dark energies around his core and starts to decay it from within. The knight turns to run, when a pain shoots through his chest. His eyes go wide when he realises the danger he's in. "Please .. I beg you." Josin throws off the sight for long enough to address the knight properly, "You come seeking me, and bring danger with you to my door. I did my utmost to banish myself from that place, and yet you come. You know why, and yet you still come." The knight turns pale in fear, "I was desperate, and .. I hoped ..." "Then you have failed twice. If I returned, there's no predicting what would happen." A slight footfall behind the knight terrifies Josin. "Mother?" the quiet voice asks. Aiden, with the fair blonde hair of his mother framing the masculine but cute face of his father, had returned home early. It only took a moment for him to witness the scene, a pale and terrified knight of a long distant kingdom and his mother with ebony hair and dark visage. "MOTHER!" he shouts, before whispering, "You said you promised." Even at only thirteen, Aiden was already naturally more moral than Josin could ever hope to be. From when he was born he was nothing but a positive light in her life and even since he had found about her dark past three years ago, he had started to work towards undoing all that harm. Josin had just run from it all, leaving devastation in her wake, but Aiden was adamant that it could and should be fixed. He had become her guiding star, and she knew he was right. Uncoiling her dark energies from his heart, Josin remakes the knight whole again; using her own lifeforce to mend was she stole. The knight able to act once more takes a stance of supplication, "I'm sorry Lady, I truely am." "You are forgiven, but please, leave and don't return," Josin looks down on the knight with regret as he carefully and slowly stands again. The knight turns to leave, only to see Aiden. His breath catches in his throat as he spies the exact likeness of The Lost King. The knight had learned all about the Lost King, even idolised him when growing up, and now he stood face to face with that image made flesh. "Is this? No, it cannot be!" the knight gasps, and turns back to Josin. "I didn't even know the king had descendants, who is this boy? Is he related to the king?" Josin is caught off guard by the sudden change in mood, stumbling over her words. "N.. No .. he's no one, I mean no he's not related." The knight regains his composure. "I see." Josin realises that he knows she's lying. Josin looks past the knight towards her pride and joy, standing there bewildered and annoyed. He is her light, and she knows what she must do. Josin turns directly to the knight and asks, "What f I come?" "Can you save the queen?" "I am no healer, but I can save the queen. Will you keep today a secret until your death?" "On my honour, Lady."	If I told you I was once the ruler of this world would you belive me? Would you belive they used to call me the dark one? I have run my own little far on the coutryside for about 10 years now, the older people know who I am and fear me, but the young ones see me only as the guy who wears "silly" dark capes and keeps to himself, their parents tell them to stay away but the kids show up every once in a while. After my humiliating defeat, I decided to retire from my 'evil and destruction' days, life out here isn't easy, having superpowers helps I guess, I plant food and raise some animals, it's a quiet and simple life, was being a evil overlord more fun? Yes, but I gave that up, I never wanted to see a superhero in front of me again, imagine my surprise when 4 of them came asking for my help to save the world, Speed, Falcon and I didn't bother to learn the names of the other two, the same guys who overthrew me, its hilarious. -Please miss Strong is dead. they said, pleading. The self-righteous bitch. -We will all die if you don't stop it. -I am a villan, I don't help people, I might be retired but that hasn't changed. -C'mon, you are also going to die if you don't help us stop it. -And you are? -Zipper! -Well that is a stupid name. Hahaha. -Let's just go he wont help, I told you it was useless to come here, villans never change. -Falcon wait, comeone psycho -I go by Richard these days. -Fine Richard, we need your help there are a series of events happening the earth is cracking, there have been lava spills, tsunamis you name it, it has probably happened somewhere, our only hope was miss Strong and tried and failed. You have most of the same powers as her except you are unknown to our enemy and also has some tricks up your sleeve she won't be prepared for. -uhmm, and who might she be? -Tempest, she sees human kind as a plague and wants to "restore earth to its natural state" but she is a maniac, who is going to end up breaking the planet in half. - An eco idiot, it could be fun to kick her ass, but what to gain with this? -Well you know maybe the planet not exploding! Said Zipper -Yeah you are going to need more than that to make me show my face next your dumb ass. -What do you want? -Well money would be fun. Be revenge is much better , I want the right to fight all of you afterwards, if I win you die and this planet is mine again. -Don't. -Fine! He looks away from and to his companions. -We are all going to die anyway if he doesn't help we are all dead anyway. And with that I took my old suit from the closet and went with them, and I saw the destruction, up north, whole cities sinked into the ground, enormous gashes in the earth that ran, instead of blood, lava, burning woods and houses, as we neared the coast you could see cities undewater as if the story of Atlantis was true, with a lot more death and destruction, but true. It was beautiful. But if she was that powerful how could I defeat her. The humble heroes had a jet in which the ones who couldn't fly went, I not wanting to tire myself by flying across the entire country went inside of it. In a little island off the coast there was a castle and an evil one at that, it seemed to be drilling into the ground and emitting pulsating waves into the grounds thag made it shake and in a spike on to of it, it was the corpse of miss Strong. Her blonde hairs in the wind, birds eating her eyes, that lifeless expression I wish I had brought upon her myself a long time ago, but looking at her didn't make me feel better and I started to question if I really wanted revenge afte all. -We will give you support, now zipper will open a door for you. And just like that, in the middle of the air as if pulling a zipper she opened a portal and I could see inside the castle. And there stting in a throne she was -Younger than I expected. I said as I jumoed through. -Goo evening you lady I heard yoy killed miss Strong and came here to thank you for it. I said bowing -And you are? She said in a petulant voice. Kids, they don't fear what they don't know. -Oh I am but a humble villan call me Psycho. -Get out of here Psycho, if you don't want to die. Tell the heroes to leave as well. I recognize a Zipper door when I see one. -Those idiots don't worry I just used them to get here.
I saw that this prompt was originally posted 4 years ago, and I liked it, so I copy-pasted it.	[WP] You are a retired Dark Lord living in the countryside. 10 years after your crushing defeat, the heroes come for your help.	Part 1/2 I could taste rads on the air, again. They usually blew in from the wasteland where the capital used to be towards the end of the year, but this was sharper and earlier than I had been expecting. Some wannabe Warlord had probably found another cache of missiles or one of the old governmental munition bunkers again, and had stirred up the fallout in their endless, tedious little games of 'Mad Max'. The thought made me smile a little - I had liked that movie, even though having to live through it wasn't much fun. I checked the digital readout of the Personal Rad-Shield clipped to my wrist, made a tiny adjustment, and then blinked away the sparks as a fresh skein of gamma-laced particles bounced off an invisible barrier two inches from the tip of my nose. I was down to a mere 8,000 hours of battery life, and I hated the thought of being cooped up inside all day while it recharged. Inured to the radioactive debris in the air and soil, the wind was nevertheless biting cold, and the ash was beginning to settle on my instruments, so I dutifully packed everything into the case ready for decontamination and set off for the compound that I called home. It took the better part of an hour, weaving around burned-out husks of cars and rattling myself sore over the broken tarmac, but fortunately my bicycle didn't pick up yet another puncture. Yes, a post-apocalyptic bicycle. What else were you expecting? A monster truck with spiked bumpers and a screaming captive in a gibbet dragged behind it? That would be droll even before the gasoline reserves burned away 8 years ago. A sled drawn by a team of huskies in doggy-sized HAZMAT suits? A 6-legged, carnivorous, mutant horse? Let me make it clear; If you subject your animals to this environment for your own convenience, then you're obviously a greater monster than I ever was. Besides, the horse had recently eaten someone that had disagreed with him, and he needed his rest. Customized and well-maintained though it was, it did not compare to the Crawler that was parked outside the concrete archway that led down into my bunker. With its 6 caterpillar-tracked wheels, hermetically sealed airlock and scarred but imposing armour plating, it may have intimidated the ferals that lurked within the ruins, but I paid it no heed. The airlock to my home had not been breached - another little nugget supplied by my personal data device - so they were welcome to sit there all day if they liked. I parked up and locked the bike to the rack - I knew it was a superfluous behaviour designed to give myself the illusion of 'normality', but I did it anyway and ignored the flash-burned, human-shaped shadows burned into the concrete - transmitted the access code to the airlock and enjoyed a leisurely decontamination process. The technology to which I had recently upgraded had the process down to 38 seconds, stripping errant particles away with an anti-neutrino wash that for all intents and purposes was little more than a blueish strobe light, but I lingered to make sure the contents of my bag were cleansed and made safe before kicking off my boots and strolling into the bare-concrete room that used to be the office for base security. Two-dozen monitors automatically flicked into life as I approached, each showing various places in and around my domain from hidden cameras. Four were trained on the Crawler, which hadn't moved. I ignored them, and it, flipping through a meaningless screed of information rolling across the panel in front of me. It was petty, I know - whoever rode within the machine couldn't help but have seen me walk by, and the short-range comm to my left displayed the equivalent of 43 'missed calls' over the last 4 hours - but I was in no rush to do anything about it. As I scrolled through a second page of ambient temperature readings, the comm lit up again with yet another incoming call. I considered ignoring it again, letting it buzz and buzz until it was clear that I would not answer, but I decided that such rudeness was beneath me. Instead, I reached out without looking and hit the 'disconnect call' button, knowing full well that the callers would know the difference. They called again within 10 seconds, and I amused myself with this antic thrice more before finally answering the call. The last time, they had waited a full 90 seconds in between attempts - inwardly, I enjoyed imagining the argument that had broken out among them as they simmered and chafed at my discourtesy. "I'm sorry, but the person you are calling is not available," I began in my crispest British accent, knowing perfectly well that they could see me through the camera. "Please leave a message after the ton-" "DAMN YOU, ETERNAL!" The viewscreen filled with the close-up image of a single, blood-shot eye. The voice was male, perhaps a little less than middle aged, and evidently furious. "YOU DELIBERATELY KEPT US WAITING, YOU NO GOOD SONNOVABI-" The line went dead again. I was a little surprised - not by the tone, but because this time I hadn't cut the call. Whoever that was, either had a chaperone trying to keep them calm, or otherwise had just punched out their comm-rig. Cute. Another minute passed and then the call ID flashed again. I considered hanging up again, not out of any particular malice, but decided against it - I would be here all day, and I had other things to do. "Good evening, Crawler. Evidently you know who I am, so we both know that demanding food and fuel will end poorly for you, which begs the question as to why you are invading my parking lot and my 'phone line?" The camera focused on a new face. I didn't recognise it, save for it not being the irate caller from a moment ago. Male, square-jawed, and skin tanned but lacking the poxed kiss of solar burns, something about the set expression was screaming 'military'. His eyes, though reddened with lack of sleep, were clear blue rather than veined with fury. "My name is Major Lance Sterling, 18th Armoured Rangers, of the Resurrected American States Military. We've been looking for you for a long time, Dr Eternal, because we need your help. May we please come in to discuss...?" "Its 'Professor', as it happens." I corrected. "I know that the University no longer exists as anything larger than a fist-sized piece of rubble, but the emeritus process has to stand for something." Behind Major Sterling, only just picked up by the microphone, a distorted outburst of curses erupted off-camera. That sounded like the voice from before, followed by a quieter shushing from a more feminine source. That made three in total, and only one of which who was attempting stealth. That pricked my senses, becoming a sinking feeling down my spine. "Professor, of course." Sterling had the good manners to look embarrassed and unsettled by the quiet argument taking place next to him. "Professor, the R.A.S.M. has asked us to bring you in. They want to talk to you about the radiation and see if you could maybe-" "Nope." My interjection was this time curt and cold. "Not my fault, not my problem." "Not your fault!?" This was the other voice; angrier, older, and strangely familiar. The camera suddenly jerked aside, leaving a fleeting glimpse of Sterling's astonished expression, and instead revealing a close-up of Mr. Angry from before. Leathery skinned and silver-haired, but with the same barcode tattoo under his left eye. This time I realised who I was looking at. "Not your fault!? Your damned machine caused the war! Millions dead! Nucular radiation poisoning the world! And it's not your fault!?" "Hello, General Spauss. I had thought you were dead. Well, I had hoped you were, at least." I quipped and settled back into my seat. "A shame really, some of us would prefer death to the indignity of retraining as a second-rate Avon lady, but each to his own, of course." The older man - Spauss - spluttered and mangled his words into angrish, and I continued before he could collect himself. "And no, not my fault. My machine ran on quantum acceleration, nothing so crude as fusion, as you damn well know. The current condition of the world has nothing to do with my little entanglements and everything to do with the uranium that your governments dropped on each other after I was chased out and you squabbled over the salvage. Which you also damn well know." Spauss, at last, had gone quiet although his face was still purple with indignation. The puce of the veins at his temples warmed my heart. "So now you come begging, hm? You called me a tyrant, you burned my city, and you killed my daught-... my people, you blamed me for the end of the world, and now you come here and ask for more?" I rested my chin in one hand. The sinking feeling had now begun to burn, deep in my belly, but I was in control and not about to show them otherwise. "In a nutshell? Yes." That was Sterling again, close by but off camera. "We've made mistakes, and it cost the world everything. We want to fix those mistakes, starting with you, and from there with your tech and know-how...."	If I told you I was once the ruler of this world would you belive me? Would you belive they used to call me the dark one? I have run my own little far on the coutryside for about 10 years now, the older people know who I am and fear me, but the young ones see me only as the guy who wears "silly" dark capes and keeps to himself, their parents tell them to stay away but the kids show up every once in a while. After my humiliating defeat, I decided to retire from my 'evil and destruction' days, life out here isn't easy, having superpowers helps I guess, I plant food and raise some animals, it's a quiet and simple life, was being a evil overlord more fun? Yes, but I gave that up, I never wanted to see a superhero in front of me again, imagine my surprise when 4 of them came asking for my help to save the world, Speed, Falcon and I didn't bother to learn the names of the other two, the same guys who overthrew me, its hilarious. -Please miss Strong is dead. they said, pleading. The self-righteous bitch. -We will all die if you don't stop it. -I am a villan, I don't help people, I might be retired but that hasn't changed. -C'mon, you are also going to die if you don't help us stop it. -And you are? -Zipper! -Well that is a stupid name. Hahaha. -Let's just go he wont help, I told you it was useless to come here, villans never change. -Falcon wait, comeone psycho -I go by Richard these days. -Fine Richard, we need your help there are a series of events happening the earth is cracking, there have been lava spills, tsunamis you name it, it has probably happened somewhere, our only hope was miss Strong and tried and failed. You have most of the same powers as her except you are unknown to our enemy and also has some tricks up your sleeve she won't be prepared for. -uhmm, and who might she be? -Tempest, she sees human kind as a plague and wants to "restore earth to its natural state" but she is a maniac, who is going to end up breaking the planet in half. - An eco idiot, it could be fun to kick her ass, but what to gain with this? -Well you know maybe the planet not exploding! Said Zipper -Yeah you are going to need more than that to make me show my face next your dumb ass. -What do you want? -Well money would be fun. Be revenge is much better , I want the right to fight all of you afterwards, if I win you die and this planet is mine again. -Don't. -Fine! He looks away from and to his companions. -We are all going to die anyway if he doesn't help we are all dead anyway. And with that I took my old suit from the closet and went with them, and I saw the destruction, up north, whole cities sinked into the ground, enormous gashes in the earth that ran, instead of blood, lava, burning woods and houses, as we neared the coast you could see cities undewater as if the story of Atlantis was true, with a lot more death and destruction, but true. It was beautiful. But if she was that powerful how could I defeat her. The humble heroes had a jet in which the ones who couldn't fly went, I not wanting to tire myself by flying across the entire country went inside of it. In a little island off the coast there was a castle and an evil one at that, it seemed to be drilling into the ground and emitting pulsating waves into the grounds thag made it shake and in a spike on to of it, it was the corpse of miss Strong. Her blonde hairs in the wind, birds eating her eyes, that lifeless expression I wish I had brought upon her myself a long time ago, but looking at her didn't make me feel better and I started to question if I really wanted revenge afte all. -We will give you support, now zipper will open a door for you. And just like that, in the middle of the air as if pulling a zipper she opened a portal and I could see inside the castle. And there stting in a throne she was -Younger than I expected. I said as I jumoed through. -Goo evening you lady I heard yoy killed miss Strong and came here to thank you for it. I said bowing -And you are? She said in a petulant voice. Kids, they don't fear what they don't know. -Oh I am but a humble villan call me Psycho. -Get out of here Psycho, if you don't want to die. Tell the heroes to leave as well. I recognize a Zipper door when I see one. -Those idiots don't worry I just used them to get here.
I saw that this prompt was originally posted 4 years ago, and I liked it, so I copy-pasted it.	[WP] You are a retired Dark Lord living in the countryside. 10 years after your crushing defeat, the heroes come for your help.	There really is something special about the smell of a new delivery of parchment. You never know quite what you'll get, and this new shipment has a crisp and slightly spicy scent, a hint of its more exotic origins. I carefully took the loose leaf and placed the sheaf in the hopper, preparing it for binding into my latest tome of magical research. As I inked my quill and prepared to put it to the page, there came an unwelcome interruption. First, there was a few hurried, careless knocks; only a few before there was a strangled yelp. Then there was the quite frankly annoying voice of my enchanted door berating whomever had been so rude. Carefully placing the quill back in its holder and magically cleaning the errant ink drops, I made my way at a gentle pace to the front door, listening with a mixture of pride and embarrassment at the door's increasingly inventive invective. "That will be quite enough Iago," I said as I opened the door from the inside just as the door was about to launch into a tirade against the intruder's parentage. "Besides, I don't want to have to tell Mother what you called her this time. Hello Sebastian." If my brother had control of his mouth, the words he would speak would never be able to capture the look of pure loathing pouring from his eyes. It was always interesting, the way things worked out sometimes. Though Sebastian and I shared the same parents, we couldn't be more different. He took very much after our father, down to the halo and feathered wings. I, on the other hand, took after my mother. No horns thankfully, that would make taming my hair an even more monumental task than it already is, but a pair of fine, sinuous wings and purple skin were my inmost obvious inheritance from her. And while I learned all sorts of secrets of magic and governance from her, all Sebastian took from her was her stubbornness, which made the self-righteousness and martial prowess he got from our father even more insufferable. He joined our father on some damn fool crusade while I stayed with mother to rule the land. When he came back after mother's... retirement she liked to call it, he decided then was the perfect time to do a little usurping. It was humiliating at the time, but ten years has a way of making you see the benefit of what may seem like setbacks. I kept tabs on what had become of the land I was to inherit, so I was not surprised to see Sebastian today, frozen on my doorstep. That does not mean I found this reunion pleasant. "If you can keep a civil tongue, you can stay for tea. Otherwise, you can go back to the mess you made," I said cooly before releasing him from the magical stasis trap. He opened his mouth several times, and it was almost amusing to watch him as he fought a battle between losing his cool and saying what was on his mind, or keeping it and possibly getting what he actually wanted and needed. He eventually chose to have a cool head, and I let him inside. I could feel his gaze burning into my back, his hatred of me was almost palpable. I led him to a sitting room and magically produced hot tea and sweet biscuits, which were perfectly fine and just teleporting from my kitchen. From the look he gave them you'd swear I just offered him poison. Taking a refreshing sip and enjoying the intense waves of dissatisfaction pouring off him, I finally gave up hope that he would be the civil one and start the conversation. "So, what brings you back to my humble abode? It's been at least ten years since you last came here, and is it seven or eight since you sent your last missive?" I asked with unfailing cordiality. I pointed to the wall, where I had framed the last thing he had sent me; a warning never to return to the land I cared for, the people I had ruled, the places I loved. "You know why I've come," he finally said, his voice full of grave and foreboding tones. "Of course I know why, I never stopped watching over what was mine. But that's not the point. I want to hear you say it, face to face." He turned his head, his face red with shame as he mumbled something inaudible. "I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that," I said sweetly. "I said you were right!" He shouted back, tears welling in his eyes. "You were right," he repeated softly, "and I need your help." I sipped my tea as if thinking about his plea, and then gave the response I had decided upon being exiled here a decade ago, knowing this day would come sooner or later. "No, I don't think I will." "What?! But you have to!" he exclaimed. "I really don't have to do anything," I replied. "Actually no, that's not entirely true. I do have to take the time and enjoy watching you stumble about in the mess you made; because time is one of the few things I have in abundance here, and it's good for my mental health to know that your choices and yours alone caused this." "The people are rioting, armies mass at our borders and the land is falling to ruin and chaos, and all you will do is watch it?" Sebastian asked tearfully. "You think it does not pain me to watch?" I replied, my own tears welling. "All I wanted growing up was to follow in Mother's lead -" "Don't bring her into this!" he shouted again. "I'm bringing her into this because it's the root of your problem. You came back from your crusade with dad all hopped up on righteous zealotry; and when Mother said she was retiring and leaving me in charge, you lost your shit! Gods forbid that an intelligent and compassionate woman be in charge when there was a big strong man available! So you waited until dad left on his next crusade, started spreading rumours about me and then ousted me, exiling me to this... admittedly lovely place." "But then it wasn't as easy as you thought it would be, was it?" I said with a wicked grin. "It's not easy to keep the people happy, because when your in charge you learn that what people mostly are, is unhappy. You tried to make decisions everyone would like, but you never learned the difference between what people want and what they need, and the difference between leadership ans popularity. And you never bothered to learn the nuances and intrigues of diplomacy, so you pissed off our allies and enemies we kept at bay via a tangled web of economic and military treaties and learned the hard way that we aren't the top of the pecking order, and that your might as a warrior means nothing against a whole army." "So, the people, sick of a lack of real leadership, have taken to back control. That fact that you see this as rioting when it's just a failure to listen l to you and your cronies... is laughable. The armies massed at your border are just watching too, content you watch you shudder in fear of your own populace. They are laying the kost effective seige in our history by doing... nothing! If mother hadn't already retired permanently... she'd come back here just to spit on you." "Please, I'm sorry. I was stupid," he pleaded. "Correct." "I was arrogant," "Also true." "I was a poor excuse for a brother." "Again, factual." "And you deserve to lead our people." "Deserve may be too strong a word, but I agree with the sentiment."	If I told you I was once the ruler of this world would you belive me? Would you belive they used to call me the dark one? I have run my own little far on the coutryside for about 10 years now, the older people know who I am and fear me, but the young ones see me only as the guy who wears "silly" dark capes and keeps to himself, their parents tell them to stay away but the kids show up every once in a while. After my humiliating defeat, I decided to retire from my 'evil and destruction' days, life out here isn't easy, having superpowers helps I guess, I plant food and raise some animals, it's a quiet and simple life, was being a evil overlord more fun? Yes, but I gave that up, I never wanted to see a superhero in front of me again, imagine my surprise when 4 of them came asking for my help to save the world, Speed, Falcon and I didn't bother to learn the names of the other two, the same guys who overthrew me, its hilarious. -Please miss Strong is dead. they said, pleading. The self-righteous bitch. -We will all die if you don't stop it. -I am a villan, I don't help people, I might be retired but that hasn't changed. -C'mon, you are also going to die if you don't help us stop it. -And you are? -Zipper! -Well that is a stupid name. Hahaha. -Let's just go he wont help, I told you it was useless to come here, villans never change. -Falcon wait, comeone psycho -I go by Richard these days. -Fine Richard, we need your help there are a series of events happening the earth is cracking, there have been lava spills, tsunamis you name it, it has probably happened somewhere, our only hope was miss Strong and tried and failed. You have most of the same powers as her except you are unknown to our enemy and also has some tricks up your sleeve she won't be prepared for. -uhmm, and who might she be? -Tempest, she sees human kind as a plague and wants to "restore earth to its natural state" but she is a maniac, who is going to end up breaking the planet in half. - An eco idiot, it could be fun to kick her ass, but what to gain with this? -Well you know maybe the planet not exploding! Said Zipper -Yeah you are going to need more than that to make me show my face next your dumb ass. -What do you want? -Well money would be fun. Be revenge is much better , I want the right to fight all of you afterwards, if I win you die and this planet is mine again. -Don't. -Fine! He looks away from and to his companions. -We are all going to die anyway if he doesn't help we are all dead anyway. And with that I took my old suit from the closet and went with them, and I saw the destruction, up north, whole cities sinked into the ground, enormous gashes in the earth that ran, instead of blood, lava, burning woods and houses, as we neared the coast you could see cities undewater as if the story of Atlantis was true, with a lot more death and destruction, but true. It was beautiful. But if she was that powerful how could I defeat her. The humble heroes had a jet in which the ones who couldn't fly went, I not wanting to tire myself by flying across the entire country went inside of it. In a little island off the coast there was a castle and an evil one at that, it seemed to be drilling into the ground and emitting pulsating waves into the grounds thag made it shake and in a spike on to of it, it was the corpse of miss Strong. Her blonde hairs in the wind, birds eating her eyes, that lifeless expression I wish I had brought upon her myself a long time ago, but looking at her didn't make me feel better and I started to question if I really wanted revenge afte all. -We will give you support, now zipper will open a door for you. And just like that, in the middle of the air as if pulling a zipper she opened a portal and I could see inside the castle. And there stting in a throne she was -Younger than I expected. I said as I jumoed through. -Goo evening you lady I heard yoy killed miss Strong and came here to thank you for it. I said bowing -And you are? She said in a petulant voice. Kids, they don't fear what they don't know. -Oh I am but a humble villan call me Psycho. -Get out of here Psycho, if you don't want to die. Tell the heroes to leave as well. I recognize a Zipper door when I see one. -Those idiots don't worry I just used them to get here.
I saw that this prompt was originally posted 4 years ago, and I liked it, so I copy-pasted it.	[WP] You are a retired Dark Lord living in the countryside. 10 years after your crushing defeat, the heroes come for your help.	I sighed, tending to my plants. The aloe-vera swayed gently in the breeze, and I carefully made a shallow cut on the leaves. The spines rose, the leaves shriveled and curled together as if forming a protective dome while the plant bled. Drops of crimson trickled down the intricate rifts, valleys, and folds of the sea-green skin. My name is Raven Pretium, and I am a dark lord. Once I was a warlock of renowned and feared power, but now, several years after the collapse of my empire, I was nothing. Nothing, if not furious, and perhaps a bit perplexed. I frowned at the man that stood before me, the lights flickered ominously as magic steamed off my body in short, rapid bursts of tingling energy. The man, now seemingly as cowardly as a small boy, looked around in fear tinged with surprise. The woman besides him rolled her eyes, before holding up her hand and speaking. "Enough". She placed her hand up and closed her eyes, a deep, nearly black shade of blue emanating from her palm as she siphoned the magical energy seeping off of my skin. I could barely conceal my annoyance. Of course they would send a thief witch here. It was not enough to force me to flee from my empire in humiliation, they decided to collect a fair bit of salt and pour it all in the wound, one torturous trickle at a time. Perhaps a mentis incantation would do the trick? Or maybe a corpus charm... "Agh! What is that?!" I was startled out of my thoughts when the other man created a few sparks of magic from his hand. Particles of a bright, aquamarine light flew from his palm and formed a sickeningly bright orb of light that blinded me for a few moments. I scowled in anger, holding out my hand. Shadows danced around us, and a mocking laughter echoed through the cavernous walls of my cave. The darkness clung to the man, vanishing as it assimilated into his flesh. I finally got a better glimpse of him. He was young, certainly attractive, and definitely someone I would be happy to get in bed with, if not for the current circumstances. That, and the fact that I was far too shy to ever voluntarily speak to anyone I had a romantic interest in. Oh well. "I-I-I'm sorry...You seemed to be lost in thought. I tho-" He clammed up as I held up my index finger, using yet another corpus charm to silence him. Corpus charms were spells and incantations that dealt with the physical body, and this was no different. A flap of skin emerged over his lips, a perfectly executed silencing. "Be silent" I ordered. Of course, like all so-called "heroes", the thief witch refused. I wanted to grab my knife and stab her, but I was happy here, with my new life. Somewhat. And I certainly had no interest in being captured by other agents of the Light for assaulting a respected heroine. I pushed my black hair out of my grey eyes and focused on the mage. I noticed the stone he was holding in his hand, and chuckled. A mage? We don't get too many of those around here... I looked at him, trying to gauge his abilities and recalling all I knew about such a rare species of humans. A mage was a human being at birth, but after undergoing certain processes he could become something more. A half-breed, capable of performing magic by channeling it through talismans. Not too different from a thief witch, honestly, save for the fact that thieves were born that way, not to mention the rigorous preparation talismans undergo in order to be of any use to the wielder. I focused more on the stone. It was a simple river-rock, but with arcane symbols drawn onto it with what seemed to be dried blood. I would have to utilize yet another spell to be certain, but I was fairly sure it was the mage's blood that worked for the task. Using another person's blood commonly rendered the entire talisman useless. I let go of the mage, and he fell onto the stone floor, gasping desperately for air. It seemed like the spell had been a bit too powerful, gathering the magic around it to increase in strength. Such arcane power could be quiet unpredictable at times. "I apologize dearly for that" I said, but I could not hide my proud smile at what I had done. It felt good to triumph over one of my enemies, even if only for a time. The mage and witch glared at me, as if to say they had no trust in my regret. Of course, I would not blame them. Still, they would be quite wrong to assume I cared. I lost the ability to care years ago, when the Light's agents first ransacked my village and burned down entire houses just to find me. I hated them with a burning passion, and so that was how I became a thief of darkness, wearing shadows like a second skin and cruelty like a second flesh. They were searching for me, not because I had done anything wrong. Only because I existed. They despised me for it. I was a thief witch, but had a secondary ability. That of a normal, very powerful witch. My mother's magic flowed through my blood, alongside the powers of my father. They made me who I am today, and they hated me for it. For being an abomination, something they had no control over. A few took pity on me, and so I was allowed to keep my freedom. Of course, that did not aid me in the taunts and abuse I faced from the rest of the society. They abused me, stole from me, lied to me. And then, they fought me. After an entire decade of rejection, taunting, bullying, and torture, they had the gall to fight me. To hinder my vengeance. But I showed them the true extent of my power, how strong I truly was. The seas turned to blood and lightning crashed upon the shelters of my enemies that day, the day I showed them all the truth of what I really was. I guess they were right, in the end. A monster I was born, and a monster I always will be. No...not a monster, a savior. A savior of society. They would rather my kind hide in the shadows, but I brought my people into the light and they hated me for it. But that is besides the point. I looked at the people in front of me, tearing away from my urge to further explore memory lane, where I had been at the height of my power. "What do you want? Explain quickly, or else I will kill you both. I'm sure those back-bones of yours would make for a delightful belt" I threatened. They were empty, of course. I had great interest in torturing these heroes, but not so much in the judicial proceedings such an endeavor would cost. I was one of the greatest warlocks to ever live in terms of innate strength, but even I could not stand against the combined might of the Trinity, the three grand high witches and mages that ruled over the realm with a fist of magical strength. They regarded me with suspicion, and perhaps, to my immense pleasure, the slightest bit of fear. But of course, as much as I hate to admit it, it was them who caused me fear when I heard what they had to say next... "We want the Deus Auctoras, the God-Makers"	And the Yi Empire was collapsed. All the effort I have spent to form my empire ended in one week. All my army betrayed me. The arth is same again, and every scapegoat of all problems is me. Who am I? I am Dark Lord Theodor, or as in my non-regal name Sahaba. Well, I was the Dark Lord Theodor. I always hated politics. Federalists and Confederalists fighting over miniscule things and concluding nothing. I have recruited large army to end this, and I have united the earth. But those three teenagers, I hated those. They just gone out and said "ooooh freedom rebellion!!! why? because empire bad!" and ended my empire. So, in year 2673, I had to resign and change my identity. All my past real names are gone and now I am Joseph, living in countryside in Andes. Another morning and I once again go to village to sell chicken eggs. While listening cillagers. The modified brain of mine can nderstand any language I hear. A young lady wearig villagers' outfits came by and asked me: "How much are those eggs?" "Six of them are for two pesos. Well, how was the elections yesterday Madam Dolores?" "Well, I have lost again. Confederatists won majority of votes. I guess this is my whole political carrier. So, where were you last month? You disappear very often." "I am a nomad, Sometimes I go to Bolivia, sometimes I go to Peru. And now, it is Chile again." "Well, sometimes you have some good political ideas. I hope you use this opportunity. Here, two pesos. Have a good day!" "Bye." Meanwhile other customers gathered around. And hours passed and it is afternoon again. I could only sell half of the eggs, if I don't act quick and go to another town these eggs will spoil. So, I got back to my encampment and picked up my stuff. In loneliness I have gone and my chickens followed me. And Set down somewhere near the plains. When I woke up because of chickens on my head, I saw a grey smoke in distant place. And I recognised the tents. Quechuas. I have gone there and set up my camp too. And one of the guys greeted me, my old friend. He wore thick clothes and fashioned a long hair. "Hello there Jose." "Joseph, nice to meet you too Anca. Are you guys doing good here?" "Yeah we are good but I see you haven't sold your eggs yet again. We can use them bro. How many are there? Hmm, 127?" "128 friend. So what do you offer?" "20 pesos friend." "No, 15 pesos is enough. Economy nowadays are going in the shitter." "Correct, this moon colony bullcrap is effecting us natives man." "I am not a native." "You are nomad like us too. So, can you stay with us for a while?" "Sure." I stayed with them and migrated with them for weeks, until reaching close to Argentina. Where I parted ways and I have gone to some natural park to rest. And I woke up in 6 AM after seeing a nightmare. I saw in my nightmare that I would be executed by another Dark Lord. I woke up and looked around but just chickens, camp fire and the tent above me. Let me continue my sleep and few seconds later I saw three human sillouttes and I took my electric gun and hid behind a tree. And in front of me a young man was standing and standing and I screamed. A familiar face though, 5 years ago... I remember! This was one of the main heroes. "What do you want from me again!?" "Calm down, we are here to help you." "No, you are not. Go away, I am not emperor anymore!" When i returned to my tent and tried to sleep three sillhouettes gathered. Girl: "Guys, what should we do." Man 1: "He gone under that tent again." Man 2: "How do we communicate with that guy even..." Me: "Execute me already cowards. I am tired." They took off the tent and I recognized their faces once again. Angry blue haired girl is Isabel, the beardless tall guy is Ivan and short guy is Luke. The team "threeforce". "What do you want from me again? You all gre up too much. Last time That girl was 19 year old. Isabel right? Grow up, liberation and other cool kids stuff are old fashion." Isabel: "No, world needs saving." "I am not dark lord you moron. Go help some lady or disable a nuke. Only thing I have are chickens." Isabel: "No, let us explain. We have swiss cheese." "Alright, you nought me. Let's sit by fire." And we are all sat by fire. While listening to sounds of wilderness. Ivan: "So, you know. The Yi Empire is long gone." "Yep, I still wonder why did you guys ended it." Isabel: "Because empire means bad, right?" "That was the human empire and senate elections were to happen. Like the Roman Empire, can you count the Roman contributions? I were to stop wars. It is not my problem that they voted for Theodor for second time." while eating cheese
I saw that this prompt was originally posted 4 years ago, and I liked it, so I copy-pasted it.	[WP] You are a retired Dark Lord living in the countryside. 10 years after your crushing defeat, the heroes come for your help.	((Part 1/2)) \\cracks knuckles and laughs in Dungeon Master\\Y’all can’t stop me this time… \~\~\~ “What part of ‘this is a tomb’ is incomprehensible to you and your party?” The lich’s normally intimidating voice was laced with an ancient weariness only the defeated yet spared villains could muster. “You know I had a perfectly good door waiting there right?” “It was locked with a door puzzle and your bloody Gnoll skeletons knocked the shit out of the Wizard in the first two minutes so none of us could figure out how to open the damn thing. And once again, Acererak, you know that Thog the Barbarian would have knocked it down either way.” The response came from the shadows clustered near the back of the former atropal nursery, or what had been the nursery while the Soulmonger and the Death Curse had been still active. Old days and old sins for an even older lich. Acererak sighed at the Rogue’s remark, and the sight of thousands year old lich pinching the bridge of his nose would have been amusing if not for the fact he was hovering about three feet above a magma pit.“Why are you here, paladin? Destroyed my phylactery already?” He might as well stop dancing around the point and get to it already. It wasn’t as if he actually prepared a monologue for the boss fight since his defeat and imprisonment nearly three eons ago. “Came here to finish the job I presume?” Not that he’s going down without a fight, prepared spells or not. “We came here to talk.” Acererak looked up from his spellbook with a mixture of surprise and amazement. “And you believed that asking me, the Archlich and architect of the Death Curse, would be the best candidate for that?” Paladin Illendir the Shining shook their head, lowering the tower shield once they’ve confirmed that the lich was not indeed going to fireball them into the next dimension. “We need a favor, Acererak. And I’m not sure who else we can ask. We quite literally have no other options.” If the aasimar paladin was trying to convince the lich to help the party, they were surely doing a poor job of it. “Well then...let’s see what options you do have... You have your Cleric for resurrections and healing, and I'm sure you'd take a Cleric over a necromancer any day. Your party has a Divination Wizard for the more arcane approaches that involve more than 'smash the door down' or your Rogue to pick the lock. There’s Thog the barbarian for when things go sideways. Finally there's you, Paladin, to be the face and defender of the party since the unfortunate death of the Bard a few centuries ago. To be perfectly blunt, you need no aid from me, and you want no aid since the unfortunate death of your favorite storyteller Bard at my hands a few centuries ago. Or has it been longer than that? Time gets funnier the longer you remain here you know."Acererak gestured at his surroundings, shrugging skeletal demon wings on his back as the necromancer waited for the paladin's response. Illendir winced at the reminder of their friend's death, choosing to avert their gaze. “Like it or not, we need your help. This involves more than just you and your phylactery Acererak, I thought you would have learned some bloody common sense during your one thousand years of imprisonment here. And yes, your remark about time was very on point, our last Chronology Wizard made sure to draw out your suffering for as long as possible in this tomb.” Acererak might have chuckled, and the cambion lich ceased hovering to land next to the paladin, and hell be damned if the paladin decided to smite him the instant he entered melee range. “What a noble band of heroes you are, choosing to bury a lich alive in the tomb he designed after first hacking him to a tenth of his health and destroying all traces of his phylactery from his own memories. Although I am reluctant to admit it, the wards are impressive, nearly three thousand years in this demiplane and I have yet to find a way out.” The rogue took the lich's landing as his cue to cease their hiding in the shadows, slipping silently into view as the Tabaxi instantly began scouring the room for trinkets. “Yes, most impressive indeed.” Illendir knew next to nothing about the wards placed on this tomb or how they even managed to seal the ancient archlich away, just that the cambion necromancer had yet to find a way out of the demiplane their party threw him into after his defeat, Illendir themself had barely escaped combat by the skin of their teeth. The Bard and former Wizard had not been as lucky. Their souls had been fed to the lich's phylactery, the same lich that now stood defeated and exhausted after centuries of imprisonment and starvation. Illendir’s god would have recoiled from the prospect of working with such evil, but Illendir themself did not. “I would like to propose you a deal, Acererak.”	And the Yi Empire was collapsed. All the effort I have spent to form my empire ended in one week. All my army betrayed me. The arth is same again, and every scapegoat of all problems is me. Who am I? I am Dark Lord Theodor, or as in my non-regal name Sahaba. Well, I was the Dark Lord Theodor. I always hated politics. Federalists and Confederalists fighting over miniscule things and concluding nothing. I have recruited large army to end this, and I have united the earth. But those three teenagers, I hated those. They just gone out and said "ooooh freedom rebellion!!! why? because empire bad!" and ended my empire. So, in year 2673, I had to resign and change my identity. All my past real names are gone and now I am Joseph, living in countryside in Andes. Another morning and I once again go to village to sell chicken eggs. While listening cillagers. The modified brain of mine can nderstand any language I hear. A young lady wearig villagers' outfits came by and asked me: "How much are those eggs?" "Six of them are for two pesos. Well, how was the elections yesterday Madam Dolores?" "Well, I have lost again. Confederatists won majority of votes. I guess this is my whole political carrier. So, where were you last month? You disappear very often." "I am a nomad, Sometimes I go to Bolivia, sometimes I go to Peru. And now, it is Chile again." "Well, sometimes you have some good political ideas. I hope you use this opportunity. Here, two pesos. Have a good day!" "Bye." Meanwhile other customers gathered around. And hours passed and it is afternoon again. I could only sell half of the eggs, if I don't act quick and go to another town these eggs will spoil. So, I got back to my encampment and picked up my stuff. In loneliness I have gone and my chickens followed me. And Set down somewhere near the plains. When I woke up because of chickens on my head, I saw a grey smoke in distant place. And I recognised the tents. Quechuas. I have gone there and set up my camp too. And one of the guys greeted me, my old friend. He wore thick clothes and fashioned a long hair. "Hello there Jose." "Joseph, nice to meet you too Anca. Are you guys doing good here?" "Yeah we are good but I see you haven't sold your eggs yet again. We can use them bro. How many are there? Hmm, 127?" "128 friend. So what do you offer?" "20 pesos friend." "No, 15 pesos is enough. Economy nowadays are going in the shitter." "Correct, this moon colony bullcrap is effecting us natives man." "I am not a native." "You are nomad like us too. So, can you stay with us for a while?" "Sure." I stayed with them and migrated with them for weeks, until reaching close to Argentina. Where I parted ways and I have gone to some natural park to rest. And I woke up in 6 AM after seeing a nightmare. I saw in my nightmare that I would be executed by another Dark Lord. I woke up and looked around but just chickens, camp fire and the tent above me. Let me continue my sleep and few seconds later I saw three human sillouttes and I took my electric gun and hid behind a tree. And in front of me a young man was standing and standing and I screamed. A familiar face though, 5 years ago... I remember! This was one of the main heroes. "What do you want from me again!?" "Calm down, we are here to help you." "No, you are not. Go away, I am not emperor anymore!" When i returned to my tent and tried to sleep three sillhouettes gathered. Girl: "Guys, what should we do." Man 1: "He gone under that tent again." Man 2: "How do we communicate with that guy even..." Me: "Execute me already cowards. I am tired." They took off the tent and I recognized their faces once again. Angry blue haired girl is Isabel, the beardless tall guy is Ivan and short guy is Luke. The team "threeforce". "What do you want from me again? You all gre up too much. Last time That girl was 19 year old. Isabel right? Grow up, liberation and other cool kids stuff are old fashion." Isabel: "No, world needs saving." "I am not dark lord you moron. Go help some lady or disable a nuke. Only thing I have are chickens." Isabel: "No, let us explain. We have swiss cheese." "Alright, you nought me. Let's sit by fire." And we are all sat by fire. While listening to sounds of wilderness. Ivan: "So, you know. The Yi Empire is long gone." "Yep, I still wonder why did you guys ended it." Isabel: "Because empire means bad, right?" "That was the human empire and senate elections were to happen. Like the Roman Empire, can you count the Roman contributions? I were to stop wars. It is not my problem that they voted for Theodor for second time." while eating cheese
I saw that this prompt was originally posted 4 years ago, and I liked it, so I copy-pasted it.	[WP] You are a retired Dark Lord living in the countryside. 10 years after your crushing defeat, the heroes come for your help.	The heavy fall of a booted foot being extremely out of place alerts Josin that something is wrong. The metal striking the wooden floorboards sends a tingle down her spine from memories best left long buried. "Mortana?" the gruff voice asks. She reflexively holds her breath at being addressed by a name she had not heard in many decades. "I'm not she," Josin quickly replies. Thankfully she knew that years had taken a toll on her once youthful face, and her natural blonde hair had long since paled to a silver sheen. "Your breath paused when you heard the name, and no one around here should know it. Your own nerves betray you Lady." "Is this a reckoning?" Josin asks, as she turns from her stove to finally witness the intruder; a knight of the kingdom that she had once left, clad in the regalia she feared. "Nay," the knight says quietly. "I come for help." Josin raises a pale eyebrow questioningly. "You don't seem to be suffering from any malady I can assist with." "Not I Lady, but the Queen." Josin had heard of a new Queen being crowned, but dared not ask questions. People in this hamlet cared not for the affairs of a long distant realm and asking would create suspicion. She had, to all appearances, lived here her whole life. "I decline." The knight shifted his weight slightly, metal plate creaked against metal plate in a chord to set the teeth on edge. "I hadn't asked." "Then I refuse." The knight glares at Josin, and sighs. "I thought with your particular history, you would have some compassion for her plight. She's an innocent afflicted with a blight. The healers can do nothing." Josin flinches at the words. Too many memories of past deeds done held back by wilful benevolence and time. Only in her sleeping dreams did she wrestle with the wrongs her history had wrought in her. Josin raises her chin towards the knight, "If you know of my past, then you must know the reason." "I do, Lady." "Then you must know that I can't, and you must know why." The knight shifts slightly again, "I would not have come if I thought it were in vain. I have a writ of safe passage here and you will returned unharmed." Josin shakes her head, "That is not why, I do not feel threatened." "Then surely the love you once had extends to the people of the land you once cared for, Lady." Josin hurls the nearby plate at the knight where it shatters into a thousand fragments on his chest. "How dare you use that against me." The knight draws his sword in response, "It wasn't an attack, Lady." "Then why do you draw steel?" "To defend myself, Lady, and it is on my honour to bring you back." "I'm not going." "Then so be it." Josin's eyes dart between his blade and the intruder's eyes and he begins to step forward to apprehend her. A wealth of black knowledge springs forth from the dark recesses of Josin's mind, left dormant but not forgotten for a century. Opening up a sight that had stayed closed is almost blinding as she comprehends the flow of energy of the world. Powers gained from forbidden books studied secretly in gloomy basements springs to her fingertips once more. She surveys the steel sword in front of her seeing the fire used in it's creation living deep within the metal and it only takes a little twist to set it free. The knight having barely taken a step yelps in surprise as his main weapon leaps from his grasp before a keening noise breaks it into pieces. The now-empty hilt drops to the floor as various fragments of hot metal scatter around the room. "You ARE the witch I seek," the knight exclaims, taking a step away from her. Josin's hair had turned pitch black again, her pupils engulfing her eyes reflecting a void wellspring. As the knight backed further towards the door, Josin foresaw the probably future. He would return with more knights. She would run again. She should be harried. She would have to kill many, and lose others. Friends would be lost. Her life as she knew it would be ruined. She'd have to start again. What was the cost of one knight's life against all of that all over again. She was old, very old, and she had lost so many friends already. Her sight digs further down into his energy, until it closes in on his force of life. It pulses with the energy of a man at his prime, but Josin had snuffed out thousands in her time. She twists dark energies around his core and starts to decay it from within. The knight turns to run, when a pain shoots through his chest. His eyes go wide when he realises the danger he's in. "Please .. I beg you." Josin throws off the sight for long enough to address the knight properly, "You come seeking me, and bring danger with you to my door. I did my utmost to banish myself from that place, and yet you come. You know why, and yet you still come." The knight turns pale in fear, "I was desperate, and .. I hoped ..." "Then you have failed twice. If I returned, there's no predicting what would happen." A slight footfall behind the knight terrifies Josin. "Mother?" the quiet voice asks. Aiden, with the fair blonde hair of his mother framing the masculine but cute face of his father, had returned home early. It only took a moment for him to witness the scene, a pale and terrified knight of a long distant kingdom and his mother with ebony hair and dark visage. "MOTHER!" he shouts, before whispering, "You said you promised." Even at only thirteen, Aiden was already naturally more moral than Josin could ever hope to be. From when he was born he was nothing but a positive light in her life and even since he had found about her dark past three years ago, he had started to work towards undoing all that harm. Josin had just run from it all, leaving devastation in her wake, but Aiden was adamant that it could and should be fixed. He had become her guiding star, and she knew he was right. Uncoiling her dark energies from his heart, Josin remakes the knight whole again; using her own lifeforce to mend was she stole. The knight able to act once more takes a stance of supplication, "I'm sorry Lady, I truely am." "You are forgiven, but please, leave and don't return," Josin looks down on the knight with regret as he carefully and slowly stands again. The knight turns to leave, only to see Aiden. His breath catches in his throat as he spies the exact likeness of The Lost King. The knight had learned all about the Lost King, even idolised him when growing up, and now he stood face to face with that image made flesh. "Is this? No, it cannot be!" the knight gasps, and turns back to Josin. "I didn't even know the king had descendants, who is this boy? Is he related to the king?" Josin is caught off guard by the sudden change in mood, stumbling over her words. "N.. No .. he's no one, I mean no he's not related." The knight regains his composure. "I see." Josin realises that he knows she's lying. Josin looks past the knight towards her pride and joy, standing there bewildered and annoyed. He is her light, and she knows what she must do. Josin turns directly to the knight and asks, "What f I come?" "Can you save the queen?" "I am no healer, but I can save the queen. Will you keep today a secret until your death?" "On my honour, Lady."	Moving slowly as had always been his way the figure would sweep his hands through the long grass as he traversed the meadow of his own creation. A place devoid of all life save the plants he had nurtured into existence in what was once a barren wasteland, his own small plot of peace and solitude tucked away from the noise of any other heartbeat save his own. Far into the East he had fled, over hills and under mountains, through winding riverways and across oceans after they had struck him down and taken from him all he had cared for and desired. For his was a self-imposed banishment, rendered upon him by a realization that his dream of revenge on the world that had taken from him his only true love. The woman who had ensnared his soul and dragged him down that dark path to damnation, yet he followed her willingly and with a righteous fury and emblazed passion. But it had all been for naught, the great houses of the West had rallied together after millennia of infighting and brought upon them a wave of destruction and fury of which the world had never seen for in their arrogance and belief that they would never unite, they had granted them the sole reason to do so and acted as both catalyst and reagent in bringing about his and his loves fall. And so here he waded, remembering a time before he had met her when he had been a noble man of some repute and then a time after when he had commanded legions of dread beings to battle in her name. A time when she had been taken from him by their mightiest heroes, her soul stripped from body and cast into the void and he had fought on in her stead burning hearth, home and field to ash until the day came when his own strength waned in the presence of their mightiest force gathered and despite all his greatest efforts he could not hold back the tide and was cast from his throne into the dust. Overcome with remnants of his mortality and fragility without his beloveds protection he ran, ran into the shadow and the dark until he could run no more and reached this field of nothing. Here he built himself something of his own away from all that could bother him, a place to dwell and reminisce of times now gone. He had not aged nor waned in the years as a lingering effect of her magics cast upon his very bones and soul, and though he wielded a fraction of his former powers and had not used them in nigh on perhaps a decade or nearly two he was still by far a formidable opponent. A crack would emanate in the distance, the faintest of sounds that none would have noticed, yet he had lived here in solitude for long enough to know every one of those sounds down to the subtle creak of each branch in the trees. Crouching down he would blend into the long grass and cast his gaze to the front of his cabin as three then four no five individuals clad in an array of plate, leather or silks and all hooded or helmed came into view and stopped in front of the structure. Craning his ear and sharpening his thoughts to hear any conversation as the wind carried it "There is no way this is where he resides, we must be lost or the rumors were lies." the tallest of them turned and waved a plated hand "I see flowers and trees... A far cry from the man who burnt mighty Cresy to the ground". A lingering silence would hold before one would reach a hand out towards his direction and speak with a slow confidence but with an old tone "He's there... Watching.. His presence causes the very air of the mysterium to tear and cry". At this he knew there was little point in hiding and instead threw himself up, eyeing the group calmly but with a hand behind his back casting a small sign of protection in case any of them thought themselves able to deliver a blow to him from range. Smiling ever so faintly before opening his mouth to speak but stopping, realizing it had been a great time since he had spoken openly to another taking an extra moment "I believe you are likely lost travelers, naught to see here save a simple gardener". One of the masked figures would take a few long strides forward, lowering his head lightly and glaring at the man with an audible scoff before remarking "He hasn't aged a day.. Perks of being in bed with that hag I suppose", the remark stinging at the man but not prompting any reaction. They couldn't know, likely they sought another and best he not blast their very souls from existence without good reason, he didn't want the attention, he didn't need the attention, misguide them and redirect them would be his plan but before he could open his mouth to respond the largest of them stepped forward and drew his blade planting the tip into the ground and speaking firmly. (I'll try to continue a bit later, threw this up at work and wanted to get this idea out).
I saw that this prompt was originally posted 4 years ago, and I liked it, so I copy-pasted it.	[WP] You are a retired Dark Lord living in the countryside. 10 years after your crushing defeat, the heroes come for your help.	Part 1/2 I could taste rads on the air, again. They usually blew in from the wasteland where the capital used to be towards the end of the year, but this was sharper and earlier than I had been expecting. Some wannabe Warlord had probably found another cache of missiles or one of the old governmental munition bunkers again, and had stirred up the fallout in their endless, tedious little games of 'Mad Max'. The thought made me smile a little - I had liked that movie, even though having to live through it wasn't much fun. I checked the digital readout of the Personal Rad-Shield clipped to my wrist, made a tiny adjustment, and then blinked away the sparks as a fresh skein of gamma-laced particles bounced off an invisible barrier two inches from the tip of my nose. I was down to a mere 8,000 hours of battery life, and I hated the thought of being cooped up inside all day while it recharged. Inured to the radioactive debris in the air and soil, the wind was nevertheless biting cold, and the ash was beginning to settle on my instruments, so I dutifully packed everything into the case ready for decontamination and set off for the compound that I called home. It took the better part of an hour, weaving around burned-out husks of cars and rattling myself sore over the broken tarmac, but fortunately my bicycle didn't pick up yet another puncture. Yes, a post-apocalyptic bicycle. What else were you expecting? A monster truck with spiked bumpers and a screaming captive in a gibbet dragged behind it? That would be droll even before the gasoline reserves burned away 8 years ago. A sled drawn by a team of huskies in doggy-sized HAZMAT suits? A 6-legged, carnivorous, mutant horse? Let me make it clear; If you subject your animals to this environment for your own convenience, then you're obviously a greater monster than I ever was. Besides, the horse had recently eaten someone that had disagreed with him, and he needed his rest. Customized and well-maintained though it was, it did not compare to the Crawler that was parked outside the concrete archway that led down into my bunker. With its 6 caterpillar-tracked wheels, hermetically sealed airlock and scarred but imposing armour plating, it may have intimidated the ferals that lurked within the ruins, but I paid it no heed. The airlock to my home had not been breached - another little nugget supplied by my personal data device - so they were welcome to sit there all day if they liked. I parked up and locked the bike to the rack - I knew it was a superfluous behaviour designed to give myself the illusion of 'normality', but I did it anyway and ignored the flash-burned, human-shaped shadows burned into the concrete - transmitted the access code to the airlock and enjoyed a leisurely decontamination process. The technology to which I had recently upgraded had the process down to 38 seconds, stripping errant particles away with an anti-neutrino wash that for all intents and purposes was little more than a blueish strobe light, but I lingered to make sure the contents of my bag were cleansed and made safe before kicking off my boots and strolling into the bare-concrete room that used to be the office for base security. Two-dozen monitors automatically flicked into life as I approached, each showing various places in and around my domain from hidden cameras. Four were trained on the Crawler, which hadn't moved. I ignored them, and it, flipping through a meaningless screed of information rolling across the panel in front of me. It was petty, I know - whoever rode within the machine couldn't help but have seen me walk by, and the short-range comm to my left displayed the equivalent of 43 'missed calls' over the last 4 hours - but I was in no rush to do anything about it. As I scrolled through a second page of ambient temperature readings, the comm lit up again with yet another incoming call. I considered ignoring it again, letting it buzz and buzz until it was clear that I would not answer, but I decided that such rudeness was beneath me. Instead, I reached out without looking and hit the 'disconnect call' button, knowing full well that the callers would know the difference. They called again within 10 seconds, and I amused myself with this antic thrice more before finally answering the call. The last time, they had waited a full 90 seconds in between attempts - inwardly, I enjoyed imagining the argument that had broken out among them as they simmered and chafed at my discourtesy. "I'm sorry, but the person you are calling is not available," I began in my crispest British accent, knowing perfectly well that they could see me through the camera. "Please leave a message after the ton-" "DAMN YOU, ETERNAL!" The viewscreen filled with the close-up image of a single, blood-shot eye. The voice was male, perhaps a little less than middle aged, and evidently furious. "YOU DELIBERATELY KEPT US WAITING, YOU NO GOOD SONNOVABI-" The line went dead again. I was a little surprised - not by the tone, but because this time I hadn't cut the call. Whoever that was, either had a chaperone trying to keep them calm, or otherwise had just punched out their comm-rig. Cute. Another minute passed and then the call ID flashed again. I considered hanging up again, not out of any particular malice, but decided against it - I would be here all day, and I had other things to do. "Good evening, Crawler. Evidently you know who I am, so we both know that demanding food and fuel will end poorly for you, which begs the question as to why you are invading my parking lot and my 'phone line?" The camera focused on a new face. I didn't recognise it, save for it not being the irate caller from a moment ago. Male, square-jawed, and skin tanned but lacking the poxed kiss of solar burns, something about the set expression was screaming 'military'. His eyes, though reddened with lack of sleep, were clear blue rather than veined with fury. "My name is Major Lance Sterling, 18th Armoured Rangers, of the Resurrected American States Military. We've been looking for you for a long time, Dr Eternal, because we need your help. May we please come in to discuss...?" "Its 'Professor', as it happens." I corrected. "I know that the University no longer exists as anything larger than a fist-sized piece of rubble, but the emeritus process has to stand for something." Behind Major Sterling, only just picked up by the microphone, a distorted outburst of curses erupted off-camera. That sounded like the voice from before, followed by a quieter shushing from a more feminine source. That made three in total, and only one of which who was attempting stealth. That pricked my senses, becoming a sinking feeling down my spine. "Professor, of course." Sterling had the good manners to look embarrassed and unsettled by the quiet argument taking place next to him. "Professor, the R.A.S.M. has asked us to bring you in. They want to talk to you about the radiation and see if you could maybe-" "Nope." My interjection was this time curt and cold. "Not my fault, not my problem." "Not your fault!?" This was the other voice; angrier, older, and strangely familiar. The camera suddenly jerked aside, leaving a fleeting glimpse of Sterling's astonished expression, and instead revealing a close-up of Mr. Angry from before. Leathery skinned and silver-haired, but with the same barcode tattoo under his left eye. This time I realised who I was looking at. "Not your fault!? Your damned machine caused the war! Millions dead! Nucular radiation poisoning the world! And it's not your fault!?" "Hello, General Spauss. I had thought you were dead. Well, I had hoped you were, at least." I quipped and settled back into my seat. "A shame really, some of us would prefer death to the indignity of retraining as a second-rate Avon lady, but each to his own, of course." The older man - Spauss - spluttered and mangled his words into angrish, and I continued before he could collect himself. "And no, not my fault. My machine ran on quantum acceleration, nothing so crude as fusion, as you damn well know. The current condition of the world has nothing to do with my little entanglements and everything to do with the uranium that your governments dropped on each other after I was chased out and you squabbled over the salvage. Which you also damn well know." Spauss, at last, had gone quiet although his face was still purple with indignation. The puce of the veins at his temples warmed my heart. "So now you come begging, hm? You called me a tyrant, you burned my city, and you killed my daught-... my people, you blamed me for the end of the world, and now you come here and ask for more?" I rested my chin in one hand. The sinking feeling had now begun to burn, deep in my belly, but I was in control and not about to show them otherwise. "In a nutshell? Yes." That was Sterling again, close by but off camera. "We've made mistakes, and it cost the world everything. We want to fix those mistakes, starting with you, and from there with your tech and know-how...."	Tomorrow marked 10 years. 10 years since I fell at the hands of the Champion. 10 years. I didn’t hate the Champion. I never have. If it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t be about to deliver a baby in my clinic. I wouldn’t have found my place as a doctor in my village. I was happy here. It is kind of funny that I, who was once called The Doctor was now an actual doctor. “Looks like it’s time to begin pushing. This part is the hard part. It should only take 10-15 minutes at most.” I looked up from between my patients legs. “Breathe through the contraction, and once it ends, push as hard as you can.” As I thought, the baby slipped neatly into the world within seven minutes. The record was 4 1/2 minutes. The new dad cut the cord and I cleaned the newborn up and handed him to his mother with a smile. Next step, the placenta. A gentle tug brought it out. A check revealed a beautiful vagina not in any need of stitching. “Everything is beautiful down here. You will experience what feels like a heavy period over the next week or so. I will be back in a bit to put the little one through his paces so to speak. The nurse will come by with the Vitamin K shot.” I smiled and left the room. Now to my office to gather the necessary documents. I always give new parents some time alone with their new baby. My next step is to record the birth, fill out the birth certificate, and run the well baby tests and record the results. This was also so I can record potential for various powers. Just showing potential doesn’t mean one will develop that power. I stepped into my office, and froze. My office chair turned. I sighed. “Hello, Lance.” The Champion stood. “Hello, Doctor.” “It’s Dr. Ketchum now. Why are you here? You defeated me. You exiled me. The region is yours to rule.” “Endgame.” My blood ran cold. I was thankful I had stopped to use the bathroom first before coming to my office. Otherwise I would be wetting myself. I swallowed. “That’s your problem now!” I strangled out the words. “I’m done with that life! You took my powers when you exiled me!” “I cannot face Him alone, Doctor.” “I’m not fighting alongside you!” “Not even to have your powers back?” Errr! “As much as I would love to have my powers back, my answer is still no. Besides, I have patients to see.” “Not even for your home?” Errr! The Champion knew which buttons to push. He knew I would not stand aside for my village. “…Fine. Your next target should be Steven. He specializes in defense. Cynthia too, with her healing power. She does have a decent defense. Leon is a must. His attack stat rivals Red. Red would be our best bet with his insanely high attack and defense.” “I agree. My concern is Steven’s low speed.” “For speed, May I suggest Alder?” “Didn’t he break both of his legs recently?” “Yes. Yes he did. I had to surgically repair both legs. Forget Alder.” “Here.” I felt a familiar rush. My power. Dang it felt so good! The Champion had placed his faith in me. This time I intended to be on his side. “Gather the team. We’ll meet here in my office. Three days.” Lance nodded as he stood. “Wait. Am I leading, here?” “You know Endgame, so it’s best we follow you.” Lance headed for the door. I gathered up the papers I needed as I nodded. The Champion was right. I had created and built Endgame myself. I was tempted to turn it on them. With the strongest gone, the world would be mine. So tempting. No. I will not. I can’t. I can never do that to the Champion. I will help disable Endgame. I will not turn it on them. So. Tempting.
I saw that this prompt was originally posted 4 years ago, and I liked it, so I copy-pasted it.	[WP] You are a retired Dark Lord living in the countryside. 10 years after your crushing defeat, the heroes come for your help.	There really is something special about the smell of a new delivery of parchment. You never know quite what you'll get, and this new shipment has a crisp and slightly spicy scent, a hint of its more exotic origins. I carefully took the loose leaf and placed the sheaf in the hopper, preparing it for binding into my latest tome of magical research. As I inked my quill and prepared to put it to the page, there came an unwelcome interruption. First, there was a few hurried, careless knocks; only a few before there was a strangled yelp. Then there was the quite frankly annoying voice of my enchanted door berating whomever had been so rude. Carefully placing the quill back in its holder and magically cleaning the errant ink drops, I made my way at a gentle pace to the front door, listening with a mixture of pride and embarrassment at the door's increasingly inventive invective. "That will be quite enough Iago," I said as I opened the door from the inside just as the door was about to launch into a tirade against the intruder's parentage. "Besides, I don't want to have to tell Mother what you called her this time. Hello Sebastian." If my brother had control of his mouth, the words he would speak would never be able to capture the look of pure loathing pouring from his eyes. It was always interesting, the way things worked out sometimes. Though Sebastian and I shared the same parents, we couldn't be more different. He took very much after our father, down to the halo and feathered wings. I, on the other hand, took after my mother. No horns thankfully, that would make taming my hair an even more monumental task than it already is, but a pair of fine, sinuous wings and purple skin were my inmost obvious inheritance from her. And while I learned all sorts of secrets of magic and governance from her, all Sebastian took from her was her stubbornness, which made the self-righteousness and martial prowess he got from our father even more insufferable. He joined our father on some damn fool crusade while I stayed with mother to rule the land. When he came back after mother's... retirement she liked to call it, he decided then was the perfect time to do a little usurping. It was humiliating at the time, but ten years has a way of making you see the benefit of what may seem like setbacks. I kept tabs on what had become of the land I was to inherit, so I was not surprised to see Sebastian today, frozen on my doorstep. That does not mean I found this reunion pleasant. "If you can keep a civil tongue, you can stay for tea. Otherwise, you can go back to the mess you made," I said cooly before releasing him from the magical stasis trap. He opened his mouth several times, and it was almost amusing to watch him as he fought a battle between losing his cool and saying what was on his mind, or keeping it and possibly getting what he actually wanted and needed. He eventually chose to have a cool head, and I let him inside. I could feel his gaze burning into my back, his hatred of me was almost palpable. I led him to a sitting room and magically produced hot tea and sweet biscuits, which were perfectly fine and just teleporting from my kitchen. From the look he gave them you'd swear I just offered him poison. Taking a refreshing sip and enjoying the intense waves of dissatisfaction pouring off him, I finally gave up hope that he would be the civil one and start the conversation. "So, what brings you back to my humble abode? It's been at least ten years since you last came here, and is it seven or eight since you sent your last missive?" I asked with unfailing cordiality. I pointed to the wall, where I had framed the last thing he had sent me; a warning never to return to the land I cared for, the people I had ruled, the places I loved. "You know why I've come," he finally said, his voice full of grave and foreboding tones. "Of course I know why, I never stopped watching over what was mine. But that's not the point. I want to hear you say it, face to face." He turned his head, his face red with shame as he mumbled something inaudible. "I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that," I said sweetly. "I said you were right!" He shouted back, tears welling in his eyes. "You were right," he repeated softly, "and I need your help." I sipped my tea as if thinking about his plea, and then gave the response I had decided upon being exiled here a decade ago, knowing this day would come sooner or later. "No, I don't think I will." "What?! But you have to!" he exclaimed. "I really don't have to do anything," I replied. "Actually no, that's not entirely true. I do have to take the time and enjoy watching you stumble about in the mess you made; because time is one of the few things I have in abundance here, and it's good for my mental health to know that your choices and yours alone caused this." "The people are rioting, armies mass at our borders and the land is falling to ruin and chaos, and all you will do is watch it?" Sebastian asked tearfully. "You think it does not pain me to watch?" I replied, my own tears welling. "All I wanted growing up was to follow in Mother's lead -" "Don't bring her into this!" he shouted again. "I'm bringing her into this because it's the root of your problem. You came back from your crusade with dad all hopped up on righteous zealotry; and when Mother said she was retiring and leaving me in charge, you lost your shit! Gods forbid that an intelligent and compassionate woman be in charge when there was a big strong man available! So you waited until dad left on his next crusade, started spreading rumours about me and then ousted me, exiling me to this... admittedly lovely place." "But then it wasn't as easy as you thought it would be, was it?" I said with a wicked grin. "It's not easy to keep the people happy, because when your in charge you learn that what people mostly are, is unhappy. You tried to make decisions everyone would like, but you never learned the difference between what people want and what they need, and the difference between leadership ans popularity. And you never bothered to learn the nuances and intrigues of diplomacy, so you pissed off our allies and enemies we kept at bay via a tangled web of economic and military treaties and learned the hard way that we aren't the top of the pecking order, and that your might as a warrior means nothing against a whole army." "So, the people, sick of a lack of real leadership, have taken to back control. That fact that you see this as rioting when it's just a failure to listen l to you and your cronies... is laughable. The armies massed at your border are just watching too, content you watch you shudder in fear of your own populace. They are laying the kost effective seige in our history by doing... nothing! If mother hadn't already retired permanently... she'd come back here just to spit on you." "Please, I'm sorry. I was stupid," he pleaded. "Correct." "I was arrogant," "Also true." "I was a poor excuse for a brother." "Again, factual." "And you deserve to lead our people." "Deserve may be too strong a word, but I agree with the sentiment."	Tomorrow marked 10 years. 10 years since I fell at the hands of the Champion. 10 years. I didn’t hate the Champion. I never have. If it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t be about to deliver a baby in my clinic. I wouldn’t have found my place as a doctor in my village. I was happy here. It is kind of funny that I, who was once called The Doctor was now an actual doctor. “Looks like it’s time to begin pushing. This part is the hard part. It should only take 10-15 minutes at most.” I looked up from between my patients legs. “Breathe through the contraction, and once it ends, push as hard as you can.” As I thought, the baby slipped neatly into the world within seven minutes. The record was 4 1/2 minutes. The new dad cut the cord and I cleaned the newborn up and handed him to his mother with a smile. Next step, the placenta. A gentle tug brought it out. A check revealed a beautiful vagina not in any need of stitching. “Everything is beautiful down here. You will experience what feels like a heavy period over the next week or so. I will be back in a bit to put the little one through his paces so to speak. The nurse will come by with the Vitamin K shot.” I smiled and left the room. Now to my office to gather the necessary documents. I always give new parents some time alone with their new baby. My next step is to record the birth, fill out the birth certificate, and run the well baby tests and record the results. This was also so I can record potential for various powers. Just showing potential doesn’t mean one will develop that power. I stepped into my office, and froze. My office chair turned. I sighed. “Hello, Lance.” The Champion stood. “Hello, Doctor.” “It’s Dr. Ketchum now. Why are you here? You defeated me. You exiled me. The region is yours to rule.” “Endgame.” My blood ran cold. I was thankful I had stopped to use the bathroom first before coming to my office. Otherwise I would be wetting myself. I swallowed. “That’s your problem now!” I strangled out the words. “I’m done with that life! You took my powers when you exiled me!” “I cannot face Him alone, Doctor.” “I’m not fighting alongside you!” “Not even to have your powers back?” Errr! “As much as I would love to have my powers back, my answer is still no. Besides, I have patients to see.” “Not even for your home?” Errr! The Champion knew which buttons to push. He knew I would not stand aside for my village. “…Fine. Your next target should be Steven. He specializes in defense. Cynthia too, with her healing power. She does have a decent defense. Leon is a must. His attack stat rivals Red. Red would be our best bet with his insanely high attack and defense.” “I agree. My concern is Steven’s low speed.” “For speed, May I suggest Alder?” “Didn’t he break both of his legs recently?” “Yes. Yes he did. I had to surgically repair both legs. Forget Alder.” “Here.” I felt a familiar rush. My power. Dang it felt so good! The Champion had placed his faith in me. This time I intended to be on his side. “Gather the team. We’ll meet here in my office. Three days.” Lance nodded as he stood. “Wait. Am I leading, here?” “You know Endgame, so it’s best we follow you.” Lance headed for the door. I gathered up the papers I needed as I nodded. The Champion was right. I had created and built Endgame myself. I was tempted to turn it on them. With the strongest gone, the world would be mine. So tempting. No. I will not. I can’t. I can never do that to the Champion. I will help disable Endgame. I will not turn it on them. So. Tempting.
I saw that this prompt was originally posted 4 years ago, and I liked it, so I copy-pasted it.	[WP] You are a retired Dark Lord living in the countryside. 10 years after your crushing defeat, the heroes come for your help.	A light wisp of smoke rose over the small house in the middle of the cabbage farm. The setting sun had bathed the house in blood red, reminding its occupant of a distant past. As the farmer tied his ox and was about to retire into his house for the night, he heard his old dog growling. He hadn't heard that growl in many years, he knew what - or rather, who was coming. The identity of these visitors no longer concerned him but what concerned him was, why were they here? &#x200B; An uncomfortable silence hung thicker than the smoke in the small room. He had invited the visitors into his house after calming his dog down. He had placed his modest supply of bread and mead at their disposal. None of them seemed eager to have either. Instead they sat solemnly on the rickety furniture. Finally one of them broke the silence "Quite the place you have here" said the dwarf through his thick beard as he let out a puff of smoke from his pipe. "Never imagined you'd settle in a cabbage farm out in the middle of nowhere" "Well," the farmer replied "life is full of surprises. And what surprise brings you, my dear friends, to the cabbage farm in the middle of nowhere?" The dwarf removed his helmet and placed it on his knees as he answered "Well, we're here to seek you. We have some business to discusss." "A discount on my famed cabbages perhaps?" inquired the farmer. At this, the dwarf let out a sudden guffaw shattering the sombre mood in the room as the faces around him seemed to light up with smiles. "So my friends," said the farmer, warmly now, "Sir Derrek Warsong, the Silver Knight of the North Castle, Master Bimbli from the Caverns of Mt. Morn, Prince Eamean of the Whistling Woods and Lady Ashana Firestorm from the West. Once again, please, accept my humble meal, I regret I couldn't get some wine from the village as it is too late now. I'm sure you are hungry." The guests, now a little relaxed, slowly bit into the bread and took sips from their cups. "Now, tell me, what really brings you here?" "What do you know of the bleeding in the Western sky?" the Knight in Silver Armor asked "Me? I know nothing of the sort. Remember? I retired. I gave my word and I have kept it." The Knight took another long swig of his drink as he replied "We know it is not you. We are not here for that." Ashana pulled her hood back revealing her fiery red hair as she spoke "What do you know about the Dark Seal of Embers?" "Ah!" exclaimed the farmer. "So, the mythical Dark Seal of Embers huh? I know what you know and nothing more. Many many years ago someone opened the portals into the realm of chaos, many brave wizards of the west tried to seal it but failed with their efforts. So the Dark Lord Argoth came forward and offered his help, and with the help of his dark magic, the wizards finally sealed the portal. But they sneaked in something into the ritual that bound the Dark Lord into the seal. Legend has it that the seal burns hot even to this day and hence the Dark Seal of Embers. Did I forget anything?" The young man who was quiet all this while spoke softly "You forgot to mention how the seal can be broken." The farmer seemed to flinch at this. "What are you suggesting young Prince? The seal can be broken by the descendants of the Dark Lord by spilling their blood on it, for the Dark Lord had his blood drained in the ritual. Why are we talking about this anyways?" "This is what concerns us, what brought us here" said the Dwarf. "Why come to me for that? I am done with dark seals, dark arts everything." "Because," spoke the lady "you are the last known descendant of Argoth." The farmer stood up now, a dark anger seemed to cloud over his face and the room visibly darkened as he spoke "Why is the seven hells would I want anything to do with chaos? I may have been a practitioner of Dark Arts. My sword might have rendered justice to many and death to more. But never in my darkest dreams would I, Aranth of the Blood Seas, do something stupid as to meddle with chaos!" "Calm down!" exclaimed the Dwarf. "We know its not you. Have you seen the Western skies lately? The ritual has already started. And all that's left for it to be done is your blood." "I can take care of myself, the only foes who could defeat me are you. And you aren't the types to meddle with chaos." "See my friend," said the Knight drawing his sword "that is where you're wrong." &#x200B; &#x200B; EDIT : a grammatical mistake and a couple of lines	Tomorrow marked 10 years. 10 years since I fell at the hands of the Champion. 10 years. I didn’t hate the Champion. I never have. If it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t be about to deliver a baby in my clinic. I wouldn’t have found my place as a doctor in my village. I was happy here. It is kind of funny that I, who was once called The Doctor was now an actual doctor. “Looks like it’s time to begin pushing. This part is the hard part. It should only take 10-15 minutes at most.” I looked up from between my patients legs. “Breathe through the contraction, and once it ends, push as hard as you can.” As I thought, the baby slipped neatly into the world within seven minutes. The record was 4 1/2 minutes. The new dad cut the cord and I cleaned the newborn up and handed him to his mother with a smile. Next step, the placenta. A gentle tug brought it out. A check revealed a beautiful vagina not in any need of stitching. “Everything is beautiful down here. You will experience what feels like a heavy period over the next week or so. I will be back in a bit to put the little one through his paces so to speak. The nurse will come by with the Vitamin K shot.” I smiled and left the room. Now to my office to gather the necessary documents. I always give new parents some time alone with their new baby. My next step is to record the birth, fill out the birth certificate, and run the well baby tests and record the results. This was also so I can record potential for various powers. Just showing potential doesn’t mean one will develop that power. I stepped into my office, and froze. My office chair turned. I sighed. “Hello, Lance.” The Champion stood. “Hello, Doctor.” “It’s Dr. Ketchum now. Why are you here? You defeated me. You exiled me. The region is yours to rule.” “Endgame.” My blood ran cold. I was thankful I had stopped to use the bathroom first before coming to my office. Otherwise I would be wetting myself. I swallowed. “That’s your problem now!” I strangled out the words. “I’m done with that life! You took my powers when you exiled me!” “I cannot face Him alone, Doctor.” “I’m not fighting alongside you!” “Not even to have your powers back?” Errr! “As much as I would love to have my powers back, my answer is still no. Besides, I have patients to see.” “Not even for your home?” Errr! The Champion knew which buttons to push. He knew I would not stand aside for my village. “…Fine. Your next target should be Steven. He specializes in defense. Cynthia too, with her healing power. She does have a decent defense. Leon is a must. His attack stat rivals Red. Red would be our best bet with his insanely high attack and defense.” “I agree. My concern is Steven’s low speed.” “For speed, May I suggest Alder?” “Didn’t he break both of his legs recently?” “Yes. Yes he did. I had to surgically repair both legs. Forget Alder.” “Here.” I felt a familiar rush. My power. Dang it felt so good! The Champion had placed his faith in me. This time I intended to be on his side. “Gather the team. We’ll meet here in my office. Three days.” Lance nodded as he stood. “Wait. Am I leading, here?” “You know Endgame, so it’s best we follow you.” Lance headed for the door. I gathered up the papers I needed as I nodded. The Champion was right. I had created and built Endgame myself. I was tempted to turn it on them. With the strongest gone, the world would be mine. So tempting. No. I will not. I can’t. I can never do that to the Champion. I will help disable Endgame. I will not turn it on them. So. Tempting.
I saw that this prompt was originally posted 4 years ago, and I liked it, so I copy-pasted it.	[WP] You are a retired Dark Lord living in the countryside. 10 years after your crushing defeat, the heroes come for your help.	Part 1 "Hello, old friend." The man looked at me, his eyes that once held purity and innocence now held the same hatred and anger that mine held a decade past. I sighed, taking off my hat and wiping off the sweat that had accumulated on my forehead. "What do you want, hero?" I said with barely concealed annoyance, my hands subconsciously gripping the shovel in my hand tighter. It was an almost perfect day. The birds were singing, my crops were ready for harvest, my former right hand was planning to come over for a drink. A perfect day ruined by the presence of the hero before him. "I need to talk to you, demon king Lucifer." he calmly said, his eyes losing its hatred in exchange of an emotion that I so deeply resented: empathy. I glared at him and he stared back. It reminded me of my downfall, the time I was challenged and "slain", never to return to my glory and my right as lord of all demonkind. It was a long fight. The hero and I fought for hours on end, both of us battered and bloodied by the time we had realized the destruction we had wrought. The archpriest, now his wife, of the party having been knocked out by one of my grand spells. The knight and mage having fainted after tanking a reality bending spell I had weaved into existence in an effort to keep the hero in the fight. In the end, it was I who had fallen. I clutched my chest as I shifted my gaze onto the empty farmland before me. An action that he did not comment on as he too clutched his chest. "We have nothing to discuss here, hero." I said, laying down my shovel to lean against the fence separating the hero and I. "I am naught but a simple farmer. Nothing less, nothing more." I pulled out a flask of fine brandy, a drink that these humans so loved, and took a sip. "I have kept to our accord as faithful as a nun to god." I told him, wincing as I felt the burn of the alcohol grace my throat. "But should you have come to me for advice regarding my mastery over vegetation and farming then you've come to the right place." I offered him my flask as he warily looked at the outstretched hand and me. It was wise to be wary of a former demon lord. In one snap, I could weave a poison so fatal it could kill a dragon in seconds into his drink. Yet I did not as I was curious to what fate had given him for the hero to seek out his rival. After a few seconds, he grabbed the flask from my hands and took a sip. We spent a moment there, just staring at the land as we shared the alcohol and pondered as to what could've happened for a demon lord and a hero to share a drink. The hero sighed and leaned on the fencepost, his face slightly flushed as he gave back the now empty flask. "It's them." he said, his eyes downcast and his voice holding a remarkable amount of resentment. "Humans?" "Yes." he answered as I let a mirthful smile grace my lips. "I understand what you had told me back then." I turned to him, eyes full of amusement as he sighed once more and looked away, unwilling to let me bask in the satisfaction of being right. Chuckling, I waved him towards my home, a homey little cabin just settled nearby. As we walked together, we had discussed various topics: the current weather in Taxion, the state of my former castle, and many more. I had asked about his wife and daughter, a question which had drawn a... worrisome reaction.	Tomorrow marked 10 years. 10 years since I fell at the hands of the Champion. 10 years. I didn’t hate the Champion. I never have. If it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t be about to deliver a baby in my clinic. I wouldn’t have found my place as a doctor in my village. I was happy here. It is kind of funny that I, who was once called The Doctor was now an actual doctor. “Looks like it’s time to begin pushing. This part is the hard part. It should only take 10-15 minutes at most.” I looked up from between my patients legs. “Breathe through the contraction, and once it ends, push as hard as you can.” As I thought, the baby slipped neatly into the world within seven minutes. The record was 4 1/2 minutes. The new dad cut the cord and I cleaned the newborn up and handed him to his mother with a smile. Next step, the placenta. A gentle tug brought it out. A check revealed a beautiful vagina not in any need of stitching. “Everything is beautiful down here. You will experience what feels like a heavy period over the next week or so. I will be back in a bit to put the little one through his paces so to speak. The nurse will come by with the Vitamin K shot.” I smiled and left the room. Now to my office to gather the necessary documents. I always give new parents some time alone with their new baby. My next step is to record the birth, fill out the birth certificate, and run the well baby tests and record the results. This was also so I can record potential for various powers. Just showing potential doesn’t mean one will develop that power. I stepped into my office, and froze. My office chair turned. I sighed. “Hello, Lance.” The Champion stood. “Hello, Doctor.” “It’s Dr. Ketchum now. Why are you here? You defeated me. You exiled me. The region is yours to rule.” “Endgame.” My blood ran cold. I was thankful I had stopped to use the bathroom first before coming to my office. Otherwise I would be wetting myself. I swallowed. “That’s your problem now!” I strangled out the words. “I’m done with that life! You took my powers when you exiled me!” “I cannot face Him alone, Doctor.” “I’m not fighting alongside you!” “Not even to have your powers back?” Errr! “As much as I would love to have my powers back, my answer is still no. Besides, I have patients to see.” “Not even for your home?” Errr! The Champion knew which buttons to push. He knew I would not stand aside for my village. “…Fine. Your next target should be Steven. He specializes in defense. Cynthia too, with her healing power. She does have a decent defense. Leon is a must. His attack stat rivals Red. Red would be our best bet with his insanely high attack and defense.” “I agree. My concern is Steven’s low speed.” “For speed, May I suggest Alder?” “Didn’t he break both of his legs recently?” “Yes. Yes he did. I had to surgically repair both legs. Forget Alder.” “Here.” I felt a familiar rush. My power. Dang it felt so good! The Champion had placed his faith in me. This time I intended to be on his side. “Gather the team. We’ll meet here in my office. Three days.” Lance nodded as he stood. “Wait. Am I leading, here?” “You know Endgame, so it’s best we follow you.” Lance headed for the door. I gathered up the papers I needed as I nodded. The Champion was right. I had created and built Endgame myself. I was tempted to turn it on them. With the strongest gone, the world would be mine. So tempting. No. I will not. I can’t. I can never do that to the Champion. I will help disable Endgame. I will not turn it on them. So. Tempting.
I saw that this prompt was originally posted 4 years ago, and I liked it, so I copy-pasted it.	[WP] You are a retired Dark Lord living in the countryside. 10 years after your crushing defeat, the heroes come for your help.	Part 1/2 I could taste rads on the air, again. They usually blew in from the wasteland where the capital used to be towards the end of the year, but this was sharper and earlier than I had been expecting. Some wannabe Warlord had probably found another cache of missiles or one of the old governmental munition bunkers again, and had stirred up the fallout in their endless, tedious little games of 'Mad Max'. The thought made me smile a little - I had liked that movie, even though having to live through it wasn't much fun. I checked the digital readout of the Personal Rad-Shield clipped to my wrist, made a tiny adjustment, and then blinked away the sparks as a fresh skein of gamma-laced particles bounced off an invisible barrier two inches from the tip of my nose. I was down to a mere 8,000 hours of battery life, and I hated the thought of being cooped up inside all day while it recharged. Inured to the radioactive debris in the air and soil, the wind was nevertheless biting cold, and the ash was beginning to settle on my instruments, so I dutifully packed everything into the case ready for decontamination and set off for the compound that I called home. It took the better part of an hour, weaving around burned-out husks of cars and rattling myself sore over the broken tarmac, but fortunately my bicycle didn't pick up yet another puncture. Yes, a post-apocalyptic bicycle. What else were you expecting? A monster truck with spiked bumpers and a screaming captive in a gibbet dragged behind it? That would be droll even before the gasoline reserves burned away 8 years ago. A sled drawn by a team of huskies in doggy-sized HAZMAT suits? A 6-legged, carnivorous, mutant horse? Let me make it clear; If you subject your animals to this environment for your own convenience, then you're obviously a greater monster than I ever was. Besides, the horse had recently eaten someone that had disagreed with him, and he needed his rest. Customized and well-maintained though it was, it did not compare to the Crawler that was parked outside the concrete archway that led down into my bunker. With its 6 caterpillar-tracked wheels, hermetically sealed airlock and scarred but imposing armour plating, it may have intimidated the ferals that lurked within the ruins, but I paid it no heed. The airlock to my home had not been breached - another little nugget supplied by my personal data device - so they were welcome to sit there all day if they liked. I parked up and locked the bike to the rack - I knew it was a superfluous behaviour designed to give myself the illusion of 'normality', but I did it anyway and ignored the flash-burned, human-shaped shadows burned into the concrete - transmitted the access code to the airlock and enjoyed a leisurely decontamination process. The technology to which I had recently upgraded had the process down to 38 seconds, stripping errant particles away with an anti-neutrino wash that for all intents and purposes was little more than a blueish strobe light, but I lingered to make sure the contents of my bag were cleansed and made safe before kicking off my boots and strolling into the bare-concrete room that used to be the office for base security. Two-dozen monitors automatically flicked into life as I approached, each showing various places in and around my domain from hidden cameras. Four were trained on the Crawler, which hadn't moved. I ignored them, and it, flipping through a meaningless screed of information rolling across the panel in front of me. It was petty, I know - whoever rode within the machine couldn't help but have seen me walk by, and the short-range comm to my left displayed the equivalent of 43 'missed calls' over the last 4 hours - but I was in no rush to do anything about it. As I scrolled through a second page of ambient temperature readings, the comm lit up again with yet another incoming call. I considered ignoring it again, letting it buzz and buzz until it was clear that I would not answer, but I decided that such rudeness was beneath me. Instead, I reached out without looking and hit the 'disconnect call' button, knowing full well that the callers would know the difference. They called again within 10 seconds, and I amused myself with this antic thrice more before finally answering the call. The last time, they had waited a full 90 seconds in between attempts - inwardly, I enjoyed imagining the argument that had broken out among them as they simmered and chafed at my discourtesy. "I'm sorry, but the person you are calling is not available," I began in my crispest British accent, knowing perfectly well that they could see me through the camera. "Please leave a message after the ton-" "DAMN YOU, ETERNAL!" The viewscreen filled with the close-up image of a single, blood-shot eye. The voice was male, perhaps a little less than middle aged, and evidently furious. "YOU DELIBERATELY KEPT US WAITING, YOU NO GOOD SONNOVABI-" The line went dead again. I was a little surprised - not by the tone, but because this time I hadn't cut the call. Whoever that was, either had a chaperone trying to keep them calm, or otherwise had just punched out their comm-rig. Cute. Another minute passed and then the call ID flashed again. I considered hanging up again, not out of any particular malice, but decided against it - I would be here all day, and I had other things to do. "Good evening, Crawler. Evidently you know who I am, so we both know that demanding food and fuel will end poorly for you, which begs the question as to why you are invading my parking lot and my 'phone line?" The camera focused on a new face. I didn't recognise it, save for it not being the irate caller from a moment ago. Male, square-jawed, and skin tanned but lacking the poxed kiss of solar burns, something about the set expression was screaming 'military'. His eyes, though reddened with lack of sleep, were clear blue rather than veined with fury. "My name is Major Lance Sterling, 18th Armoured Rangers, of the Resurrected American States Military. We've been looking for you for a long time, Dr Eternal, because we need your help. May we please come in to discuss...?" "Its 'Professor', as it happens." I corrected. "I know that the University no longer exists as anything larger than a fist-sized piece of rubble, but the emeritus process has to stand for something." Behind Major Sterling, only just picked up by the microphone, a distorted outburst of curses erupted off-camera. That sounded like the voice from before, followed by a quieter shushing from a more feminine source. That made three in total, and only one of which who was attempting stealth. That pricked my senses, becoming a sinking feeling down my spine. "Professor, of course." Sterling had the good manners to look embarrassed and unsettled by the quiet argument taking place next to him. "Professor, the R.A.S.M. has asked us to bring you in. They want to talk to you about the radiation and see if you could maybe-" "Nope." My interjection was this time curt and cold. "Not my fault, not my problem." "Not your fault!?" This was the other voice; angrier, older, and strangely familiar. The camera suddenly jerked aside, leaving a fleeting glimpse of Sterling's astonished expression, and instead revealing a close-up of Mr. Angry from before. Leathery skinned and silver-haired, but with the same barcode tattoo under his left eye. This time I realised who I was looking at. "Not your fault!? Your damned machine caused the war! Millions dead! Nucular radiation poisoning the world! And it's not your fault!?" "Hello, General Spauss. I had thought you were dead. Well, I had hoped you were, at least." I quipped and settled back into my seat. "A shame really, some of us would prefer death to the indignity of retraining as a second-rate Avon lady, but each to his own, of course." The older man - Spauss - spluttered and mangled his words into angrish, and I continued before he could collect himself. "And no, not my fault. My machine ran on quantum acceleration, nothing so crude as fusion, as you damn well know. The current condition of the world has nothing to do with my little entanglements and everything to do with the uranium that your governments dropped on each other after I was chased out and you squabbled over the salvage. Which you also damn well know." Spauss, at last, had gone quiet although his face was still purple with indignation. The puce of the veins at his temples warmed my heart. "So now you come begging, hm? You called me a tyrant, you burned my city, and you killed my daught-... my people, you blamed me for the end of the world, and now you come here and ask for more?" I rested my chin in one hand. The sinking feeling had now begun to burn, deep in my belly, but I was in control and not about to show them otherwise. "In a nutshell? Yes." That was Sterling again, close by but off camera. "We've made mistakes, and it cost the world everything. We want to fix those mistakes, starting with you, and from there with your tech and know-how...."	[Poem] For one thousand years, I ruled over this land. And for one thousand years, it all was quite grand. Admittedly rife with mass devastation Terror and strife and torturous frustration, But grand nonetheless with my castle so dark No envading army would ever embark On a quest so futile, so sure of defeat. Clearly the lord was impossible to beat. But after one thousand years, 5 heroes did. And after one thousand years, the lord hid. After some time passed, I acquired some land. Settled in the country, growing crops by hand I never thought they'd find me, yet here they are Battered, bruised, and with open wounds that will scar. They asked for my help to which I had to laugh Surely they heroes could handle the riff raff In one thousand years, no one ever attacked. In one thousand years, the dark walls never cracked. But in just ten years, word had spread on my loss And wave upon wave of enemies now cross Into our land and these five can't defend us. They need me to scare them out without a fuss. And if my reputation was still intact It might be possible with no bad impact. So after ten short lived years, I followed them Back to my home of one thousand years. The gem Of the land, my castle now lay in ruins. I then chose to ignore other solutions And proceeded to kill all those around me. The heroes were first, they trusted too easy But next were the invaders who destroyed it. And after them were the people who watched it. For one thousand and ten years, I ruled this land And one thousand years and maybe more are planned. New heroes will come and try to seize my throne But I'll get it back before that's even known. Because next time I'll attack in their sleep The night after I lose so I get to keep My castle so dark and my now ruined lands. My claim to this thone will never leave my hands.
I saw that this prompt was originally posted 4 years ago, and I liked it, so I copy-pasted it.	[WP] You are a retired Dark Lord living in the countryside. 10 years after your crushing defeat, the heroes come for your help.	There really is something special about the smell of a new delivery of parchment. You never know quite what you'll get, and this new shipment has a crisp and slightly spicy scent, a hint of its more exotic origins. I carefully took the loose leaf and placed the sheaf in the hopper, preparing it for binding into my latest tome of magical research. As I inked my quill and prepared to put it to the page, there came an unwelcome interruption. First, there was a few hurried, careless knocks; only a few before there was a strangled yelp. Then there was the quite frankly annoying voice of my enchanted door berating whomever had been so rude. Carefully placing the quill back in its holder and magically cleaning the errant ink drops, I made my way at a gentle pace to the front door, listening with a mixture of pride and embarrassment at the door's increasingly inventive invective. "That will be quite enough Iago," I said as I opened the door from the inside just as the door was about to launch into a tirade against the intruder's parentage. "Besides, I don't want to have to tell Mother what you called her this time. Hello Sebastian." If my brother had control of his mouth, the words he would speak would never be able to capture the look of pure loathing pouring from his eyes. It was always interesting, the way things worked out sometimes. Though Sebastian and I shared the same parents, we couldn't be more different. He took very much after our father, down to the halo and feathered wings. I, on the other hand, took after my mother. No horns thankfully, that would make taming my hair an even more monumental task than it already is, but a pair of fine, sinuous wings and purple skin were my inmost obvious inheritance from her. And while I learned all sorts of secrets of magic and governance from her, all Sebastian took from her was her stubbornness, which made the self-righteousness and martial prowess he got from our father even more insufferable. He joined our father on some damn fool crusade while I stayed with mother to rule the land. When he came back after mother's... retirement she liked to call it, he decided then was the perfect time to do a little usurping. It was humiliating at the time, but ten years has a way of making you see the benefit of what may seem like setbacks. I kept tabs on what had become of the land I was to inherit, so I was not surprised to see Sebastian today, frozen on my doorstep. That does not mean I found this reunion pleasant. "If you can keep a civil tongue, you can stay for tea. Otherwise, you can go back to the mess you made," I said cooly before releasing him from the magical stasis trap. He opened his mouth several times, and it was almost amusing to watch him as he fought a battle between losing his cool and saying what was on his mind, or keeping it and possibly getting what he actually wanted and needed. He eventually chose to have a cool head, and I let him inside. I could feel his gaze burning into my back, his hatred of me was almost palpable. I led him to a sitting room and magically produced hot tea and sweet biscuits, which were perfectly fine and just teleporting from my kitchen. From the look he gave them you'd swear I just offered him poison. Taking a refreshing sip and enjoying the intense waves of dissatisfaction pouring off him, I finally gave up hope that he would be the civil one and start the conversation. "So, what brings you back to my humble abode? It's been at least ten years since you last came here, and is it seven or eight since you sent your last missive?" I asked with unfailing cordiality. I pointed to the wall, where I had framed the last thing he had sent me; a warning never to return to the land I cared for, the people I had ruled, the places I loved. "You know why I've come," he finally said, his voice full of grave and foreboding tones. "Of course I know why, I never stopped watching over what was mine. But that's not the point. I want to hear you say it, face to face." He turned his head, his face red with shame as he mumbled something inaudible. "I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that," I said sweetly. "I said you were right!" He shouted back, tears welling in his eyes. "You were right," he repeated softly, "and I need your help." I sipped my tea as if thinking about his plea, and then gave the response I had decided upon being exiled here a decade ago, knowing this day would come sooner or later. "No, I don't think I will." "What?! But you have to!" he exclaimed. "I really don't have to do anything," I replied. "Actually no, that's not entirely true. I do have to take the time and enjoy watching you stumble about in the mess you made; because time is one of the few things I have in abundance here, and it's good for my mental health to know that your choices and yours alone caused this." "The people are rioting, armies mass at our borders and the land is falling to ruin and chaos, and all you will do is watch it?" Sebastian asked tearfully. "You think it does not pain me to watch?" I replied, my own tears welling. "All I wanted growing up was to follow in Mother's lead -" "Don't bring her into this!" he shouted again. "I'm bringing her into this because it's the root of your problem. You came back from your crusade with dad all hopped up on righteous zealotry; and when Mother said she was retiring and leaving me in charge, you lost your shit! Gods forbid that an intelligent and compassionate woman be in charge when there was a big strong man available! So you waited until dad left on his next crusade, started spreading rumours about me and then ousted me, exiling me to this... admittedly lovely place." "But then it wasn't as easy as you thought it would be, was it?" I said with a wicked grin. "It's not easy to keep the people happy, because when your in charge you learn that what people mostly are, is unhappy. You tried to make decisions everyone would like, but you never learned the difference between what people want and what they need, and the difference between leadership ans popularity. And you never bothered to learn the nuances and intrigues of diplomacy, so you pissed off our allies and enemies we kept at bay via a tangled web of economic and military treaties and learned the hard way that we aren't the top of the pecking order, and that your might as a warrior means nothing against a whole army." "So, the people, sick of a lack of real leadership, have taken to back control. That fact that you see this as rioting when it's just a failure to listen l to you and your cronies... is laughable. The armies massed at your border are just watching too, content you watch you shudder in fear of your own populace. They are laying the kost effective seige in our history by doing... nothing! If mother hadn't already retired permanently... she'd come back here just to spit on you." "Please, I'm sorry. I was stupid," he pleaded. "Correct." "I was arrogant," "Also true." "I was a poor excuse for a brother." "Again, factual." "And you deserve to lead our people." "Deserve may be too strong a word, but I agree with the sentiment."	[Poem] For one thousand years, I ruled over this land. And for one thousand years, it all was quite grand. Admittedly rife with mass devastation Terror and strife and torturous frustration, But grand nonetheless with my castle so dark No envading army would ever embark On a quest so futile, so sure of defeat. Clearly the lord was impossible to beat. But after one thousand years, 5 heroes did. And after one thousand years, the lord hid. After some time passed, I acquired some land. Settled in the country, growing crops by hand I never thought they'd find me, yet here they are Battered, bruised, and with open wounds that will scar. They asked for my help to which I had to laugh Surely they heroes could handle the riff raff In one thousand years, no one ever attacked. In one thousand years, the dark walls never cracked. But in just ten years, word had spread on my loss And wave upon wave of enemies now cross Into our land and these five can't defend us. They need me to scare them out without a fuss. And if my reputation was still intact It might be possible with no bad impact. So after ten short lived years, I followed them Back to my home of one thousand years. The gem Of the land, my castle now lay in ruins. I then chose to ignore other solutions And proceeded to kill all those around me. The heroes were first, they trusted too easy But next were the invaders who destroyed it. And after them were the people who watched it. For one thousand and ten years, I ruled this land And one thousand years and maybe more are planned. New heroes will come and try to seize my throne But I'll get it back before that's even known. Because next time I'll attack in their sleep The night after I lose so I get to keep My castle so dark and my now ruined lands. My claim to this thone will never leave my hands.
I saw that this prompt was originally posted 4 years ago, and I liked it, so I copy-pasted it.	[WP] You are a retired Dark Lord living in the countryside. 10 years after your crushing defeat, the heroes come for your help.	The dull thud of metal greaves on stone resounded through the hall in front of the throne room reverberating through the slightly parted doors left open from their last visit. The ostentatious main hall of the castle left the party trudging across its breadth for much more than a moment as they approached me. Somber faces hidden by visors, face shields, and leather caps came into view as they ascended the stairs before me. Halting only a swords swing away from the throne I sat askew upon, the party came to rest. A dramatic pause left the hall silent. "I'm retired." "We know." "I haven't killed a human in ages, nor do I have any subordinates to command to do likewise." "This also, we know." Tilting my head slightly and raising one eyebrow I said "In that case I don't believe I deserve a hero subjugation party. I have already been forced to pay for my past deeds." Plowing forward one says "A new Demon Lord, to the east, threatens our kingdom once more." "Great, send him my regards and wish him the best of luck" Some of the heroes stir at this remark. Whispers of 'How could you' and 'You dare' are heard from some not directly in sight. A hero off to the side steps forward and announces boldly "Our people die as we speak and you cannot even must a whisp of compassion for them!" He had at some point taken the helmet off his head and was holding it in one hand to his side. His grimace and clenched teeth left not a single impression of a wrinkle on his face, a kid to say the least. "You are probably the only one here who can say that wholeheartedly. Some of the faces I recognize here cut through scores of my people to reach me the last time they visited my kingdom. Having visited a second time they probably even told you about their 'tales of heroism'." The dramatic silence returned once more, the kid just stood with his head hung low. The foremost hero started again "Our Lord has instructed us to award you with stewardship of this land under his direction should you be willing to cooperate with us." His tone is formal, rote, as if he had memorized it from a decree handed to him along the way here. "Rulership of this land has never been taken away from me, I rule it at this time just as I have always have in the past" Expressions darken with scowls and some of the party drops slightly, readying themselves for action while their foremost holds out a hand to stay their hands. "This land was taken over 10 years ago by the hero on commission by our Lor..." "Oh yeah?!" I say with a smirk "Then tell your people to come here! Or is a land for heroes and Demon Lords only? I sure haven't seen any other willing human in these lands." Defeated they stood, some looked behind towards the entry doors, some even took a step. Others stared into space, others with glares of intensity towards me. The situation must be grim for them to come to me for help, even worse to not relent when they have been clearly rejected. "I guess its my turn to offer a deal then." The entire party looked back with interest or amazement, some with relenting distain. "Demon Lord, I doubt our Lord will accept any proposal from you." "I am not seeking anything from your lord." Looks exchanged between the heroes slowly turned to understanding After some consensus "If it is something we heroes can provide then we will gladly offer it!" Standing now I looked down on the heroes as they stepped back several paces. Large black wings unfurling from my back. "I will come with you to your kingdom and you will gather all the heroes together before the walls of your Lords castle, and there, you will all sign a contract with me to never enter my kingdom ever again!" Looks of shock crossed their faces. I began to arch over the hero party as I said "If I get every signature from every hero I will depart immediately to save your people, however, if even one refuses I will return to my own land. This is the only offer I will provide." Still arched over them the heroes conferred with one another and after deliberation their foremost agreed to my terms. With this I swooped over to the entryway to the hall. With a wicked grin I said "Well, Lets get started!"	Part 1/2 I was relaxing in front of my fireplace, and the only sound in my small cottage was the crackling as the logs burned. Sat in a comfy chair with a book and a blanket, I was content with my lot in life. A decade had passed. A decade since, the eponymous Hero defeated me and knocked me from my throne as the Dark Lord. At first, I was furious. I swore bloody vengeance. But my wounds at the time were too great, and knowing the power-hungry eyes of my subordinates, I retreated to recover. I am eternally glad I did that now. As after my first year I realised how much nicer life is now I don’t have to run everything. No Demons begging for a soul well to harvest innocents from. No Vampire counts demanding blood sacrifices. It was only in my exile that I realised how draining the life I had chosen was. Looking through a doorway connected to this room, I can see the small form of my precious daughter slowly breathing. I hope her dreams are pleasant ones. I maintain I would burn the world to keep her safe. She though doesn’t know what I am nor what I once was. I hear a light rumble as the storm in the distance starts rising. I have placed a ward to keep the storm from passing over our home. Alice is deathly afraid of lightning. I look back to the book I’m reading. It is one of the tomes I was able to grab before my hasty retreat from my castle. It is the Ogmainfinium, one of the most potent magic books in existence. Though to Alice, it is but a fun storybook. When she’s old enough to read, she will learn her old man wasn’t reading stories but regaling her with his adventures. I once again look into her room; my heart is warmed. Like her late mother, she can melt my icy heart and make me more than the monster the world remembers me as. Feeling the late hours catching up and knowing I’ll have a busy day tomorrow, I close my book with a snap and place it on the bookshelf with other such tomes. I walk to the doorway that leads to my room. It was as I reached for the handle I heard it. ‘THUMP, THUMP THUMP’. It seems the wind is reaching our little home. The tree must be swaying like crazy right now. ‘THUM, THUMP, THUMP’ again but with the same rhythm as before. This gives me pause as nature is rarely so consistent. ‘THUMP, THUMP, THUMP’. This third time I realise it is most certainly coming from the door and not the wall where the apple tree is. Readying several wards and prepping a soul tear rune, I open the door. In the doorway is a haggard man with the appearance of a soaked rat. Feeling no malice from his soul, I release the rune I had prepared and help him in. Clearly, a traveller who must’ve gotten caught in the storm and is seeking shelter. “Come in. I’ll get some hot tea started”, I say as I hang the kettle over the fire. He just gives a slight nod as he looks around my small home. “Not much, I know, but I’m sure I got some spare clothes and a blanket I can lend you while we wait for the storm to pass”, I say as I go to my room to grab the items in question. The man, however, is frozen in place. He seems stunned, almost as if in a stupor. “Come now, you must get out of those clothes, or you’ll catch cold”, I say as I hand him the bundle of clothes. “You can change in my room if you prefer privacy”, I offered, thinking I had worked out why he was hesitating. It was a few minutes later when he walked out in my clothes. They barely fit his muscled build. He clearly was used to exerting himself physically compared to me with my magician’s body. “I suppose you know why I’m here”, he gruffly states as he settles into my late wife’s chair opposite mine. I silently cast a sound dampening ward. I don’t want to wake my little girl. “To get out the storm for one”, I say with a friendly smile as I carefully pick up the kettle with a cloth to avoid burning myself. Though this is more an act as heat of this level wouldn’t do a thing to my flesh. “Do you not recognise me?” he asks, confused. “Of course I do. You are the Hero, Vetica. Been what a decade now”, I answer with a warm smile handing him his cup of tea, which he accepts. “Hope you haven’t come to finish the job. I’m a different man now”, I say, gesturing with my gaze to the sleeping form in her room. “God’s no”, he answers in an almost whisper. “I’ve come for your help”, he says, looking up from his cup directly in my eyes. I can feel the earnestness of his words. “You of all people are seeking the former Dark Lords help?” I ask incredulously.
I saw that this prompt was originally posted 4 years ago, and I liked it, so I copy-pasted it.	[WP] You are a retired Dark Lord living in the countryside. 10 years after your crushing defeat, the heroes come for your help.	Part 1 "Hello, old friend." The man looked at me, his eyes that once held purity and innocence now held the same hatred and anger that mine held a decade past. I sighed, taking off my hat and wiping off the sweat that had accumulated on my forehead. "What do you want, hero?" I said with barely concealed annoyance, my hands subconsciously gripping the shovel in my hand tighter. It was an almost perfect day. The birds were singing, my crops were ready for harvest, my former right hand was planning to come over for a drink. A perfect day ruined by the presence of the hero before him. "I need to talk to you, demon king Lucifer." he calmly said, his eyes losing its hatred in exchange of an emotion that I so deeply resented: empathy. I glared at him and he stared back. It reminded me of my downfall, the time I was challenged and "slain", never to return to my glory and my right as lord of all demonkind. It was a long fight. The hero and I fought for hours on end, both of us battered and bloodied by the time we had realized the destruction we had wrought. The archpriest, now his wife, of the party having been knocked out by one of my grand spells. The knight and mage having fainted after tanking a reality bending spell I had weaved into existence in an effort to keep the hero in the fight. In the end, it was I who had fallen. I clutched my chest as I shifted my gaze onto the empty farmland before me. An action that he did not comment on as he too clutched his chest. "We have nothing to discuss here, hero." I said, laying down my shovel to lean against the fence separating the hero and I. "I am naught but a simple farmer. Nothing less, nothing more." I pulled out a flask of fine brandy, a drink that these humans so loved, and took a sip. "I have kept to our accord as faithful as a nun to god." I told him, wincing as I felt the burn of the alcohol grace my throat. "But should you have come to me for advice regarding my mastery over vegetation and farming then you've come to the right place." I offered him my flask as he warily looked at the outstretched hand and me. It was wise to be wary of a former demon lord. In one snap, I could weave a poison so fatal it could kill a dragon in seconds into his drink. Yet I did not as I was curious to what fate had given him for the hero to seek out his rival. After a few seconds, he grabbed the flask from my hands and took a sip. We spent a moment there, just staring at the land as we shared the alcohol and pondered as to what could've happened for a demon lord and a hero to share a drink. The hero sighed and leaned on the fencepost, his face slightly flushed as he gave back the now empty flask. "It's them." he said, his eyes downcast and his voice holding a remarkable amount of resentment. "Humans?" "Yes." he answered as I let a mirthful smile grace my lips. "I understand what you had told me back then." I turned to him, eyes full of amusement as he sighed once more and looked away, unwilling to let me bask in the satisfaction of being right. Chuckling, I waved him towards my home, a homey little cabin just settled nearby. As we walked together, we had discussed various topics: the current weather in Taxion, the state of my former castle, and many more. I had asked about his wife and daughter, a question which had drawn a... worrisome reaction.	Part 1/2 I was relaxing in front of my fireplace, and the only sound in my small cottage was the crackling as the logs burned. Sat in a comfy chair with a book and a blanket, I was content with my lot in life. A decade had passed. A decade since, the eponymous Hero defeated me and knocked me from my throne as the Dark Lord. At first, I was furious. I swore bloody vengeance. But my wounds at the time were too great, and knowing the power-hungry eyes of my subordinates, I retreated to recover. I am eternally glad I did that now. As after my first year I realised how much nicer life is now I don’t have to run everything. No Demons begging for a soul well to harvest innocents from. No Vampire counts demanding blood sacrifices. It was only in my exile that I realised how draining the life I had chosen was. Looking through a doorway connected to this room, I can see the small form of my precious daughter slowly breathing. I hope her dreams are pleasant ones. I maintain I would burn the world to keep her safe. She though doesn’t know what I am nor what I once was. I hear a light rumble as the storm in the distance starts rising. I have placed a ward to keep the storm from passing over our home. Alice is deathly afraid of lightning. I look back to the book I’m reading. It is one of the tomes I was able to grab before my hasty retreat from my castle. It is the Ogmainfinium, one of the most potent magic books in existence. Though to Alice, it is but a fun storybook. When she’s old enough to read, she will learn her old man wasn’t reading stories but regaling her with his adventures. I once again look into her room; my heart is warmed. Like her late mother, she can melt my icy heart and make me more than the monster the world remembers me as. Feeling the late hours catching up and knowing I’ll have a busy day tomorrow, I close my book with a snap and place it on the bookshelf with other such tomes. I walk to the doorway that leads to my room. It was as I reached for the handle I heard it. ‘THUMP, THUMP THUMP’. It seems the wind is reaching our little home. The tree must be swaying like crazy right now. ‘THUM, THUMP, THUMP’ again but with the same rhythm as before. This gives me pause as nature is rarely so consistent. ‘THUMP, THUMP, THUMP’. This third time I realise it is most certainly coming from the door and not the wall where the apple tree is. Readying several wards and prepping a soul tear rune, I open the door. In the doorway is a haggard man with the appearance of a soaked rat. Feeling no malice from his soul, I release the rune I had prepared and help him in. Clearly, a traveller who must’ve gotten caught in the storm and is seeking shelter. “Come in. I’ll get some hot tea started”, I say as I hang the kettle over the fire. He just gives a slight nod as he looks around my small home. “Not much, I know, but I’m sure I got some spare clothes and a blanket I can lend you while we wait for the storm to pass”, I say as I go to my room to grab the items in question. The man, however, is frozen in place. He seems stunned, almost as if in a stupor. “Come now, you must get out of those clothes, or you’ll catch cold”, I say as I hand him the bundle of clothes. “You can change in my room if you prefer privacy”, I offered, thinking I had worked out why he was hesitating. It was a few minutes later when he walked out in my clothes. They barely fit his muscled build. He clearly was used to exerting himself physically compared to me with my magician’s body. “I suppose you know why I’m here”, he gruffly states as he settles into my late wife’s chair opposite mine. I silently cast a sound dampening ward. I don’t want to wake my little girl. “To get out the storm for one”, I say with a friendly smile as I carefully pick up the kettle with a cloth to avoid burning myself. Though this is more an act as heat of this level wouldn’t do a thing to my flesh. “Do you not recognise me?” he asks, confused. “Of course I do. You are the Hero, Vetica. Been what a decade now”, I answer with a warm smile handing him his cup of tea, which he accepts. “Hope you haven’t come to finish the job. I’m a different man now”, I say, gesturing with my gaze to the sleeping form in her room. “God’s no”, he answers in an almost whisper. “I’ve come for your help”, he says, looking up from his cup directly in my eyes. I can feel the earnestness of his words. “You of all people are seeking the former Dark Lords help?” I ask incredulously.
I saw that this prompt was originally posted 4 years ago, and I liked it, so I copy-pasted it.	[WP] You are a retired Dark Lord living in the countryside. 10 years after your crushing defeat, the heroes come for your help.	Part 1 "Hello, old friend." The man looked at me, his eyes that once held purity and innocence now held the same hatred and anger that mine held a decade past. I sighed, taking off my hat and wiping off the sweat that had accumulated on my forehead. "What do you want, hero?" I said with barely concealed annoyance, my hands subconsciously gripping the shovel in my hand tighter. It was an almost perfect day. The birds were singing, my crops were ready for harvest, my former right hand was planning to come over for a drink. A perfect day ruined by the presence of the hero before him. "I need to talk to you, demon king Lucifer." he calmly said, his eyes losing its hatred in exchange of an emotion that I so deeply resented: empathy. I glared at him and he stared back. It reminded me of my downfall, the time I was challenged and "slain", never to return to my glory and my right as lord of all demonkind. It was a long fight. The hero and I fought for hours on end, both of us battered and bloodied by the time we had realized the destruction we had wrought. The archpriest, now his wife, of the party having been knocked out by one of my grand spells. The knight and mage having fainted after tanking a reality bending spell I had weaved into existence in an effort to keep the hero in the fight. In the end, it was I who had fallen. I clutched my chest as I shifted my gaze onto the empty farmland before me. An action that he did not comment on as he too clutched his chest. "We have nothing to discuss here, hero." I said, laying down my shovel to lean against the fence separating the hero and I. "I am naught but a simple farmer. Nothing less, nothing more." I pulled out a flask of fine brandy, a drink that these humans so loved, and took a sip. "I have kept to our accord as faithful as a nun to god." I told him, wincing as I felt the burn of the alcohol grace my throat. "But should you have come to me for advice regarding my mastery over vegetation and farming then you've come to the right place." I offered him my flask as he warily looked at the outstretched hand and me. It was wise to be wary of a former demon lord. In one snap, I could weave a poison so fatal it could kill a dragon in seconds into his drink. Yet I did not as I was curious to what fate had given him for the hero to seek out his rival. After a few seconds, he grabbed the flask from my hands and took a sip. We spent a moment there, just staring at the land as we shared the alcohol and pondered as to what could've happened for a demon lord and a hero to share a drink. The hero sighed and leaned on the fencepost, his face slightly flushed as he gave back the now empty flask. "It's them." he said, his eyes downcast and his voice holding a remarkable amount of resentment. "Humans?" "Yes." he answered as I let a mirthful smile grace my lips. "I understand what you had told me back then." I turned to him, eyes full of amusement as he sighed once more and looked away, unwilling to let me bask in the satisfaction of being right. Chuckling, I waved him towards my home, a homey little cabin just settled nearby. As we walked together, we had discussed various topics: the current weather in Taxion, the state of my former castle, and many more. I had asked about his wife and daughter, a question which had drawn a... worrisome reaction.	The dull thud of metal greaves on stone resounded through the hall in front of the throne room reverberating through the slightly parted doors left open from their last visit. The ostentatious main hall of the castle left the party trudging across its breadth for much more than a moment as they approached me. Somber faces hidden by visors, face shields, and leather caps came into view as they ascended the stairs before me. Halting only a swords swing away from the throne I sat askew upon, the party came to rest. A dramatic pause left the hall silent. "I'm retired." "We know." "I haven't killed a human in ages, nor do I have any subordinates to command to do likewise." "This also, we know." Tilting my head slightly and raising one eyebrow I said "In that case I don't believe I deserve a hero subjugation party. I have already been forced to pay for my past deeds." Plowing forward one says "A new Demon Lord, to the east, threatens our kingdom once more." "Great, send him my regards and wish him the best of luck" Some of the heroes stir at this remark. Whispers of 'How could you' and 'You dare' are heard from some not directly in sight. A hero off to the side steps forward and announces boldly "Our people die as we speak and you cannot even must a whisp of compassion for them!" He had at some point taken the helmet off his head and was holding it in one hand to his side. His grimace and clenched teeth left not a single impression of a wrinkle on his face, a kid to say the least. "You are probably the only one here who can say that wholeheartedly. Some of the faces I recognize here cut through scores of my people to reach me the last time they visited my kingdom. Having visited a second time they probably even told you about their 'tales of heroism'." The dramatic silence returned once more, the kid just stood with his head hung low. The foremost hero started again "Our Lord has instructed us to award you with stewardship of this land under his direction should you be willing to cooperate with us." His tone is formal, rote, as if he had memorized it from a decree handed to him along the way here. "Rulership of this land has never been taken away from me, I rule it at this time just as I have always have in the past" Expressions darken with scowls and some of the party drops slightly, readying themselves for action while their foremost holds out a hand to stay their hands. "This land was taken over 10 years ago by the hero on commission by our Lor..." "Oh yeah?!" I say with a smirk "Then tell your people to come here! Or is a land for heroes and Demon Lords only? I sure haven't seen any other willing human in these lands." Defeated they stood, some looked behind towards the entry doors, some even took a step. Others stared into space, others with glares of intensity towards me. The situation must be grim for them to come to me for help, even worse to not relent when they have been clearly rejected. "I guess its my turn to offer a deal then." The entire party looked back with interest or amazement, some with relenting distain. "Demon Lord, I doubt our Lord will accept any proposal from you." "I am not seeking anything from your lord." Looks exchanged between the heroes slowly turned to understanding After some consensus "If it is something we heroes can provide then we will gladly offer it!" Standing now I looked down on the heroes as they stepped back several paces. Large black wings unfurling from my back. "I will come with you to your kingdom and you will gather all the heroes together before the walls of your Lords castle, and there, you will all sign a contract with me to never enter my kingdom ever again!" Looks of shock crossed their faces. I began to arch over the hero party as I said "If I get every signature from every hero I will depart immediately to save your people, however, if even one refuses I will return to my own land. This is the only offer I will provide." Still arched over them the heroes conferred with one another and after deliberation their foremost agreed to my terms. With this I swooped over to the entryway to the hall. With a wicked grin I said "Well, Lets get started!"
	[WP] Someone makes an anonymous book publish, the book is called "Everything Is a weapon. -By Humans", it immediatly becomes a best seller, it becomes a required read when entering any alien military and a must read for every alien interested in self-defense.	“And besides your required reading, fitness is another absolute must for cadets. And because of that, every morning…” the cadre droned on. Con stopped paying attention. His attention was focused on the holoscreen in front of him, glowing lightly with the list of scripts, ancient texts, books and other written materials he’d be slogging through over the next several hundred cycles. Number one on the list was the only one he truly cared about, “Everything is a Weapon -By Humans”. It was a legendary script. Written long ago, it was considered to be effectively the avatar of violence, a long-forgotten practice now. The military school he was now sitting through the orientation of knew nothing of the violence of long ago. Any and all military’s spread across the inner crest of the discovered galaxy all had long standing treaties lasting hundreds of generations. Peace was as normal and widespread as space itself. As common as the stars. The point of any sort of military presence now was mostly tradition, a precaution and for whenever uncivilized planets were discovered further into the reaches of the splash of stars and planets they called home. Even when a planet inhabited by violent, intelligent creatures were found, the nearest military was called in mostly to subdue with as little violence as possible until the local species could be brought into the fold or determined to not be advanced enough and therefore left alone. More peacekeepers than anything, the military barely even had anything that could be called weapons. Hand to hand combat was mostly learning holds to restrain, weapons mostly designed to stun, and tactics mostly designed with defense in mind. In Con’s mind, the last hold out of violence in the galaxy was this script, tucked safely away in the servers of the military. He’d heard about the script long ago from a trader that had come through his father’s shop. The trader, a Pengru from the ice planet of Cubd, had spoken of a black market copy he had found once. The Pengru could barely stomach the first chapter and had destroyed the copy instead of selling it for the hefty price it certainly would have fetched. Now, Con actively ignored the cadre’s droning on and on as he accessed and opened the forbidden text. If anyone questioned him, he’d pretend to be a good cadet, trying to get ahead on his studies. The nerdy cadets would eat that kind of thing up, he was sure of it. “Chapter 1: State of Mind”, the script began. “Weapons are nothing if not potential. The potential to protect, to hurt, to kill. Weapons represent all the potential of everything they’re capable of. And what they’re capable of is limited exclusively by the warrior that wields them. And what the warrior is capable of is limited exclusively by their state of mind. So when hoisting a weapon to protect or maim or kill, nothing matters more than your state of mind. If your state of mind is one of a pacifist, you will die with a weapon in your hand, unused and unbloodied. So truly, the title of the script you now read, ‘Everything is a Weapon’, refers not only to physical objects, but to the warrior. Everything about a warrior is a weapon. Your state of mind, your muscles, your cunning. That, undeniably, is the greatest and only weapon that matters in a fight. If your state of mind is sharp, it barely matters how dull your weapon is.” Con blinked. He thought he’d be learning about how to kill someone with a table, not reevaluating his mental state. ‘Do I actually have what it takes to kill someone? Would I hesitate if I had to? He wondered to himself. I could. I can. I will. He told himself with steel in his mind and ice in his veins. He scoffed at the moment of hesitation he showed. Weakness. The kind of the thing his new holy book just warned him against. He plunged ahead. “What is a life to you? Something precious? To be protected? No. A life is nothing. A life must be seen as nothing more than the dust beneath your boots. To kill, truly, without remorse, you are taking lives. If those lives mean anything to you, your soul will be eaten alive. For the sake of preservation, which is a warrior’s ultimate goal, one must think of the lives of others as nothing. If anything, the lives of the ones you kill are obstacles. They’re objects in your way that must be removed, an annoyance at most. To contradict what was just said, in fact, a life isn’t nothing. A life in your way is an obstacle that must be overcome and the more you see it that way, the more emotion you may feel towards that life. This isn’t to be shamed or stamped out. The greatest of all warriors do not let their emotions control them, but accepts they feel these things and use them as a tool. Slaughtering your enemies will take a toll on your mind, body and soul. Using the emotions of anger or frustration will be both the wind at your back, pushing your forward, as well as the shield in front of you. Wrap yourself in these feelings. Do not allow them to control your actions or cloud your judgment much like you wouldn’t allow your boots to guide your feet.” Con took a breath and closed his eyes. He was reading things a deep part of his soul knew for a long time. Contempt. Fury. The things he’d felt but hidden. The stirrings deep within he didn’t know what to do with. Well now he knew. He thought he’d have to deal with them. Now he understood. He’d get to use them. A smile of unadulterated joy crept across his face. This script was speaking to his soul. It was his map to the dreams and plans he’d had since as long as he could remember. He’d study, he’d learn, he’d grow. And when the time was right, he’d execute. “You! Cadet! Pay attention!” Con opened his eyes, blinked a few times and opened his eyes wide. “S-s-sorry sir! You caught me dreaming.” “I understand it’s been a long day already, cadet. But pay attention. This is your future your learning about. Did you come here to learn?” “Yes sir, more than you know.”	"Don't crush the skull of your enemy if you are planning to drink from it later" X'ona cited. "'Everything is a Weapon', of course". Of course, we thought. Pretentious prick, always wrongly citing the "Weapon", talking like they understand humans at all. Our partial-parent was an expert on human tactics but as usual we kept this insert to ourself."Resourceful race, those" added Tchi'ina. The light glare gliding off of their fur leaving iridescent trails in its wake caught our attention like thousand times before. The muscles under the skin… That was becoming a bad habit, we had better cull it. Yes, nip it in the bud. This is military, romance is lethal. Tchi'ina suddenly looked us straight in the eye. Something was transmitted, but we were not sure what we've received. X'ona loudly proclaimed something, most likely another quote but we were not listening, trying to decipher what Tchi'ina said under their breath. Something about skulls? We could not tell. "Unless ones can crush it and drink from it, too?" we said, peering into Tchi'ina's eyes."Hah", they said dryly. "Meet you at the fish hour, Repast hall entrance.""Without a doubt", we agreed.A date or a duel? The fish hour will certainly reveal. Or, perhaps, both? "Nothing ventured, nothing gained", eh? Humans, those audacious single-souls.
	[WP] Someone makes an anonymous book publish, the book is called "Everything Is a weapon. -By Humans", it immediatly becomes a best seller, it becomes a required read when entering any alien military and a must read for every alien interested in self-defense.	Admiral Mori was sitting in a contemplative pose while watching the computer at her desk when the rear admiral entered her office. She called him in without leaving her seat, somberly watching the computer process her program as he entered and took a seat opposite her. Unlike the other offices on this floor, her office was unusually organized, as if it had been thoroughly cleaned in preparation for an inspection, even though she was the highest ranking officer on this ship. Unsure of why he was called here, he silently waited for Mori to speak first, but she seemed to be too focused on the screen between them. He decided to break the silence first. “What did you want to talk to me about admiral?” he asked sharply in an attempt to get her attention. She finally turned to face him. “Admiral Cooper. I have new orders for you. You are to take full command of all three fleets in this system and retreat to the outer debris field. I’ll send the details to you in a bit,” she said. He was still confused as to why he was summoned. “Surely we didn’t need to meet face to face for this?” he asked. Mori gave him a strange smile before focusing on the computer again. He didn’t know how to react to this. She was behaving very odd. Maybe the exhaustion had finally caught up to her. The campaign to liberate this star system from the Natul Parasite had been an utter disaster. The intelligence they received beforehand had downplayed the extent of the parasite’s hold. When their fleets had warped into the heart of the system, the parasite lashed out immediately. By the time coordinates for a decent warp retreat were calculated, they had lost a third of their initial force. The past few solar cycles had been spent beating back the parasite while trying to safely take in refugees from the outer system planets. Hence, everyone had been working on very little sleep. Tensions were running high, and although he could sympathize with Admiral Mori, he couldn’t help but be visibly impatient with her. “Ma’am, if there’s nothing else, I have thing to attend to,” he said sourly. “Sit back down Cooper. I still have something to say,” she said mysteriously. Now her attention was fully on him. He sat back down. “Have you ever heard of the Athenians?” she asked him. He gave it some thought, but couldn’t recall anything by that name, so she continued. “Nomadic race, from the Outer Rim, fourth arm. Read about them in a book I came across in the Rim. They’re mostly into piracy, but usually keep to themselves,” she said. Cooper scoffed. What did pirates have to do with anything? “They weren’t always pirates though. Before that, they were a Class 4 planet. But they got caught up in the Vutch expansionism. Their species were enslaved in practically a day,” Mori explained. It was an unfortunate tale, but one that Cooper had heard many times. Class 4 species that couldn’t figure out space-faring quickly enough were either enslaved or wiped out. But he still wasn’t sure why Mori was telling him this, and said so to her. She ignored his question and continued. “Can you guess why they’re called Athenians? They themselves after one of their gods, the god of war, apparently. I’m telling you this because the Athenians are notorious in the Rim. They’re savage fighters, merciless, and will do anything in order to win.” Cooper took this information in slowly. If they were pirates now, how had they broken free from their Vutch colonization? They were just a Class 4 species after all. Mori was watching Cooper and voiced his thoughts. “I can guess what you’re thinking. How did they escape the Vutch? As the story goes, they launched an all-out counterattack on every Vutch base. But their real target was the base on the system’s gas giant, Jupiter I think it was called. They crashed the base into the planet and triggered its fusion cells. The planet went supernova, killed the entire star system.” He was astounded. That was certainly one way to fight off the Vutch, especially if you didn’t have your own fleet. “But wait, how did any Athenians survive?” he asked. Mori chuckled. “Nobody knows for sure. That’s part of the reason everyone is so afraid of them!” she exclaimed. It was an interesting tale, but Cooper was still unsure what it had to do with anything. The confusion was evident on his face, so Mori wordlessly turned the screen around so he could see what she was working on. His jaw dropped as he watched the computer run payload and maneuver calculations on the largest gas giant of the star system. “I’ve talked with the chief engineer. It’s theoretically possible. And a lot easier than blowing up the star. Once the refugees are all loaded up, I want you to take command and pull out of the system,” she said with a large grin on her face. “What about you?” he asked. “I’ve retrofitted a frigate to be run by a skeleton crew. I’m going to stay behind and make sure the bomb makes it to the gas giant before leaving,” she said with excitement. Cooper was still in a state of disbelief. “This plan is crazy,” he said flatly. Mori couldn’t help but laugh, before she remembered her post. With a small cough, she regained her decorum. “Admiral Cooper. This plan is classified. Unless instructed to by High Command, you are not to speak of this to anyone,” she firmly stated. He responded with a salute. “Yes, ma’am.” “…if I may, ma’am?” he asked. She nodded to him. “You said that you read this in a book?” She gave him that strange smile again and nodded. “Do you think you could lend me that book sometime?”	"Don't crush the skull of your enemy if you are planning to drink from it later" X'ona cited. "'Everything is a Weapon', of course". Of course, we thought. Pretentious prick, always wrongly citing the "Weapon", talking like they understand humans at all. Our partial-parent was an expert on human tactics but as usual we kept this insert to ourself."Resourceful race, those" added Tchi'ina. The light glare gliding off of their fur leaving iridescent trails in its wake caught our attention like thousand times before. The muscles under the skin… That was becoming a bad habit, we had better cull it. Yes, nip it in the bud. This is military, romance is lethal. Tchi'ina suddenly looked us straight in the eye. Something was transmitted, but we were not sure what we've received. X'ona loudly proclaimed something, most likely another quote but we were not listening, trying to decipher what Tchi'ina said under their breath. Something about skulls? We could not tell. "Unless ones can crush it and drink from it, too?" we said, peering into Tchi'ina's eyes."Hah", they said dryly. "Meet you at the fish hour, Repast hall entrance.""Without a doubt", we agreed.A date or a duel? The fish hour will certainly reveal. Or, perhaps, both? "Nothing ventured, nothing gained", eh? Humans, those audacious single-souls.
	[WP] Someone makes an anonymous book publish, the book is called "Everything Is a weapon. -By Humans", it immediatly becomes a best seller, it becomes a required read when entering any alien military and a must read for every alien interested in self-defense.	"How is this noteworthy? A weapon is anything used to inflict damage on a being. That is the definition of a weapon. It could be anything you pick up, anything you use." "Yes, but don't forget that with their nimble hands and tough fingers, humans can pick up almost anything they are strong enough to lift." Algo skimmed the first several pages, then chaptered ahead in his reader. "Hm. It says here that humans don't actually need weapons as such. What is this?" "Ah, I see you have skipped ahead to 'hand to hand combat.'" "Yes. What does that mean? Assuming the combatant even has hands." "Humans - indeed, most of the lifeforms on their whole backwards planet - can engage in violence against others with no weapons whatsoever. It's a side effect of their rigid skeletal frameworks. Even though the musculature is relatively forgiving in any kind of impact, the rigid structure makes it possible to concentrate the impact forces in a small area. Other rigid creatures are easily damaged by such forces." Algo puffed up, turning colors slightly. "Well, that's useless against us." He flattened himself out, then pulled himself back into a sphere. "Being amorphous, I can't see how a human could damage us. This is going to be an easy win." "Algo, just read the book. Quickly. Your bout is tomorrow and it's a no-holds barred free for all. The betting spread is closing and the human's deficit is almost gone. The crowd is starting to swing their way." "Pfeh." Algo waved dismissively at his handler, who surged orange and sailed angrily out the portal. &#x200B; The next morning, Algo squared up - literally, assuming various geometric shapes and colors to amuse and thrill the crowd - against his unimpressive opponent. The creature wasn't especially large. It was maybe only a half-portion of his own mass, not changing shape at all and the shape it had was singularly unappealing, limbs and bumps and the odd cloud of extra-fine cilia around one protuberance at the upper end. The referee warbled the usual warnings. Algo ignored them; a free for all was just that: do what works, however it works. No killing, either combatant could tap out at any time. Incapacitate, force a yield, win. The combat was to take place in a Type 3 Simulated Environment, representing a typical spacecraft interior with the usual appointments: bulkheads, enclosures, the equipment a vessel would need to navigate between secondaries in a jovian system. It was a pretty big system with several major jovians, each of which swarmed with secondaries. The spacecraft type wasn't specified but required by the rules to have details representative of vessels from all the major species including Algo's own and even humans, to ensure neither combatant had an unfair advantage. The bout began. Algo surged ahead to engulf the human, which kicked off the ground to sail above him in the low gravity. That was to be expected, but he hadn't anticipated that the human would be so comfortable. According to what little research he had done, humans had evolved in a relatively high-gravity environment and were heavily specialized for that. Oops. The human, with its rigid framework, had the magical advantage of leverage and had been able to push with great speed and force, and now here he was dawdling through the central volume of the space and unable to change his main mass's vector significantly, except... He launched an extension at the human to grab hold of it, but when he did make contact and began to wrap around the human's appendage, the human made a funny motion with its limb and wound the extension up and up until it had been wrapped up faster than he could extend more of his mass into it. The extension pulled loose. Not a big deal - extensions popped loose all the time. It wriggled and squealed and appeared to be trying to engulf the human's limb but had entirely too little mass to make any progress. Separated from his intellect, it might rely on instinctive actions, however being completely incompatible biochemically, it didn't dare try to digest the creature. But it did. Separated from his main body mass as it was, Algo's separated extension was now pretty dumb and acting on very primitive instincts indeed. He saw it change colors slightly as it concentrated digestive juices close to the human's skin surface, then change again, violently, as the reaction took place. "Frikkin' OW!" The human made the first sound Algo had heard from it. "Ya little shit!" The human leapt off the wall it had sailed toward while battling the extension, and flew through the open portal. In an enclosure resembling a ship's galley, the human jerked open an insulated box and thrust the arm with the extension inside. Suddenly subjected to the freezing cold, the extension instinctively contracted to a minimum surface area shape - a sphere - and turned nearly black. The human slammed the door on the shape. Algo came surging through the portal behind the human, just as the human whipped a cooking vessel off a rack and scooped it through Algo's body mass. He felt a tremendous portion of his mass come away and as it did, another portion of his intellect went blank. The human slapped a lid onto the cooking vessel before the portion could escape, and stuffed the pot into another insulated box and slammed that door too. Algo felt he had lost nearly half his mind and his entire mass advantage, now approximately equal to the human and the wretched combat had only been going on for two standard minutes! The human was examining him carefully. "Everything is a weapon," the book had stated. While the human was unarmed, it nevertheless had adapted found objects to violent needs. This room appeared to be mostly representative of human technology, and it was using human gadgets to disable him in pieces. He needed to move the battle to a space where the human might be less familiar with its surroundings. Algo surged out the portal and down the passageway. He had an idea and needed to act on it before even more bits of his intelligence were wrestled away from him. "Oh no you don't," the human called after him. It came out the portal as well. Perfect. Come and get me, he thought. But it didn't.	"Don't crush the skull of your enemy if you are planning to drink from it later" X'ona cited. "'Everything is a Weapon', of course". Of course, we thought. Pretentious prick, always wrongly citing the "Weapon", talking like they understand humans at all. Our partial-parent was an expert on human tactics but as usual we kept this insert to ourself."Resourceful race, those" added Tchi'ina. The light glare gliding off of their fur leaving iridescent trails in its wake caught our attention like thousand times before. The muscles under the skin… That was becoming a bad habit, we had better cull it. Yes, nip it in the bud. This is military, romance is lethal. Tchi'ina suddenly looked us straight in the eye. Something was transmitted, but we were not sure what we've received. X'ona loudly proclaimed something, most likely another quote but we were not listening, trying to decipher what Tchi'ina said under their breath. Something about skulls? We could not tell. "Unless ones can crush it and drink from it, too?" we said, peering into Tchi'ina's eyes."Hah", they said dryly. "Meet you at the fish hour, Repast hall entrance.""Without a doubt", we agreed.A date or a duel? The fish hour will certainly reveal. Or, perhaps, both? "Nothing ventured, nothing gained", eh? Humans, those audacious single-souls.
	[WP] You live in a world where karma is real and where you get what you deserve. The thing is that you want to be the ruler of the world, so you decide to become the nicest person on earth.	Daniel sat patiently in the waiting room of the KARM4 Initiative office, looking at the large poster on the wall opposite him. The words “EVERYONE GETS WHAT THEY DESERVE” were printed in bright blue letters underneath a picture of a smiling couple enjoying a glass of wine on a beach at sunset. Daniel noticed how brilliantly white their teeth were, and made a mental note to book an appointment with his dentist. Good People did everything they could to make a good impression, and to set an example for others. Daniel was a Good Person. “Daniel?” said the voice behind the reception desk. He got up, stealing one last glance at the poster, and walked towards the voice. The voice had come from a woman around Daniel‘s age, with blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail. She was pretty, bordering on plain, and he briefly saw the light reflect off of the implants in her eyes. ”I’m very sorry to keep you waiting, they’ll be ready for you soon” she said with a smile. Her teeth were not as white as the couple on the poster. “you can go through the doors to room 12 And your assessment officer will be with you shortly.“ He saw her glance at his KARM4 tracker on his wrist. “Wow! A 94? That‘s the highest I think I’ve ever seen, I’m sure you’ll do amazing!” ”Thank you!“ he replied, and stole a look at her wrist. An 85. He grimaced. ”Oh yeah,” she said sheepishly “ I failed my last spot check. A man asked me for directions to the bus stop and I was in a hurry, so I told him I was sorry and kept walking. He asked me again and snapped at him and told him to buy a map or learn to read signs. I didn’t know he was an Auditor.” Daniel was shocked that she only lost 5 points for Being Rude. That was a fairly hefty crime. Good People aren’t rude to others, it was one of the core tenets of KARM4. ”I guess I understand” said Daniel, trying to keep his face still, “I walked past some litter on the street and didn’t see a garbage can nearby, so I kept going. I didn’t find out until later that it was a test and the Watchers were monitoring.“ He subconsciously rubbed his eyes, feeling the implants pressing against his eyelids. ”I lost two points and had to spend 30 hours picking up trash. It’s good that Redemptions are weighted to KARM4 score, I got off easy.” ”I did too” she said “I lost 5 points and had to memorize the location of every bus stop in my neighborhood. There are 58 of them. I only lost 5 points because I agreed to 6 month constant monitoring and a week-long reeducation. Oh well, lesson learned. Everyone Gets What They Deserve.” ”Everyone Gets What They Deserve” Daniel echoed , “it was nice to meet you, but I should be going. I’ll see myself to Room 12” “Good luck!” she said as he walked through the doors into the hallway. As he went through the doorway, Daniel‘s smile faded. An 85?! He couldn’t believe they would let anyone under a 90 into the building, let alone work here. Despicable. She shouldn’t have been given a lesser punishment. He hoped he would do well on his assessment to become an Adjudicator. Everyone knew it was them who really ran things. And once he became an Adjudicator everyone, including little miss 85, would get what they deserved. He would make sure of it.	"Ladies and Gentlemen, let me introduce to you, the next ruler of Earth, Jeffery Patel!!!!" The crowd goes wild as I take the stage. "Thank you folks from the great State of California!" "Under Ruler Patel your dreams will come true!" How did I get here? The main stage, announcing my candidacy for ruler of Earth in front of a home crowd. Well, I have lived my entire life "Do unto other what you would have them do unto you, the golden rule". Not just the philosophical underpinning of our entire society, Karma, has very real, and often times immediate consequences. Be a good person, good things happen to you. I knew from a young age what I wanted to do with my life, I wanted to rule the world. To accomplish this goal I have made it my mission to be the best person to ever walk the face of the earth. "We all remember the tragedy Kiribati. I was there rescuing survivors. The New York City fires, I was there pulling people out of buildings" The crowd is going wild, really eating up everything I have to say, I allow myself a sheepish grin. "With your support we will make the next four years, the best the Earth has seen since joining the galactic alliance" I leave the stage feeling on top of the world. The crowd went wild for everything that I was saying, I know I have a real chance at this. I am surrounded by staff and well wishers on all sides. While I'd love nothing more than to stay here forever, I know there is important work to be done. I go to my pollsters immediately and ask for their reactions. They give me a pep talk and tell me we should have preliminary data in a few hours. I am told by my assistant that a wealthy benefactor of mine, 'Old Nick', wanted to meet with me at his house for dinner at 7 p.m. This was the worst part about running for office, being at the mercy of your donors. Although today, even having to the song and dance doesn't make me anxious. This is the culmination of all that I have worked towards throughout my life. I am brought out of my elation at 6:45 that evening when I see one of my pollster's calling me on my cell phone "Tell me something good" I say as I answer my phone. "Sir it isn't good news" Jim starts My heart catches in my throat, what could possibly be wrong, I thought today went extremely well "Jim, what is it?" "It's your numbers sir, they are abysmal, I don't know how else to describe them, in all my years of doing this..." his voice trails off at the end. I feel like I am in one of those old war movies, I feel like I am shell shocked. I am driving in a trance, without conscious thought over my body and its actions, "How can this be..." I begin to mumble "I have lived a perfect life, everything I have ever done, I did in service of this one goal..." The ride ended much sooner than I would have liked. Was there even a reason to continue with this meeting? This is walking into a humiliation that until a few hours ago I would not have thought possible. Getting out of the car I am surprised to see Old Nick standing in the doorway beaming jovially at me. "I see you haven't been watching the news" I say with some of my old humor slipping naturally out of my mouth" "Oh I have seen the news" Old Nick says with a chuckle "How can you be smiling and laughing at a time like this, my life's work down the toilet" "You are down, but I wouldn't say you're out yet" Old Nick said "I wish I had you optimism, but I have apparently offended the karmic gods, they have done this to me" "Only because don't really seem to understand karma at all" "How can you possibly say that?! I have lived my entire life as a good and honest man, I am widely regarded as the best person who has ever lived" "What you don't seem to take into account is your motivations. Your motivations are corrupt, can't you see that?" "You don't want to be ruler of the world to make the world a better place, you would be a dictator" I began crying into my hands, deep down I knew this was true. "Buck up son. Time to admit what you are and move on. I am impressed with you stick with it attitude. Now that we know what you really are, I propose a partnership" "I've heard bad things happen to those who deal with the devil" "And who would be around to give an accurate accounting of my dealings with mortals?"
	[WP] You live in a world where karma is real and where you get what you deserve. The thing is that you want to be the ruler of the world, so you decide to become the nicest person on earth.	Dennis Poe stayed calm, despite his growing frustration with being treated like he was less than a full-grown adult. It was what a good person would do. “I don’t understand,” Dennis said. “What do you mean, intentions matter?” “Intentions count as much as your actions when it comes to karma, young one,” the vaguely-human shaped of light spoke to him, a clear voice ringing through every noodle in Dennis’ brain. “And your intentions… see, a little misguided, no?” “Misguided, maybe,” Dennis admitted. “But I’m... was doing good, yes?” “Yes, but they are not pure of heart,” the voice said. “What do you want to be?” “Ruler of the world,” he said, quickly and assured. “That is a less than noble goal, young one.” “So it doesn’t matter if I’ve saved hundreds and thousands of lives by funding vaccines? Or helping at least three old ladies cross the street, and feed five homeless people by my own hand, every single day I was alive? Or the book that I wrote made people want to live because they wanted to know what happens in the next one, and I never released it, thereby lengthening their lives by years and years?” “You did all that with the intention of becoming the ruler of the world,” the even-keeled voice replied. “What does it matter? I’ve helped the world so much! The results speak for themselves!” The voice sighed. It was not in disappointment. Rather, it seemed like the sort of response that one would give when faced with somebody who clearly just didn’t get it—a wild cat intruding on a home, a baby unable to stop crying. “This attitude is why,” the light flashed a little brighter, a little stronger, but the voice remained calm. “What even is a ruler of the world?” “Stop treating me like a child,” Daniel said. “I’ve done more than hundreds of men combined. And yet, I’m being undermined by a formless blob.” “There is no ruler of the world, young one,” the voice continued. “You speak of men. Yet, you have no idea the transgressions you’ve made against the rest of the world in order to benefit your men.” Dennis fell silent. Not in realization of its words, but that he snapped back at somebody. After a long, long life, he actually snapped—and it felt freeing. “I don’t understand,” Dennis said. “Nobody truly does, Dennis Poe,” the voice returned. And now that Dennis didn’t have hot blood rushing through his head, he could hear that it was not one voice. It was a chorus of men and women, but also of the waves and currents, and the roars of beasts and chittering of bugs. The voice of the world. “I don’t understand,” Dennis said quietly. “But I think I might learn.” “You will be reborn, and you will learn,” the voice agreed. “How many lives have you lived?” Dennis whispered. “As many as you have,” the voice said. “The distillation of all you’ve been, and all you’ve learned.” “All… my lives? And I’ve only learned one thing in this life?” “Relax, young one. You’ve learned a billion lessons. There are billions more. And karma will see that you learn every one, whether you were king or pauper, saviour or murderer. Take each lesson, and truly learn.” “I will,” Dennis promised. “Unlikely,” the voice said, and there was finally a lift to its words. “But I’ll be waiting.” --- r/dexdrafts	It had been an awful amount of time since I started this project. I went out of my way to help other people, help my family, helping generally. I worked hard, spent my money to charity, helped out where I could. And now it would be time to get my karma reward back. I was asked to take a seat and I nodded nicely whilst sitting down, folding my hands in my lap with a slight smile and looking around. I waited and waited and waited patiently whilst leaning back. I knew that this would be the last task for me before I would get handed my letter. It was awful, but I pushed myself to smile softly and wait, with no signs of impatience showing. And then, finally, the door swung open. "Here." The man handing me the letter didn't seem too nice but he was alright. "Thank you." My smile turned to a grin and I got the letter before I opened it. The man left me already and I could hear a little click. At first I raised my eyebrows but shook that weird feeling off. I was way too curious so I started reading. "Dear addressee. Congratulations, you made it." My grin got wider and wider. Yes! "Now. You thought you could trick us." Oh god. I felt my face drop. "We might have forgotten to mention that we can not only see your deeds but also your intentions behind those." I stared at the letters in front of me, my mouth opening more and more by the second. "Therefore, congrats. You made the day of approximately 10.000 people. And now we'll make sure that you do not misuse your good karma." The second I read this, I felt the floor open underneath my seat and myself falling. I couldn't even process it, but I knew that this, THIS, was my karma.
	[WP] You live in a world where karma is real and where you get what you deserve. The thing is that you want to be the ruler of the world, so you decide to become the nicest person on earth.	"Ever since I was little I dreamt of ruling over this world as a supreme emperor. For years I've been in hiding thinking of a plan to take over the world and that plan has finally been set in motion" said Adrian as he helped an old lady cross the road. The old lady thanked Adrian by giving him a packet of cookies. "Nutrition for my journey to take over the world, perfect" Adrian was full of joy as he drooled over his first spoils of war. He continued on his journey looking for a job to earn money and As he was walking he spotted something. "A gift by the heavens above, someone dropped their wallet" said Adrian as he picked up the wallet. There was cash up to $1000 along with an driving licence with information of the owner. "Time for a pawn to join my conquest" Adrian started making his way towards the address on the licence. At the address was a huge mansion, he pressed the doorbell and waited ... "who is it" spoke a voice from the doorbell. "Sir, my name is Adrian and I'm here to return your wallet." Silence followed for a while until the door unlocked click and out came a frail old man. "Here you go Sir, your wallet" Adrian handed over the wallet to the old man who took the wallet and looked through it to take out a tattered old piece of paper dropping the waller full of cash. Drip Tears started flowing down the old man's face. "Are you okay Sir?" Asked Adrian and after a moment of silence the old man spoke with Tears still dripping "How could I have been so careless, thank you young man thank you so much" Adrian was confused about the piece of paper but the old man continued "My wife could not speak and before she died of cancer she wrote a letter and ever since I've been keeping the letter close to me, it feels like she is still with me. Here young man take all of it, it means nothing to me compared to the letter" the old man handed over all the cash totaling $1000" "Fool you fell for my trap card, the old man had no idea what my plans are. That's right using this money I will donate food to homeless. Mhuahahahahaha" thought Adrian as he accepted the cash and continued on his journey. Adrian bought lots of food and started giving it to the homeless. "Mhuahahaha, eat my minions for you shall all be under my rule eventually and a good ruler cannot have hungry citizens" and so the young man named Adrian continued on his journey of world domination looking for the next opportunity. Note: new to this so not really sure of any grammar mistake please offer your suggestions	It had been an awful amount of time since I started this project. I went out of my way to help other people, help my family, helping generally. I worked hard, spent my money to charity, helped out where I could. And now it would be time to get my karma reward back. I was asked to take a seat and I nodded nicely whilst sitting down, folding my hands in my lap with a slight smile and looking around. I waited and waited and waited patiently whilst leaning back. I knew that this would be the last task for me before I would get handed my letter. It was awful, but I pushed myself to smile softly and wait, with no signs of impatience showing. And then, finally, the door swung open. "Here." The man handing me the letter didn't seem too nice but he was alright. "Thank you." My smile turned to a grin and I got the letter before I opened it. The man left me already and I could hear a little click. At first I raised my eyebrows but shook that weird feeling off. I was way too curious so I started reading. "Dear addressee. Congratulations, you made it." My grin got wider and wider. Yes! "Now. You thought you could trick us." Oh god. I felt my face drop. "We might have forgotten to mention that we can not only see your deeds but also your intentions behind those." I stared at the letters in front of me, my mouth opening more and more by the second. "Therefore, congrats. You made the day of approximately 10.000 people. And now we'll make sure that you do not misuse your good karma." The second I read this, I felt the floor open underneath my seat and myself falling. I couldn't even process it, but I knew that this, THIS, was my karma.
	[WP] You live in a world where karma is real and where you get what you deserve. The thing is that you want to be the ruler of the world, so you decide to become the nicest person on earth.	Daniel sat patiently in the waiting room of the KARM4 Initiative office, looking at the large poster on the wall opposite him. The words “EVERYONE GETS WHAT THEY DESERVE” were printed in bright blue letters underneath a picture of a smiling couple enjoying a glass of wine on a beach at sunset. Daniel noticed how brilliantly white their teeth were, and made a mental note to book an appointment with his dentist. Good People did everything they could to make a good impression, and to set an example for others. Daniel was a Good Person. “Daniel?” said the voice behind the reception desk. He got up, stealing one last glance at the poster, and walked towards the voice. The voice had come from a woman around Daniel‘s age, with blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail. She was pretty, bordering on plain, and he briefly saw the light reflect off of the implants in her eyes. ”I’m very sorry to keep you waiting, they’ll be ready for you soon” she said with a smile. Her teeth were not as white as the couple on the poster. “you can go through the doors to room 12 And your assessment officer will be with you shortly.“ He saw her glance at his KARM4 tracker on his wrist. “Wow! A 94? That‘s the highest I think I’ve ever seen, I’m sure you’ll do amazing!” ”Thank you!“ he replied, and stole a look at her wrist. An 85. He grimaced. ”Oh yeah,” she said sheepishly “ I failed my last spot check. A man asked me for directions to the bus stop and I was in a hurry, so I told him I was sorry and kept walking. He asked me again and snapped at him and told him to buy a map or learn to read signs. I didn’t know he was an Auditor.” Daniel was shocked that she only lost 5 points for Being Rude. That was a fairly hefty crime. Good People aren’t rude to others, it was one of the core tenets of KARM4. ”I guess I understand” said Daniel, trying to keep his face still, “I walked past some litter on the street and didn’t see a garbage can nearby, so I kept going. I didn’t find out until later that it was a test and the Watchers were monitoring.“ He subconsciously rubbed his eyes, feeling the implants pressing against his eyelids. ”I lost two points and had to spend 30 hours picking up trash. It’s good that Redemptions are weighted to KARM4 score, I got off easy.” ”I did too” she said “I lost 5 points and had to memorize the location of every bus stop in my neighborhood. There are 58 of them. I only lost 5 points because I agreed to 6 month constant monitoring and a week-long reeducation. Oh well, lesson learned. Everyone Gets What They Deserve.” ”Everyone Gets What They Deserve” Daniel echoed , “it was nice to meet you, but I should be going. I’ll see myself to Room 12” “Good luck!” she said as he walked through the doors into the hallway. As he went through the doorway, Daniel‘s smile faded. An 85?! He couldn’t believe they would let anyone under a 90 into the building, let alone work here. Despicable. She shouldn’t have been given a lesser punishment. He hoped he would do well on his assessment to become an Adjudicator. Everyone knew it was them who really ran things. And once he became an Adjudicator everyone, including little miss 85, would get what they deserved. He would make sure of it.	It had been an awful amount of time since I started this project. I went out of my way to help other people, help my family, helping generally. I worked hard, spent my money to charity, helped out where I could. And now it would be time to get my karma reward back. I was asked to take a seat and I nodded nicely whilst sitting down, folding my hands in my lap with a slight smile and looking around. I waited and waited and waited patiently whilst leaning back. I knew that this would be the last task for me before I would get handed my letter. It was awful, but I pushed myself to smile softly and wait, with no signs of impatience showing. And then, finally, the door swung open. "Here." The man handing me the letter didn't seem too nice but he was alright. "Thank you." My smile turned to a grin and I got the letter before I opened it. The man left me already and I could hear a little click. At first I raised my eyebrows but shook that weird feeling off. I was way too curious so I started reading. "Dear addressee. Congratulations, you made it." My grin got wider and wider. Yes! "Now. You thought you could trick us." Oh god. I felt my face drop. "We might have forgotten to mention that we can not only see your deeds but also your intentions behind those." I stared at the letters in front of me, my mouth opening more and more by the second. "Therefore, congrats. You made the day of approximately 10.000 people. And now we'll make sure that you do not misuse your good karma." The second I read this, I felt the floor open underneath my seat and myself falling. I couldn't even process it, but I knew that this, THIS, was my karma.
	[WP] You live in a world where karma is real and where you get what you deserve. The thing is that you want to be the ruler of the world, so you decide to become the nicest person on earth.	Curled up in sleep, the kindest man in all the world snored. It was a chainsaw snore, the motor sputtering and failing before ripping into sudden, frantic life. When Lily complained about it her friends always laughed. They said that if a snore was the worst Malcolm had to offer then she was even luckier than they had thought. She had thought so too, once, except after what she had been through Lily had called it blessed. After all, didn’t everyone say he was the kindest man in all the world? One leg crossed over the other, slouching into the padded arms of her favorite chair, Lily's eyes dissected the man in the bed. Malcolm Cartwright. An inoffensive name for an inoffensive man— a good man in the light of day. At night she saw him for what he really was. Slowly, ever so slowly, the chainsaw snore died away. Malcolm rolled over in the bed, one arm questing over onto her vacant side. It searched, that arm. Probed at the cold covers. His eyes opened. The bed was caught in a shaft of silver moonlight, chased away at the edges by the soft glow of the night-light Lily still used. He stared straight up, eyes tracking the slow blades of the ceiling fan, but there was no sight in them. So animated in the day, at night Malcolm scarcely even had a soul. He sat up, turned towards her. Still sightless. He swung his legs out of the bed. He stood up, took a sightless step towards her, stretched out a hand as if to reach for her. Lily did not even breath. She let him come, shuffling towards her where the night-light’s glow held sway. He turned and fell to his knees before the hollow spot behind the wall. It was a horrific sort of pantomime that Malcolm played out every night. She was certain he did not know. If he knew he would have changed it somehow, moved the spot where he had hidden them, but there was no one to tell him but her. In all his life, Malcolm had never trusted another living thing. They had no children, he had no siblings. It was only them, alone in the big, drafty house, playing out this sick parody of a loving marriage. He pawed at the wall, his fingers sought purchase. Sleeping Malcolm couldn’t open it, his waking self had hidden the latch too well. In time he returned to the bed, groaning and anxious. She went with him, letting the nightgown fall in its spot on the floor. When he woke, as he always did, Malcolm would find her as he had left her. Disarmed, vulnerable. It was the only time he had ever felt truly secure. Lily lay awake beside her, waiting to fall into her act. Waiting, as she had waited so times before beside a different man, in a different house. Different everything, but still the same. She shivered, though the night was warm. But she did not do this for herself. “Lily?” his voice was thick with sleep and confusion. Malcolm was so disoriented when he woke. “Hmmm?” she mimed coming up from sleep, pitched fear into her voice. That had never been hard to do. She felt him stirring beside her, came ‘awake’ before him. Lily curled into his side, fit her body against his. “Another nightmare?” “I— yes. Another nightmare.” He struggled with the admission. His darted across the room, passed too casually over the hollow spot in the wall. “I’m over now,” Lily whispered, pulling his head into the hollow of her neck. “Don’t worry, I’m still here.” He was quiet a long time. She listened for his snores, any change in the rhythm of his breathing. There was none. Malcolm was awake, sorting through shreds of memory his sleeping self might have had. If Lily had told anyone they would have said she was paranoid. How not? Here was a man who had created a fortune just to found a children’s charity. He volunteered in soup kitchens and animal shelters, had spent years in the Peace Corp. He had married her, and hadn’t she seen herself before him? They had seen the bruises as clearly as she had, had seen what a mess she had gotten herself into. And had Malcolm ever so much as judged her? “Thank you,” Malcolm whispered. “You’re the only one I can trust. The only one who—” he choked off a word, turned it into a strangled sob. Malcolm was an exquisite actor. “Lily, I love you so much.” “I love you too,” she said. “Now sleep. You’ve got a long day tomorrow.” She petted his hair until the snores roared back, let the room fill with those dying engine sounds. She kissed him, gently. And again. Once for the man he pretended to be, once because it hurt so badly. He left in the morning, rising with the dawn. Lily stepped back into her nightgown and counted the minutes until he reached the airport, then counted down again he boarded the flight. He was off on business, he was so often these days. Her friends ooh’d and ahh’d over it, admired his discipline and sometimes went just that uncomfortable step further. And again, she thought, how not? This week he was procuring ventilators for a children’s hospital, could there be anything more noble than that? But her friends did not see him rise in the night. They did not see him scrabbling at the wall like a feral dog, did not hear his fingernails etching at the paint and stumbling over the secret little latch behind the dresser. They were not there when spoke in his sleep. Declaiming. Lily was. An alarm went off, Malcolm’s flight departing. Safely in the air now, she went to the bedroom and crouched down beside the dresser. She pulled the latch and watched the hollow spot pop open, saw the sheafs of paper stacked within. She drew them out, looking for Malcolm’s newest poems. They were like his sleepwalking, Lily thought, cut from the same cloth. They were a desperate mind’s attempt for sanity, a rebellion against his daytime conformations and his crazed attempt to outplay the world’s Karmatic System. The only time he could ever be his true self. She found them, haikus this time. Lily sat crosslegged, three sheets of paper laid out before her. The handwriting was so sloppy, jagged edged cursive that ran in every direction across the page, line breaks spiraling with strange regularity out through the paper’s lines as if Malcolm had working off a grid that only he could see. Lily read them aloud, a reminder of what lay ahead, married to the kindest man in all the world. A man she had to oppose. A man, like so many others, who could not be allowed to win. Stacked up like cordwood Small figures lie before me What do those eyes see? \* What do my eyes see? What man stands in the mirror? An artist. Show them. \* Even her-- kindness. So pretty, those old bruises Charity. And yet… “And yet,” Lily repeated. “And yet…” She felt violently ill. Last night’s kisses were still heavy on her lips, even heavier than this morning’s because she had offered them freely. She read the final poem again. And again. She read it until the words were carved into her brain, till the truth of them was indivisible from her soul— And then she put them away. Put it all away. She composed herself, became the perfect wife. The proof of all that kindness. His charity. She let her anger burn away “and yet…” Then Lily rose to greet the day. She had a good man’s life to ruin. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you!	It had been an awful amount of time since I started this project. I went out of my way to help other people, help my family, helping generally. I worked hard, spent my money to charity, helped out where I could. And now it would be time to get my karma reward back. I was asked to take a seat and I nodded nicely whilst sitting down, folding my hands in my lap with a slight smile and looking around. I waited and waited and waited patiently whilst leaning back. I knew that this would be the last task for me before I would get handed my letter. It was awful, but I pushed myself to smile softly and wait, with no signs of impatience showing. And then, finally, the door swung open. "Here." The man handing me the letter didn't seem too nice but he was alright. "Thank you." My smile turned to a grin and I got the letter before I opened it. The man left me already and I could hear a little click. At first I raised my eyebrows but shook that weird feeling off. I was way too curious so I started reading. "Dear addressee. Congratulations, you made it." My grin got wider and wider. Yes! "Now. You thought you could trick us." Oh god. I felt my face drop. "We might have forgotten to mention that we can not only see your deeds but also your intentions behind those." I stared at the letters in front of me, my mouth opening more and more by the second. "Therefore, congrats. You made the day of approximately 10.000 people. And now we'll make sure that you do not misuse your good karma." The second I read this, I felt the floor open underneath my seat and myself falling. I couldn't even process it, but I knew that this, THIS, was my karma.
	[WP] You live in a world where karma is real and where you get what you deserve. The thing is that you want to be the ruler of the world, so you decide to become the nicest person on earth.	Daniel sat patiently in the waiting room of the KARM4 Initiative office, looking at the large poster on the wall opposite him. The words “EVERYONE GETS WHAT THEY DESERVE” were printed in bright blue letters underneath a picture of a smiling couple enjoying a glass of wine on a beach at sunset. Daniel noticed how brilliantly white their teeth were, and made a mental note to book an appointment with his dentist. Good People did everything they could to make a good impression, and to set an example for others. Daniel was a Good Person. “Daniel?” said the voice behind the reception desk. He got up, stealing one last glance at the poster, and walked towards the voice. The voice had come from a woman around Daniel‘s age, with blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail. She was pretty, bordering on plain, and he briefly saw the light reflect off of the implants in her eyes. ”I’m very sorry to keep you waiting, they’ll be ready for you soon” she said with a smile. Her teeth were not as white as the couple on the poster. “you can go through the doors to room 12 And your assessment officer will be with you shortly.“ He saw her glance at his KARM4 tracker on his wrist. “Wow! A 94? That‘s the highest I think I’ve ever seen, I’m sure you’ll do amazing!” ”Thank you!“ he replied, and stole a look at her wrist. An 85. He grimaced. ”Oh yeah,” she said sheepishly “ I failed my last spot check. A man asked me for directions to the bus stop and I was in a hurry, so I told him I was sorry and kept walking. He asked me again and snapped at him and told him to buy a map or learn to read signs. I didn’t know he was an Auditor.” Daniel was shocked that she only lost 5 points for Being Rude. That was a fairly hefty crime. Good People aren’t rude to others, it was one of the core tenets of KARM4. ”I guess I understand” said Daniel, trying to keep his face still, “I walked past some litter on the street and didn’t see a garbage can nearby, so I kept going. I didn’t find out until later that it was a test and the Watchers were monitoring.“ He subconsciously rubbed his eyes, feeling the implants pressing against his eyelids. ”I lost two points and had to spend 30 hours picking up trash. It’s good that Redemptions are weighted to KARM4 score, I got off easy.” ”I did too” she said “I lost 5 points and had to memorize the location of every bus stop in my neighborhood. There are 58 of them. I only lost 5 points because I agreed to 6 month constant monitoring and a week-long reeducation. Oh well, lesson learned. Everyone Gets What They Deserve.” ”Everyone Gets What They Deserve” Daniel echoed , “it was nice to meet you, but I should be going. I’ll see myself to Room 12” “Good luck!” she said as he walked through the doors into the hallway. As he went through the doorway, Daniel‘s smile faded. An 85?! He couldn’t believe they would let anyone under a 90 into the building, let alone work here. Despicable. She shouldn’t have been given a lesser punishment. He hoped he would do well on his assessment to become an Adjudicator. Everyone knew it was them who really ran things. And once he became an Adjudicator everyone, including little miss 85, would get what they deserved. He would make sure of it.	Dennis Poe stayed calm, despite his growing frustration with being treated like he was less than a full-grown adult. It was what a good person would do. “I don’t understand,” Dennis said. “What do you mean, intentions matter?” “Intentions count as much as your actions when it comes to karma, young one,” the vaguely-human shaped of light spoke to him, a clear voice ringing through every noodle in Dennis’ brain. “And your intentions… see, a little misguided, no?” “Misguided, maybe,” Dennis admitted. “But I’m... was doing good, yes?” “Yes, but they are not pure of heart,” the voice said. “What do you want to be?” “Ruler of the world,” he said, quickly and assured. “That is a less than noble goal, young one.” “So it doesn’t matter if I’ve saved hundreds and thousands of lives by funding vaccines? Or helping at least three old ladies cross the street, and feed five homeless people by my own hand, every single day I was alive? Or the book that I wrote made people want to live because they wanted to know what happens in the next one, and I never released it, thereby lengthening their lives by years and years?” “You did all that with the intention of becoming the ruler of the world,” the even-keeled voice replied. “What does it matter? I’ve helped the world so much! The results speak for themselves!” The voice sighed. It was not in disappointment. Rather, it seemed like the sort of response that one would give when faced with somebody who clearly just didn’t get it—a wild cat intruding on a home, a baby unable to stop crying. “This attitude is why,” the light flashed a little brighter, a little stronger, but the voice remained calm. “What even is a ruler of the world?” “Stop treating me like a child,” Daniel said. “I’ve done more than hundreds of men combined. And yet, I’m being undermined by a formless blob.” “There is no ruler of the world, young one,” the voice continued. “You speak of men. Yet, you have no idea the transgressions you’ve made against the rest of the world in order to benefit your men.” Dennis fell silent. Not in realization of its words, but that he snapped back at somebody. After a long, long life, he actually snapped—and it felt freeing. “I don’t understand,” Dennis said. “Nobody truly does, Dennis Poe,” the voice returned. And now that Dennis didn’t have hot blood rushing through his head, he could hear that it was not one voice. It was a chorus of men and women, but also of the waves and currents, and the roars of beasts and chittering of bugs. The voice of the world. “I don’t understand,” Dennis said quietly. “But I think I might learn.” “You will be reborn, and you will learn,” the voice agreed. “How many lives have you lived?” Dennis whispered. “As many as you have,” the voice said. “The distillation of all you’ve been, and all you’ve learned.” “All… my lives? And I’ve only learned one thing in this life?” “Relax, young one. You’ve learned a billion lessons. There are billions more. And karma will see that you learn every one, whether you were king or pauper, saviour or murderer. Take each lesson, and truly learn.” “I will,” Dennis promised. “Unlikely,” the voice said, and there was finally a lift to its words. “But I’ll be waiting.” --- r/dexdrafts
	[WP] You live in a world where karma is real and where you get what you deserve. The thing is that you want to be the ruler of the world, so you decide to become the nicest person on earth.	Curled up in sleep, the kindest man in all the world snored. It was a chainsaw snore, the motor sputtering and failing before ripping into sudden, frantic life. When Lily complained about it her friends always laughed. They said that if a snore was the worst Malcolm had to offer then she was even luckier than they had thought. She had thought so too, once, except after what she had been through Lily had called it blessed. After all, didn’t everyone say he was the kindest man in all the world? One leg crossed over the other, slouching into the padded arms of her favorite chair, Lily's eyes dissected the man in the bed. Malcolm Cartwright. An inoffensive name for an inoffensive man— a good man in the light of day. At night she saw him for what he really was. Slowly, ever so slowly, the chainsaw snore died away. Malcolm rolled over in the bed, one arm questing over onto her vacant side. It searched, that arm. Probed at the cold covers. His eyes opened. The bed was caught in a shaft of silver moonlight, chased away at the edges by the soft glow of the night-light Lily still used. He stared straight up, eyes tracking the slow blades of the ceiling fan, but there was no sight in them. So animated in the day, at night Malcolm scarcely even had a soul. He sat up, turned towards her. Still sightless. He swung his legs out of the bed. He stood up, took a sightless step towards her, stretched out a hand as if to reach for her. Lily did not even breath. She let him come, shuffling towards her where the night-light’s glow held sway. He turned and fell to his knees before the hollow spot behind the wall. It was a horrific sort of pantomime that Malcolm played out every night. She was certain he did not know. If he knew he would have changed it somehow, moved the spot where he had hidden them, but there was no one to tell him but her. In all his life, Malcolm had never trusted another living thing. They had no children, he had no siblings. It was only them, alone in the big, drafty house, playing out this sick parody of a loving marriage. He pawed at the wall, his fingers sought purchase. Sleeping Malcolm couldn’t open it, his waking self had hidden the latch too well. In time he returned to the bed, groaning and anxious. She went with him, letting the nightgown fall in its spot on the floor. When he woke, as he always did, Malcolm would find her as he had left her. Disarmed, vulnerable. It was the only time he had ever felt truly secure. Lily lay awake beside her, waiting to fall into her act. Waiting, as she had waited so times before beside a different man, in a different house. Different everything, but still the same. She shivered, though the night was warm. But she did not do this for herself. “Lily?” his voice was thick with sleep and confusion. Malcolm was so disoriented when he woke. “Hmmm?” she mimed coming up from sleep, pitched fear into her voice. That had never been hard to do. She felt him stirring beside her, came ‘awake’ before him. Lily curled into his side, fit her body against his. “Another nightmare?” “I— yes. Another nightmare.” He struggled with the admission. His darted across the room, passed too casually over the hollow spot in the wall. “I’m over now,” Lily whispered, pulling his head into the hollow of her neck. “Don’t worry, I’m still here.” He was quiet a long time. She listened for his snores, any change in the rhythm of his breathing. There was none. Malcolm was awake, sorting through shreds of memory his sleeping self might have had. If Lily had told anyone they would have said she was paranoid. How not? Here was a man who had created a fortune just to found a children’s charity. He volunteered in soup kitchens and animal shelters, had spent years in the Peace Corp. He had married her, and hadn’t she seen herself before him? They had seen the bruises as clearly as she had, had seen what a mess she had gotten herself into. And had Malcolm ever so much as judged her? “Thank you,” Malcolm whispered. “You’re the only one I can trust. The only one who—” he choked off a word, turned it into a strangled sob. Malcolm was an exquisite actor. “Lily, I love you so much.” “I love you too,” she said. “Now sleep. You’ve got a long day tomorrow.” She petted his hair until the snores roared back, let the room fill with those dying engine sounds. She kissed him, gently. And again. Once for the man he pretended to be, once because it hurt so badly. He left in the morning, rising with the dawn. Lily stepped back into her nightgown and counted the minutes until he reached the airport, then counted down again he boarded the flight. He was off on business, he was so often these days. Her friends ooh’d and ahh’d over it, admired his discipline and sometimes went just that uncomfortable step further. And again, she thought, how not? This week he was procuring ventilators for a children’s hospital, could there be anything more noble than that? But her friends did not see him rise in the night. They did not see him scrabbling at the wall like a feral dog, did not hear his fingernails etching at the paint and stumbling over the secret little latch behind the dresser. They were not there when spoke in his sleep. Declaiming. Lily was. An alarm went off, Malcolm’s flight departing. Safely in the air now, she went to the bedroom and crouched down beside the dresser. She pulled the latch and watched the hollow spot pop open, saw the sheafs of paper stacked within. She drew them out, looking for Malcolm’s newest poems. They were like his sleepwalking, Lily thought, cut from the same cloth. They were a desperate mind’s attempt for sanity, a rebellion against his daytime conformations and his crazed attempt to outplay the world’s Karmatic System. The only time he could ever be his true self. She found them, haikus this time. Lily sat crosslegged, three sheets of paper laid out before her. The handwriting was so sloppy, jagged edged cursive that ran in every direction across the page, line breaks spiraling with strange regularity out through the paper’s lines as if Malcolm had working off a grid that only he could see. Lily read them aloud, a reminder of what lay ahead, married to the kindest man in all the world. A man she had to oppose. A man, like so many others, who could not be allowed to win. Stacked up like cordwood Small figures lie before me What do those eyes see? \* What do my eyes see? What man stands in the mirror? An artist. Show them. \* Even her-- kindness. So pretty, those old bruises Charity. And yet… “And yet,” Lily repeated. “And yet…” She felt violently ill. Last night’s kisses were still heavy on her lips, even heavier than this morning’s because she had offered them freely. She read the final poem again. And again. She read it until the words were carved into her brain, till the truth of them was indivisible from her soul— And then she put them away. Put it all away. She composed herself, became the perfect wife. The proof of all that kindness. His charity. She let her anger burn away “and yet…” Then Lily rose to greet the day. She had a good man’s life to ruin. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you!	Dennis Poe stayed calm, despite his growing frustration with being treated like he was less than a full-grown adult. It was what a good person would do. “I don’t understand,” Dennis said. “What do you mean, intentions matter?” “Intentions count as much as your actions when it comes to karma, young one,” the vaguely-human shaped of light spoke to him, a clear voice ringing through every noodle in Dennis’ brain. “And your intentions… see, a little misguided, no?” “Misguided, maybe,” Dennis admitted. “But I’m... was doing good, yes?” “Yes, but they are not pure of heart,” the voice said. “What do you want to be?” “Ruler of the world,” he said, quickly and assured. “That is a less than noble goal, young one.” “So it doesn’t matter if I’ve saved hundreds and thousands of lives by funding vaccines? Or helping at least three old ladies cross the street, and feed five homeless people by my own hand, every single day I was alive? Or the book that I wrote made people want to live because they wanted to know what happens in the next one, and I never released it, thereby lengthening their lives by years and years?” “You did all that with the intention of becoming the ruler of the world,” the even-keeled voice replied. “What does it matter? I’ve helped the world so much! The results speak for themselves!” The voice sighed. It was not in disappointment. Rather, it seemed like the sort of response that one would give when faced with somebody who clearly just didn’t get it—a wild cat intruding on a home, a baby unable to stop crying. “This attitude is why,” the light flashed a little brighter, a little stronger, but the voice remained calm. “What even is a ruler of the world?” “Stop treating me like a child,” Daniel said. “I’ve done more than hundreds of men combined. And yet, I’m being undermined by a formless blob.” “There is no ruler of the world, young one,” the voice continued. “You speak of men. Yet, you have no idea the transgressions you’ve made against the rest of the world in order to benefit your men.” Dennis fell silent. Not in realization of its words, but that he snapped back at somebody. After a long, long life, he actually snapped—and it felt freeing. “I don’t understand,” Dennis said. “Nobody truly does, Dennis Poe,” the voice returned. And now that Dennis didn’t have hot blood rushing through his head, he could hear that it was not one voice. It was a chorus of men and women, but also of the waves and currents, and the roars of beasts and chittering of bugs. The voice of the world. “I don’t understand,” Dennis said quietly. “But I think I might learn.” “You will be reborn, and you will learn,” the voice agreed. “How many lives have you lived?” Dennis whispered. “As many as you have,” the voice said. “The distillation of all you’ve been, and all you’ve learned.” “All… my lives? And I’ve only learned one thing in this life?” “Relax, young one. You’ve learned a billion lessons. There are billions more. And karma will see that you learn every one, whether you were king or pauper, saviour or murderer. Take each lesson, and truly learn.” “I will,” Dennis promised. “Unlikely,” the voice said, and there was finally a lift to its words. “But I’ll be waiting.” --- r/dexdrafts
	[WP] You live in a world where karma is real and where you get what you deserve. The thing is that you want to be the ruler of the world, so you decide to become the nicest person on earth.	Daniel sat patiently in the waiting room of the KARM4 Initiative office, looking at the large poster on the wall opposite him. The words “EVERYONE GETS WHAT THEY DESERVE” were printed in bright blue letters underneath a picture of a smiling couple enjoying a glass of wine on a beach at sunset. Daniel noticed how brilliantly white their teeth were, and made a mental note to book an appointment with his dentist. Good People did everything they could to make a good impression, and to set an example for others. Daniel was a Good Person. “Daniel?” said the voice behind the reception desk. He got up, stealing one last glance at the poster, and walked towards the voice. The voice had come from a woman around Daniel‘s age, with blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail. She was pretty, bordering on plain, and he briefly saw the light reflect off of the implants in her eyes. ”I’m very sorry to keep you waiting, they’ll be ready for you soon” she said with a smile. Her teeth were not as white as the couple on the poster. “you can go through the doors to room 12 And your assessment officer will be with you shortly.“ He saw her glance at his KARM4 tracker on his wrist. “Wow! A 94? That‘s the highest I think I’ve ever seen, I’m sure you’ll do amazing!” ”Thank you!“ he replied, and stole a look at her wrist. An 85. He grimaced. ”Oh yeah,” she said sheepishly “ I failed my last spot check. A man asked me for directions to the bus stop and I was in a hurry, so I told him I was sorry and kept walking. He asked me again and snapped at him and told him to buy a map or learn to read signs. I didn’t know he was an Auditor.” Daniel was shocked that she only lost 5 points for Being Rude. That was a fairly hefty crime. Good People aren’t rude to others, it was one of the core tenets of KARM4. ”I guess I understand” said Daniel, trying to keep his face still, “I walked past some litter on the street and didn’t see a garbage can nearby, so I kept going. I didn’t find out until later that it was a test and the Watchers were monitoring.“ He subconsciously rubbed his eyes, feeling the implants pressing against his eyelids. ”I lost two points and had to spend 30 hours picking up trash. It’s good that Redemptions are weighted to KARM4 score, I got off easy.” ”I did too” she said “I lost 5 points and had to memorize the location of every bus stop in my neighborhood. There are 58 of them. I only lost 5 points because I agreed to 6 month constant monitoring and a week-long reeducation. Oh well, lesson learned. Everyone Gets What They Deserve.” ”Everyone Gets What They Deserve” Daniel echoed , “it was nice to meet you, but I should be going. I’ll see myself to Room 12” “Good luck!” she said as he walked through the doors into the hallway. As he went through the doorway, Daniel‘s smile faded. An 85?! He couldn’t believe they would let anyone under a 90 into the building, let alone work here. Despicable. She shouldn’t have been given a lesser punishment. He hoped he would do well on his assessment to become an Adjudicator. Everyone knew it was them who really ran things. And once he became an Adjudicator everyone, including little miss 85, would get what they deserved. He would make sure of it.	"Ever since I was little I dreamt of ruling over this world as a supreme emperor. For years I've been in hiding thinking of a plan to take over the world and that plan has finally been set in motion" said Adrian as he helped an old lady cross the road. The old lady thanked Adrian by giving him a packet of cookies. "Nutrition for my journey to take over the world, perfect" Adrian was full of joy as he drooled over his first spoils of war. He continued on his journey looking for a job to earn money and As he was walking he spotted something. "A gift by the heavens above, someone dropped their wallet" said Adrian as he picked up the wallet. There was cash up to $1000 along with an driving licence with information of the owner. "Time for a pawn to join my conquest" Adrian started making his way towards the address on the licence. At the address was a huge mansion, he pressed the doorbell and waited ... "who is it" spoke a voice from the doorbell. "Sir, my name is Adrian and I'm here to return your wallet." Silence followed for a while until the door unlocked click and out came a frail old man. "Here you go Sir, your wallet" Adrian handed over the wallet to the old man who took the wallet and looked through it to take out a tattered old piece of paper dropping the waller full of cash. Drip Tears started flowing down the old man's face. "Are you okay Sir?" Asked Adrian and after a moment of silence the old man spoke with Tears still dripping "How could I have been so careless, thank you young man thank you so much" Adrian was confused about the piece of paper but the old man continued "My wife could not speak and before she died of cancer she wrote a letter and ever since I've been keeping the letter close to me, it feels like she is still with me. Here young man take all of it, it means nothing to me compared to the letter" the old man handed over all the cash totaling $1000" "Fool you fell for my trap card, the old man had no idea what my plans are. That's right using this money I will donate food to homeless. Mhuahahahahaha" thought Adrian as he accepted the cash and continued on his journey. Adrian bought lots of food and started giving it to the homeless. "Mhuahahaha, eat my minions for you shall all be under my rule eventually and a good ruler cannot have hungry citizens" and so the young man named Adrian continued on his journey of world domination looking for the next opportunity. Note: new to this so not really sure of any grammar mistake please offer your suggestions
	[WP] You live in a world where karma is real and where you get what you deserve. The thing is that you want to be the ruler of the world, so you decide to become the nicest person on earth.	Curled up in sleep, the kindest man in all the world snored. It was a chainsaw snore, the motor sputtering and failing before ripping into sudden, frantic life. When Lily complained about it her friends always laughed. They said that if a snore was the worst Malcolm had to offer then she was even luckier than they had thought. She had thought so too, once, except after what she had been through Lily had called it blessed. After all, didn’t everyone say he was the kindest man in all the world? One leg crossed over the other, slouching into the padded arms of her favorite chair, Lily's eyes dissected the man in the bed. Malcolm Cartwright. An inoffensive name for an inoffensive man— a good man in the light of day. At night she saw him for what he really was. Slowly, ever so slowly, the chainsaw snore died away. Malcolm rolled over in the bed, one arm questing over onto her vacant side. It searched, that arm. Probed at the cold covers. His eyes opened. The bed was caught in a shaft of silver moonlight, chased away at the edges by the soft glow of the night-light Lily still used. He stared straight up, eyes tracking the slow blades of the ceiling fan, but there was no sight in them. So animated in the day, at night Malcolm scarcely even had a soul. He sat up, turned towards her. Still sightless. He swung his legs out of the bed. He stood up, took a sightless step towards her, stretched out a hand as if to reach for her. Lily did not even breath. She let him come, shuffling towards her where the night-light’s glow held sway. He turned and fell to his knees before the hollow spot behind the wall. It was a horrific sort of pantomime that Malcolm played out every night. She was certain he did not know. If he knew he would have changed it somehow, moved the spot where he had hidden them, but there was no one to tell him but her. In all his life, Malcolm had never trusted another living thing. They had no children, he had no siblings. It was only them, alone in the big, drafty house, playing out this sick parody of a loving marriage. He pawed at the wall, his fingers sought purchase. Sleeping Malcolm couldn’t open it, his waking self had hidden the latch too well. In time he returned to the bed, groaning and anxious. She went with him, letting the nightgown fall in its spot on the floor. When he woke, as he always did, Malcolm would find her as he had left her. Disarmed, vulnerable. It was the only time he had ever felt truly secure. Lily lay awake beside her, waiting to fall into her act. Waiting, as she had waited so times before beside a different man, in a different house. Different everything, but still the same. She shivered, though the night was warm. But she did not do this for herself. “Lily?” his voice was thick with sleep and confusion. Malcolm was so disoriented when he woke. “Hmmm?” she mimed coming up from sleep, pitched fear into her voice. That had never been hard to do. She felt him stirring beside her, came ‘awake’ before him. Lily curled into his side, fit her body against his. “Another nightmare?” “I— yes. Another nightmare.” He struggled with the admission. His darted across the room, passed too casually over the hollow spot in the wall. “I’m over now,” Lily whispered, pulling his head into the hollow of her neck. “Don’t worry, I’m still here.” He was quiet a long time. She listened for his snores, any change in the rhythm of his breathing. There was none. Malcolm was awake, sorting through shreds of memory his sleeping self might have had. If Lily had told anyone they would have said she was paranoid. How not? Here was a man who had created a fortune just to found a children’s charity. He volunteered in soup kitchens and animal shelters, had spent years in the Peace Corp. He had married her, and hadn’t she seen herself before him? They had seen the bruises as clearly as she had, had seen what a mess she had gotten herself into. And had Malcolm ever so much as judged her? “Thank you,” Malcolm whispered. “You’re the only one I can trust. The only one who—” he choked off a word, turned it into a strangled sob. Malcolm was an exquisite actor. “Lily, I love you so much.” “I love you too,” she said. “Now sleep. You’ve got a long day tomorrow.” She petted his hair until the snores roared back, let the room fill with those dying engine sounds. She kissed him, gently. And again. Once for the man he pretended to be, once because it hurt so badly. He left in the morning, rising with the dawn. Lily stepped back into her nightgown and counted the minutes until he reached the airport, then counted down again he boarded the flight. He was off on business, he was so often these days. Her friends ooh’d and ahh’d over it, admired his discipline and sometimes went just that uncomfortable step further. And again, she thought, how not? This week he was procuring ventilators for a children’s hospital, could there be anything more noble than that? But her friends did not see him rise in the night. They did not see him scrabbling at the wall like a feral dog, did not hear his fingernails etching at the paint and stumbling over the secret little latch behind the dresser. They were not there when spoke in his sleep. Declaiming. Lily was. An alarm went off, Malcolm’s flight departing. Safely in the air now, she went to the bedroom and crouched down beside the dresser. She pulled the latch and watched the hollow spot pop open, saw the sheafs of paper stacked within. She drew them out, looking for Malcolm’s newest poems. They were like his sleepwalking, Lily thought, cut from the same cloth. They were a desperate mind’s attempt for sanity, a rebellion against his daytime conformations and his crazed attempt to outplay the world’s Karmatic System. The only time he could ever be his true self. She found them, haikus this time. Lily sat crosslegged, three sheets of paper laid out before her. The handwriting was so sloppy, jagged edged cursive that ran in every direction across the page, line breaks spiraling with strange regularity out through the paper’s lines as if Malcolm had working off a grid that only he could see. Lily read them aloud, a reminder of what lay ahead, married to the kindest man in all the world. A man she had to oppose. A man, like so many others, who could not be allowed to win. Stacked up like cordwood Small figures lie before me What do those eyes see? \* What do my eyes see? What man stands in the mirror? An artist. Show them. \* Even her-- kindness. So pretty, those old bruises Charity. And yet… “And yet,” Lily repeated. “And yet…” She felt violently ill. Last night’s kisses were still heavy on her lips, even heavier than this morning’s because she had offered them freely. She read the final poem again. And again. She read it until the words were carved into her brain, till the truth of them was indivisible from her soul— And then she put them away. Put it all away. She composed herself, became the perfect wife. The proof of all that kindness. His charity. She let her anger burn away “and yet…” Then Lily rose to greet the day. She had a good man’s life to ruin. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you!	"Ever since I was little I dreamt of ruling over this world as a supreme emperor. For years I've been in hiding thinking of a plan to take over the world and that plan has finally been set in motion" said Adrian as he helped an old lady cross the road. The old lady thanked Adrian by giving him a packet of cookies. "Nutrition for my journey to take over the world, perfect" Adrian was full of joy as he drooled over his first spoils of war. He continued on his journey looking for a job to earn money and As he was walking he spotted something. "A gift by the heavens above, someone dropped their wallet" said Adrian as he picked up the wallet. There was cash up to $1000 along with an driving licence with information of the owner. "Time for a pawn to join my conquest" Adrian started making his way towards the address on the licence. At the address was a huge mansion, he pressed the doorbell and waited ... "who is it" spoke a voice from the doorbell. "Sir, my name is Adrian and I'm here to return your wallet." Silence followed for a while until the door unlocked click and out came a frail old man. "Here you go Sir, your wallet" Adrian handed over the wallet to the old man who took the wallet and looked through it to take out a tattered old piece of paper dropping the waller full of cash. Drip Tears started flowing down the old man's face. "Are you okay Sir?" Asked Adrian and after a moment of silence the old man spoke with Tears still dripping "How could I have been so careless, thank you young man thank you so much" Adrian was confused about the piece of paper but the old man continued "My wife could not speak and before she died of cancer she wrote a letter and ever since I've been keeping the letter close to me, it feels like she is still with me. Here young man take all of it, it means nothing to me compared to the letter" the old man handed over all the cash totaling $1000" "Fool you fell for my trap card, the old man had no idea what my plans are. That's right using this money I will donate food to homeless. Mhuahahahahaha" thought Adrian as he accepted the cash and continued on his journey. Adrian bought lots of food and started giving it to the homeless. "Mhuahahaha, eat my minions for you shall all be under my rule eventually and a good ruler cannot have hungry citizens" and so the young man named Adrian continued on his journey of world domination looking for the next opportunity. Note: new to this so not really sure of any grammar mistake please offer your suggestions
	[WP] Pinocchio is able to create infinite wood by lying constantly. He sacrifices his lifetime by telling falsehoods nonstop in order to feed the hungry and reduce scarcity. The Pinocchio tree has been growing for 500 years, some people question what is really underground.	\loosely based on prompt\ My boy made all of my wishes come true. I never thought he would do the same for all of humanity. Every caretaker has the best intentions for their offspring. I was no different. I did not dream of fortune or fame for ‘Chio – I had long learned in my life that these were not such things to be sought after. I dreamt that he would learn to work with what he had, whittling away a life, bit by bit. Like I had. Soon enough, he would realize he had everything he needed right there in front of him. Like I had. I carved Pinnochio myself. A miracle granted that my pride and joy would have the potential to live if he was brave, truthful, and unselfish. When he was not, his wooden nose would grow and his body would harden. One step closer to being only a display toy. At the granting of his autonomy, he went astray. His life was what I wanted for him at first. He made grave mistakes. He learned from his grave mistakes. One step in front of the other.‘Chio had found all of the wonders of the world in one place, Treasure Island. The sinister nature of the artifacts there did not hit him until much later. The price to pay was just as much as the benefit he reaped. In the aftermath, he learned that family was worth any price. He realized his humanity. He saved me from the belly of a great beast. My boy learned to avoid Pleasure Island. Unfortunately, the rest of humanity had not. My beloved had learned to give and give and give. He let his lessons about being unselfish carry over into every aspect of his life. He did not know when to stop. He had learned of hunger and desperation in the belly of a great whale, saving his pops. Never did he ever want anyone to experience the pain that he had. ‘Chio came to the false conclusion that he would increase his humanity by extreme selflessness. I had never taught him that there was a limit on what he could do for others… Never in a million years would I wish his fate on anyone. It started when I needed a fine piece of oak to begin carving my next piece. ‘Chio hadn’t felt of service or use to anyone for a long time after our great adventure. Nowhere in the surrounding villages was I able to find an oak as fine as the wood I had found for Pinnochio. Long since our lands had been stripped of their natural resources. He said, “I want to give you wood to carve!” Even that was enough of a lie to cause his nose to grow a few inches, long enough that I could make a small figurine. I snipped the end of his nose. I sat there and carved a little bear statue for hours and hours. Pinnochio did not move. Even giving this much of himself would take a while to regain. As the wood kept depleting and the demand for my products kept increasing he would keep going. Bit by bit I built a boat, oars, enough carved animals for a carousel, a dresser, and a desk. Instead of whittling away at his life, it whittled away at him. He became pale and weak. The bandages covered his nose during the day and the night. People came from far and wide to watch our only living source of wood. Soon it was not just looking. There were deals. Furniture companies would offer millions and millions for his services. He always declined, saying that it was his pleasure. Each time he gave a little bit more of himself, he found it easier to give it all. He would not let us down. He was in rigor mortis for weeks at a time. It only made the crowds all the more ravenous when he woke once more. And sure enough, there was a day where he didn’t. They displayed my boy in a museum, now a waxy shell of himself. The dark and dry room he was located in was meant to preserve him. The plaque read “Pinocchio, the boy who always gave”. His black eyes had turned to beads once more and his skin had lost its warmth. The unselfishness that was supposed to permit him to live had now drained the life out of him. The being who had once been my greatest pride was also the being to die at the hands of my greatest regret. edit = paragraph markings	We are at the back of line of a puppet show, the lines moved one by one as my mother looked at me, My mom patted my head "Just talk with it okay! After that we can go home and you can play all day". Our village has the weekly show, adult called it the puppet show. The bald man who was at the front of us move forward in the lines. The wooden puppet lips moved smoothly "How was your wife doing?" "She is little sick this days" "Oh the fair maiden can catch cold also!" said the puppet. A bit of his nose grew instantly. The crowd behind us cried in hysterical laughter. "She is so pure she can ride a unicorn" the tip of the nose grew a little more. he spat on the wooden doll and left with a fierce face murmuring. "Why do i need to entertain this clown". It eyes stared into mine the one next in line and those eyed pierced through my soul and body, with that a crooked smile cracked on his hard wooden face "You look so thin are you eating properly". I mumbled some words out just for the sake of conversation, "Mom always give me the hard burned black part of the bread. I don't wanna eat it! it taste yuk and my teeth hurts". "It was good for your health" the tip of the nose grew more. I said nothing. "It was your own good kid" this time the nose remained idle. but a slight grin peaked from the lips. "...Because your mommy cares about you " this time the nose grew a bit more. My mom suddenly closed my eyes and yelled out the lines which I still don't forget. "You little devil!" That was the last time I ever saw that puppet. Children were prohibited from visiting the puppet but adults visited the puppet show at night time. Days become months and months become a full year. I saw nothing but a giant tree. Peoples faces become more bright, The day the tree began to grow I was able to eat 3 times a day. I eat a lot fruits which I only show on book pages. The seeds were used to grow more trees and with our village more villages it brink of starvation got saved. But they forget the one tree that started it all. The one tree that breathed life to the whole kingdom. Many nobles started to visit our village and one day my mother introduce me to my new father. He was nice at first but he become violent after he got married to my mother. There were numerous time I got beat and left to sleep outside the house. one day my mother with crying face called out to me "You are going to new home". I cried first and i rebelled when it didn't work and that was the first time my mother ever slapped me. I move to a new home and all i ever did was work, sometime if i was lucky I may able to see some kids with fancy clothes playing but i stopped watching when they threw rocks at me. I worked 24/7 more then the days where I was at my village and there was no trees. I saw a dream for the first time, It was a beautiful dream I walking on the patch of green grassed on sunny day and all the animals are following me. Not me When I look back I saw a lot of kids, some kids I recognise from my village and some Kids that threw rock at me. And we all following a puppet that is walking in front of us blowing the trumpet. I wake at the smell of burning hair and wood. I was standing in front of the tree which started the whole thing, not me a lot of kids are standing in circle before me. But something is wrong I saw nothing but wooden dolls that looked like kids then I saw my hands and realised "Oh I was one too!" I stared back and saw the burning village of mine, my eyes twitched but a slight grin peeked at my lips, my heart was burning but at the same time i was feeling a soothing that is healing the pain I was carrying. The fire is burning everything and anything with equality while brimming with such warmth in my heart. Some Kids Started to shovel the ground until they hit something. They brought back a rotten corpse of a child. but It was not death yet it was breathing and its eyes were twitching. And it spoke in a dim voice "I have become a little boy papa!!!"
	[WP] Pinocchio is able to create infinite wood by lying constantly. He sacrifices his lifetime by telling falsehoods nonstop in order to feed the hungry and reduce scarcity. The Pinocchio tree has been growing for 500 years, some people question what is really underground.	I breathed slowly and carefully, unsure if these caverns would have enough fresh air to keep us alive. Was there enough air for the puppet boy of the old stories? For the thousandth time, I wondered if that was why the tree had stopped growing and, as always, was left without an answer. For generations the tree had grown, outward and upward, new branches replacing the old, the scars in the trunk where larger timber had been taken sealing over with new material. The stories told of the young puppet boy who, for love of a human woman, had laid himself into the earth and called forth a piece of himself to burn and keep her, and her family, warm through the winter. Floods had come, and the old tree had welcomed the people into its branches, high enough to escape the flow of debris that claimed their homes. Afterward, the people took pieces of the tree and made new homes, burning branches to keep themselves warm inside, turning more into tools, without which no food could be grown. Years had passed, and the tree only grew larger, providing more and more materials to support the descendants of the woman. Enormous roots had pushed into the soil for stability, and then were discovered to delve deep into the stones allowing the people to easily collect ore, burning more and more of the tree to smelt it into new and better tools. The pinnochians grew prosperous from the love of the puppet boy. But all good things have their limits. The tree had stopped growing. A blast of growth had toppled buildings closest to the tree and then it had fallen eerily still. I had been there that day. The quiet creaking of the tree's growth, perennially present through my entire life, fell silent after that. Then came the arguments. 'It will grow again.' 'It is still growing. We just need to harvest less.' 'We just have to give it water.' 'We just have to give it fertilizer.' 'We have to give it lies.' 'We have give it a sacrifice.' 'We have to give it blood.' 'We have to give it more blood.' 'We have to give it the blood of an innocent.' All the while, the harvest continued. We chopped away bits and pieces, fighting over them now that we all could see what none would admit, no more would be forthcoming. Eventually we ran out of branches and began on the trunk and the roots. For a while, none would touch the roots, because they were there to stabilize the tree, stabilize the mines, and stabilize the earth beneath the town, but eventually someone did. After sheering away a large root, a space was found underneath it. My brother had found it by falling into it arse first, breaking an arm and a leg in the process. It was the only root-tunnel ever found that led toward the tree. We all knew the legends of the source of the tree and a few had sought to seek out the puppet boy, but the growth of the tree made tunnels unstable beneath. As sherriff, I had been selected by our Gepetto to lead a small team down the tunnel, to seek the source of the Pinnoch tree. It had thrilled me into the outhouse, sending my mind racing and my bowels running, but I had accepted my task as no less than my duty. I had followed the twisting root-tunnels down, squeezing through where I must and walking through echoing chambers that had never known light. My team rested, soft breaths in near total darkness, using only two lanterns to conserve fuel, a precious resource after the last of the oily seed pods had been harvested. But, in the darkness ahead, I heard a soft sound. I pushed myself to my feet and wearily sighed, thinking to simply take a look round the next bend. The floor gave way as soon as I came round that bend, dropping me into a new hole. "Sherrif? Sherriff!" came the voice of someone above who had likely heard my unmanful yelp, "I see you, Sherriff. Don't worry, we'll get the climbing tackle and be with you in a trice." I ignored them. My fallen lantern spilled light across a chamber with the body of a small boy laying on a great stone at its center. He wept into his hands, but they could not obscure the wooden stump of broken wood coming from the center of his face. I gawked like so many visitors had when they first saw the tree, but I was seeing its source. "Are you...?" "Please, no more," said the boy, his wooden limbs covered in sprouting roots then torn free. "Are you the Pinnoch?" I asked. He jumped and looked at me. "What? How...?" He closed his eyes and shook his head as if to clear it, sending soil cascading down his back from the crown of roots that formed a mockery of a halo around his head. "What new trick is this?" "No trick," I said, "I came from the surface... to look for... you, I guess." I looked at the broken stump on his face and the broken root flaring out from a spot just above the rock. He looked at me with a wooden expression I could not read. "The tree stopped growing," I said, "We..." I faltered under the unblinking stare. His mouth opened and a sound of mirthless laughter fell out like a dead thing. "You wanted to know why." I couldn't speak through my dried lips, and simply nodded. The harsh laughter came from his mouth again, and he almost fell, catching himself with the shattered stump of what must once have been a leg. The laughter echoed through the tunnels and if I hadn't been too scared to move I would have dug for the surface with my bare hands. "It stopped because I lied." I blinked. I was terrified, but also confused. "In-- In the tales... lies made it grow." He laughed again, but no joy resounded through the air or his face. Only crawling filth and cheerless darkness filled his face. "I lied for years. I said, "The sky is red," and my nose grew. The sky is red." His nose grew, sprouting with a creak of wood to stand a few inches proud of where it had started. "But..." "And as I made it grow, I saw the chance to help those I loved live happier, healthier lives. I could say, "The earth is flat," and it would grow. The earth is flat." His nose grew again until a foot of dowel stood before his face. He crossed his eyes to look at it. "And though it pained me, it also filled me with joy to help those I loved." He reached up and snapped off the dowel with a blood-freezing scream of agony. "I felt them carving away bits of me, chopping away bits to keep the house warm, hacking off branches to keep the cookfires burning, sawing sections from my face to make the fences strong and protective for the livestock. And I loved my children, so I did not begrudge them an inch." His giggle was a tortured sound. "And there were always more of them, always more need, but I always gave. I made more and more wood so more and more pieces could be taken, and all the while I lied. I told the world that the stars were made of cheese. I said my name was Steve. I said the earth was made of cookies. Lies upon lies, I told. When I fell into the earth under the weight of the tree, I lied. I told newer lies to amuse myself, stating moral certainties, naming myself after things unspoken, declaring the perfection of the horrid and the horridness of the beautiful. In my despair, I declared horrible things." He jerked and slid down the side of the rock, laying his head back against it, making a scraping sound of wood on stone. For a moment he was silent, and in breathless stillness I could hear my fellows working at getting to me, grunting and panting at the other end of a vertical tunnel. "Horrible..." he said again, "but lies, until the last." I didn't dare speak but the question was obvious. "In my darkest hour, as I felt a section of my face being split from the rest over what could have been minutes or months, I felt the desperation of my position at last and thought again of those I loved, realizing they were all long dead. And into that darkness, I uttered a truth, or what was supposed to be one. 'It's worth it.'" His nose sprang out a few inches. "It's worth it." It grew a few more. "It's worth it. It's worth it! It's WORTH it!" It grew again, surprisingly fast, until it poked me in the chest. I fell down and felt the shattered end of it land against my chest. "It's worth it." The wood grew again, pinning his head against the rock and my back against the earth. I grabbed at it, feeling the splinters at its tip catching in my flesh, and screamed. "It's worth it," he said again, in the voice of a child who wants to believe, and the tip bit deeper into my sternum. "Please," I said, "Please..." "It's worth it."	[Poem] To the tree they ponder What lieth below With the will to give The wood it would bestow They knock and knock Yet it gives no answer For under the ground lies a cock
	[WP] Pinocchio is able to create infinite wood by lying constantly. He sacrifices his lifetime by telling falsehoods nonstop in order to feed the hungry and reduce scarcity. The Pinocchio tree has been growing for 500 years, some people question what is really underground.	“O, creature of the Unmarked Deep, Giver of Life, this I call to thee: what be thou origin?” Roots covered covered every inch of the sparse underground cavern, coating the crevices and submerging the rock wall beneath. Above grew the Evertree. Beneath, in the center of this tangled, bark-infested hell… A beast shaped from wood, branches protruding from each of its orifices. The mass of roots rumbled, shifted. A deep voice boomed out from somewhere beneath the wooden cocoon, echoing off the branch-laden walls. “Ask, child, and pray ye choose your words well.” The priest gulped. Here was a challenge he had hoped to avoid. “Be thou…God?” “Yes,” boomed the creature, but the branches on the wall grew longer, and the ground above shook as the Evertree rose to new heights. “Be thou…man?” “Yes,” groaned the Great Liar, and roots began to curl over the traveller’s feet. The cavern seemed to be closing in - with such strength was the bark expanding. More wrong questions, he knew would mean his death; buried forever in this abyssal wooden coffin. He examined the form of the creature, barely visible under all its layers of bark. Small. Petite. Almost like that of a… Child. “Be thou…boy?” ventured the priest for the final time. And for a time the thing was struck silent, contemplating his question wordlessly. Finally, he spoke, and his voice shook like that of a man in the verge of tears. “Yes,” he said, and the roots swallowed the traveller whole.	Centuries ago there lived— “A king!” my little readers would say. Again, settle down children, no. Once upon a time there was a piece of wood. I wasn’t any particularly expensive piece of wood, far from it. The kind that would light up fireplaces and kept warm the common children as well as the regal, the ol’ janitors up to the kings. Just the type that would put smiles on faces of tired fathers after a tiring day at work and accompanied mothers’ perusing through the bitter cold of winters. The very wood that made everyone happy on freezing yuletide days. But this was no ordinary piece of, albeit cheap wood, no! This wood lived a life far more extraordinaire than any piece of wood before – or man, even. This wood was, how ridiculous, once a marionette, and how happy it was, that it became a real boy! This wood brought joy far longer than it would’ve taken to char to a coal in regular, common chimneys. This lifeless – but now lively piece of log brought joy to not just a fireplace, but the world! But now, still in the shop of an old carpenter. The very same who bore the name Mastro Antoni, but of course no one called him that. Lovable, cherish-able ol’ Mastro Cherry, with his nose so round and red and shiny that it looked like a ripe cherry, who once saw more than a leg of a table in that piece of wood, was now none but a name on the obituary and an epithet on a headstone. His once red nose that turned to the deepest shade of purple on meeting our merry piece of log, now possesses no colour at all! And of course, Gepetto. To the boys of the neighbourhood he was Polendina (or, cornmeal mush), on account of the wig he always wore which was just the colour of yellow corn. He had a very bad temper. Woe to those who called him that! Of course, no one would mock him now, because there as no one to wear the infamous yellow-corn-wig, and of course memories of a man who turned to a wild beast no one could soothe on even the fainted sotto voce of “Polendina” was all that remained. For, of course, no one would mock a coffin and ghosts couldn’t wear wigs. And in that very same warm Italy summer, still whet with the memories of his father, ol’ Gepetto, the log wandered aimlessly around the pastel-hued houses of the very same beautiful Italy town he had always lived in. He could not return to Geppeto’s small, although neat and very confortable house, for it reminded him of the adventures he once had and the father who had left too early. Pinocchio was a husk of a boy he once was – or I should say a bark of the cheerful log that has been. So distraught Pinocchio was that, when given any vague sense of purpose, he jumped at the chance. For, what more could he lose? As an inanimate marionette he had lost his maker and puppeteer, and as a boy he had lost his father! He would better laid lifeless on the ground than merely exist incessantly like this! But of course, this marionette had one more thing to give, it was his life. -- It started as a few innocent questions floating around the supposedly impossible existence of this insentient but living puppet. But, it was only supposedly impossible, for all the disputing and disbelieving of people, Pinocchio lived on all the same! He was a testament, a counter-proposal for what was imaginably possible and not. A real, moving marionette that had a nose that grew! “Can Pinnochio creat infinite wood by lying constantly?”, [one intrigued cynic](https://www.reddit.com/r/Showerthoughts/comments/r94lc6/comment/hna6gy0/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) asked “Does it only grow “wood” or like can a whole tree sprout fruit and all? Little bastard just solved world hunger.”, [another skeptic](https://www.reddit.com/r/Showerthoughts/comments/r94lc6/comment/hna7e40/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) cried! It was when advances of the cynics were too unbearable and questions of the doubters were too much for our little wooden boy’s very real heart that Pinocchio had to give in. “It’s for science”, they would say, but science hurt! “It’s for the greater good!”, they would say, but the greater good still pained him all the same! They had not seen a real boy in this beloved marionette, they had not seen a leg of a table in this cheap, ordinary log. They had seen a chance to profiteer in this magical supernatural existence, this living breathing proof that what we know isn’t all we know! They had not seen humanity in him and they exploited it. “Don’t worry, I am fine”, Pinocchio said, but his nose kept growing, his faintest attempt at a smile slowly fading as any sanity he has left starts giving place to the pain. “Don’t worry, I am fine”, Pinocchio said, but his nose kept growing, just to be chopped and used, chopped and used, chopped and used as they pleased. “Don’t worry, I am fine”, Pinocchio said, but his nose kept growing. To them, he was only ever an ever-growing money tree. ——— The End I know this is not sticking strictly to the prompt but I had saw the reddit thread, written this before going back to search for this very prompt, I hope I didn’t break any rules (this is my first submission ever >.<) I tried to mimic the original Pinocchio novel style (The Adventures of Pinocchio by Carlo Collodi), I hope it didn’t come across as cringe :P. Anyways, thanks for reading ;D
	[WP] Pinocchio is able to create infinite wood by lying constantly. He sacrifices his lifetime by telling falsehoods nonstop in order to feed the hungry and reduce scarcity. The Pinocchio tree has been growing for 500 years, some people question what is really underground.	They say that if you press your ears to the ground and hold your breath, you will hear a faint murmur. So soft and muffled is this sound that most will dismiss it as a shifting of the earth, a strange amalgamation of the clicking of beetle legs and the footsteps of soldier ants. The brain tricking itself into hearing whispers in the soil. Perhaps this is true. We grown-upslf the village have our stories. And the children of the village have theirs. If you tell a child that the tree cannot speak, they will give you a pitiable look and shake their heads. They have no doubts. They know what they hear. The tree speaks. And what it says, over and over, from sun-up to sun-down, is this- "I AM a real boy. I AM a real boy..."	Centuries ago there lived— “A king!” my little readers would say. Again, settle down children, no. Once upon a time there was a piece of wood. I wasn’t any particularly expensive piece of wood, far from it. The kind that would light up fireplaces and kept warm the common children as well as the regal, the ol’ janitors up to the kings. Just the type that would put smiles on faces of tired fathers after a tiring day at work and accompanied mothers’ perusing through the bitter cold of winters. The very wood that made everyone happy on freezing yuletide days. But this was no ordinary piece of, albeit cheap wood, no! This wood lived a life far more extraordinaire than any piece of wood before – or man, even. This wood was, how ridiculous, once a marionette, and how happy it was, that it became a real boy! This wood brought joy far longer than it would’ve taken to char to a coal in regular, common chimneys. This lifeless – but now lively piece of log brought joy to not just a fireplace, but the world! But now, still in the shop of an old carpenter. The very same who bore the name Mastro Antoni, but of course no one called him that. Lovable, cherish-able ol’ Mastro Cherry, with his nose so round and red and shiny that it looked like a ripe cherry, who once saw more than a leg of a table in that piece of wood, was now none but a name on the obituary and an epithet on a headstone. His once red nose that turned to the deepest shade of purple on meeting our merry piece of log, now possesses no colour at all! And of course, Gepetto. To the boys of the neighbourhood he was Polendina (or, cornmeal mush), on account of the wig he always wore which was just the colour of yellow corn. He had a very bad temper. Woe to those who called him that! Of course, no one would mock him now, because there as no one to wear the infamous yellow-corn-wig, and of course memories of a man who turned to a wild beast no one could soothe on even the fainted sotto voce of “Polendina” was all that remained. For, of course, no one would mock a coffin and ghosts couldn’t wear wigs. And in that very same warm Italy summer, still whet with the memories of his father, ol’ Gepetto, the log wandered aimlessly around the pastel-hued houses of the very same beautiful Italy town he had always lived in. He could not return to Geppeto’s small, although neat and very confortable house, for it reminded him of the adventures he once had and the father who had left too early. Pinocchio was a husk of a boy he once was – or I should say a bark of the cheerful log that has been. So distraught Pinocchio was that, when given any vague sense of purpose, he jumped at the chance. For, what more could he lose? As an inanimate marionette he had lost his maker and puppeteer, and as a boy he had lost his father! He would better laid lifeless on the ground than merely exist incessantly like this! But of course, this marionette had one more thing to give, it was his life. -- It started as a few innocent questions floating around the supposedly impossible existence of this insentient but living puppet. But, it was only supposedly impossible, for all the disputing and disbelieving of people, Pinocchio lived on all the same! He was a testament, a counter-proposal for what was imaginably possible and not. A real, moving marionette that had a nose that grew! “Can Pinnochio creat infinite wood by lying constantly?”, [one intrigued cynic](https://www.reddit.com/r/Showerthoughts/comments/r94lc6/comment/hna6gy0/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) asked “Does it only grow “wood” or like can a whole tree sprout fruit and all? Little bastard just solved world hunger.”, [another skeptic](https://www.reddit.com/r/Showerthoughts/comments/r94lc6/comment/hna7e40/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) cried! It was when advances of the cynics were too unbearable and questions of the doubters were too much for our little wooden boy’s very real heart that Pinocchio had to give in. “It’s for science”, they would say, but science hurt! “It’s for the greater good!”, they would say, but the greater good still pained him all the same! They had not seen a real boy in this beloved marionette, they had not seen a leg of a table in this cheap, ordinary log. They had seen a chance to profiteer in this magical supernatural existence, this living breathing proof that what we know isn’t all we know! They had not seen humanity in him and they exploited it. “Don’t worry, I am fine”, Pinocchio said, but his nose kept growing, his faintest attempt at a smile slowly fading as any sanity he has left starts giving place to the pain. “Don’t worry, I am fine”, Pinocchio said, but his nose kept growing, just to be chopped and used, chopped and used, chopped and used as they pleased. “Don’t worry, I am fine”, Pinocchio said, but his nose kept growing. To them, he was only ever an ever-growing money tree. ——— The End I know this is not sticking strictly to the prompt but I had saw the reddit thread, written this before going back to search for this very prompt, I hope I didn’t break any rules (this is my first submission ever >.<) I tried to mimic the original Pinocchio novel style (The Adventures of Pinocchio by Carlo Collodi), I hope it didn’t come across as cringe :P. Anyways, thanks for reading ;D
	[WP] Pinocchio is able to create infinite wood by lying constantly. He sacrifices his lifetime by telling falsehoods nonstop in order to feed the hungry and reduce scarcity. The Pinocchio tree has been growing for 500 years, some people question what is really underground.	It was easy at first. "I'm a potato". "The Moon belongs to Spain". "There's no such thing as a horse". An endless stream of petty falsehoods, easy to churn out as often as you want. The tree grew eternally, and with it grew a new age. Infinite energy, if you just kept burning the wood- with each new lie, the tree grew instantly. Humanity, ever resourceful, began to use it to bring warmth and production at unheard of levels. And then the petty lies stopped working. Over-saturated, he supposed. He went onto more significant ones- "You can see the great wall of china from orbit", "You swallow 5 spiders a year." "You need to drink 8 litres of water a day". Bigger lies, more likely to fool someone, maybe cause some minor worry or inconvenience. But still, ultimately, harmless. And old wives had made enough to keep this going for a long time. The tree kept growing, and the world kept developing. No more hunger. No more homelessness. Endless energy made a lot of things easier. Not for him, of course. He was still trapped in the dark, endlessly cut apart and regrown. The pain and the helplessness was near unbearable, but what could he do? Doom the world? He stayed, and he wasn't surprised when the minor lies stopped counting. So he got worse. Slander and libel. Lies against nations and races. Deadly advice and fearmongering. The kind of lies that ruined lives, that killed and destroyed, that started wars and worse. Terrible lies. The tree kept going, higher and higher, and the world grew more and more dependent on it. Now, if it was taken away, the world would collapse. What could he do? He lay, immobile in the darkness, a wooden mind filled with splintered thoughts. He had to ignore his own misery and think- what to do when the worst lies stopped working? He had to save the world. He couldn't let it collapse. What was the biggest lie he could tell? He thought for a minute, helpless and tortured in the dark. "I'm glad the blue fairy brought me to life." "I never wanted to be a real boy anyway." "I still think it's worth it." Above, the tree grew a little bit more.	Centuries ago there lived— “A king!” my little readers would say. Again, settle down children, no. Once upon a time there was a piece of wood. I wasn’t any particularly expensive piece of wood, far from it. The kind that would light up fireplaces and kept warm the common children as well as the regal, the ol’ janitors up to the kings. Just the type that would put smiles on faces of tired fathers after a tiring day at work and accompanied mothers’ perusing through the bitter cold of winters. The very wood that made everyone happy on freezing yuletide days. But this was no ordinary piece of, albeit cheap wood, no! This wood lived a life far more extraordinaire than any piece of wood before – or man, even. This wood was, how ridiculous, once a marionette, and how happy it was, that it became a real boy! This wood brought joy far longer than it would’ve taken to char to a coal in regular, common chimneys. This lifeless – but now lively piece of log brought joy to not just a fireplace, but the world! But now, still in the shop of an old carpenter. The very same who bore the name Mastro Antoni, but of course no one called him that. Lovable, cherish-able ol’ Mastro Cherry, with his nose so round and red and shiny that it looked like a ripe cherry, who once saw more than a leg of a table in that piece of wood, was now none but a name on the obituary and an epithet on a headstone. His once red nose that turned to the deepest shade of purple on meeting our merry piece of log, now possesses no colour at all! And of course, Gepetto. To the boys of the neighbourhood he was Polendina (or, cornmeal mush), on account of the wig he always wore which was just the colour of yellow corn. He had a very bad temper. Woe to those who called him that! Of course, no one would mock him now, because there as no one to wear the infamous yellow-corn-wig, and of course memories of a man who turned to a wild beast no one could soothe on even the fainted sotto voce of “Polendina” was all that remained. For, of course, no one would mock a coffin and ghosts couldn’t wear wigs. And in that very same warm Italy summer, still whet with the memories of his father, ol’ Gepetto, the log wandered aimlessly around the pastel-hued houses of the very same beautiful Italy town he had always lived in. He could not return to Geppeto’s small, although neat and very confortable house, for it reminded him of the adventures he once had and the father who had left too early. Pinocchio was a husk of a boy he once was – or I should say a bark of the cheerful log that has been. So distraught Pinocchio was that, when given any vague sense of purpose, he jumped at the chance. For, what more could he lose? As an inanimate marionette he had lost his maker and puppeteer, and as a boy he had lost his father! He would better laid lifeless on the ground than merely exist incessantly like this! But of course, this marionette had one more thing to give, it was his life. -- It started as a few innocent questions floating around the supposedly impossible existence of this insentient but living puppet. But, it was only supposedly impossible, for all the disputing and disbelieving of people, Pinocchio lived on all the same! He was a testament, a counter-proposal for what was imaginably possible and not. A real, moving marionette that had a nose that grew! “Can Pinnochio creat infinite wood by lying constantly?”, [one intrigued cynic](https://www.reddit.com/r/Showerthoughts/comments/r94lc6/comment/hna6gy0/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) asked “Does it only grow “wood” or like can a whole tree sprout fruit and all? Little bastard just solved world hunger.”, [another skeptic](https://www.reddit.com/r/Showerthoughts/comments/r94lc6/comment/hna7e40/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) cried! It was when advances of the cynics were too unbearable and questions of the doubters were too much for our little wooden boy’s very real heart that Pinocchio had to give in. “It’s for science”, they would say, but science hurt! “It’s for the greater good!”, they would say, but the greater good still pained him all the same! They had not seen a real boy in this beloved marionette, they had not seen a leg of a table in this cheap, ordinary log. They had seen a chance to profiteer in this magical supernatural existence, this living breathing proof that what we know isn’t all we know! They had not seen humanity in him and they exploited it. “Don’t worry, I am fine”, Pinocchio said, but his nose kept growing, his faintest attempt at a smile slowly fading as any sanity he has left starts giving place to the pain. “Don’t worry, I am fine”, Pinocchio said, but his nose kept growing, just to be chopped and used, chopped and used, chopped and used as they pleased. “Don’t worry, I am fine”, Pinocchio said, but his nose kept growing. To them, he was only ever an ever-growing money tree. ——— The End I know this is not sticking strictly to the prompt but I had saw the reddit thread, written this before going back to search for this very prompt, I hope I didn’t break any rules (this is my first submission ever >.<) I tried to mimic the original Pinocchio novel style (The Adventures of Pinocchio by Carlo Collodi), I hope it didn’t come across as cringe :P. Anyways, thanks for reading ;D
	[WP] Pinocchio is able to create infinite wood by lying constantly. He sacrifices his lifetime by telling falsehoods nonstop in order to feed the hungry and reduce scarcity. The Pinocchio tree has been growing for 500 years, some people question what is really underground.	I took a deep breath. They were all depending on me. The last trees were gone. The last grass. The air was full of smoke. The gaunt-faced survivors circled me with desperate eyes. "Bury me," I said at last, holding out my arms to them. They did. The sprout grew quickly taller above the gravelly grave. It seemed to shoot into the air, thickening by the day. Soon a passing child shouted in disbelief: upon the highest twig there budded a single violent spark of green, the only color in the dust-colored waste. From there, a tree simply burst into existence, its growth almost visibly rapid. The tree extended a welcoming green crown above the barren dust. Water dripped from its leaves. The survivors crowded and stared. They came with buckets to set beneath the dripping leaves, and they drank with the parched thirst of many days. They came to sit in the velvet shade, their only shelter from the blaze of an angry sun. The tree burst into flower as if to welcome them. Eventually, a ripe fruit hit someone in the head. A shout went up as fruit swelled and fell, pelting the starving with sustenance. They ate and were filled joy. Branches and leaves began to fall, replaced by new growth. The people built fires for warmth. As the fallen branches grew larger, they began to build shelters. Time passed. The Tale of the Tree was handed down, generation after generation: the story of how the single grave in the vast wasteland sprouted life and supported them all. Children made crowns of its leaves, the dead were buried among its roots, and all ate of the fruit it bore. They spoke the name of their savior with reverence, centuries later. It was graven into the mythology of their culture. "Pinnocchio. Here he lies."	Centuries ago there lived— “A king!” my little readers would say. Again, settle down children, no. Once upon a time there was a piece of wood. I wasn’t any particularly expensive piece of wood, far from it. The kind that would light up fireplaces and kept warm the common children as well as the regal, the ol’ janitors up to the kings. Just the type that would put smiles on faces of tired fathers after a tiring day at work and accompanied mothers’ perusing through the bitter cold of winters. The very wood that made everyone happy on freezing yuletide days. But this was no ordinary piece of, albeit cheap wood, no! This wood lived a life far more extraordinaire than any piece of wood before – or man, even. This wood was, how ridiculous, once a marionette, and how happy it was, that it became a real boy! This wood brought joy far longer than it would’ve taken to char to a coal in regular, common chimneys. This lifeless – but now lively piece of log brought joy to not just a fireplace, but the world! But now, still in the shop of an old carpenter. The very same who bore the name Mastro Antoni, but of course no one called him that. Lovable, cherish-able ol’ Mastro Cherry, with his nose so round and red and shiny that it looked like a ripe cherry, who once saw more than a leg of a table in that piece of wood, was now none but a name on the obituary and an epithet on a headstone. His once red nose that turned to the deepest shade of purple on meeting our merry piece of log, now possesses no colour at all! And of course, Gepetto. To the boys of the neighbourhood he was Polendina (or, cornmeal mush), on account of the wig he always wore which was just the colour of yellow corn. He had a very bad temper. Woe to those who called him that! Of course, no one would mock him now, because there as no one to wear the infamous yellow-corn-wig, and of course memories of a man who turned to a wild beast no one could soothe on even the fainted sotto voce of “Polendina” was all that remained. For, of course, no one would mock a coffin and ghosts couldn’t wear wigs. And in that very same warm Italy summer, still whet with the memories of his father, ol’ Gepetto, the log wandered aimlessly around the pastel-hued houses of the very same beautiful Italy town he had always lived in. He could not return to Geppeto’s small, although neat and very confortable house, for it reminded him of the adventures he once had and the father who had left too early. Pinocchio was a husk of a boy he once was – or I should say a bark of the cheerful log that has been. So distraught Pinocchio was that, when given any vague sense of purpose, he jumped at the chance. For, what more could he lose? As an inanimate marionette he had lost his maker and puppeteer, and as a boy he had lost his father! He would better laid lifeless on the ground than merely exist incessantly like this! But of course, this marionette had one more thing to give, it was his life. -- It started as a few innocent questions floating around the supposedly impossible existence of this insentient but living puppet. But, it was only supposedly impossible, for all the disputing and disbelieving of people, Pinocchio lived on all the same! He was a testament, a counter-proposal for what was imaginably possible and not. A real, moving marionette that had a nose that grew! “Can Pinnochio creat infinite wood by lying constantly?”, [one intrigued cynic](https://www.reddit.com/r/Showerthoughts/comments/r94lc6/comment/hna6gy0/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) asked “Does it only grow “wood” or like can a whole tree sprout fruit and all? Little bastard just solved world hunger.”, [another skeptic](https://www.reddit.com/r/Showerthoughts/comments/r94lc6/comment/hna7e40/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) cried! It was when advances of the cynics were too unbearable and questions of the doubters were too much for our little wooden boy’s very real heart that Pinocchio had to give in. “It’s for science”, they would say, but science hurt! “It’s for the greater good!”, they would say, but the greater good still pained him all the same! They had not seen a real boy in this beloved marionette, they had not seen a leg of a table in this cheap, ordinary log. They had seen a chance to profiteer in this magical supernatural existence, this living breathing proof that what we know isn’t all we know! They had not seen humanity in him and they exploited it. “Don’t worry, I am fine”, Pinocchio said, but his nose kept growing, his faintest attempt at a smile slowly fading as any sanity he has left starts giving place to the pain. “Don’t worry, I am fine”, Pinocchio said, but his nose kept growing, just to be chopped and used, chopped and used, chopped and used as they pleased. “Don’t worry, I am fine”, Pinocchio said, but his nose kept growing. To them, he was only ever an ever-growing money tree. ——— The End I know this is not sticking strictly to the prompt but I had saw the reddit thread, written this before going back to search for this very prompt, I hope I didn’t break any rules (this is my first submission ever >.<) I tried to mimic the original Pinocchio novel style (The Adventures of Pinocchio by Carlo Collodi), I hope it didn’t come across as cringe :P. Anyways, thanks for reading ;D
	[WP] Pinocchio is able to create infinite wood by lying constantly. He sacrifices his lifetime by telling falsehoods nonstop in order to feed the hungry and reduce scarcity. The Pinocchio tree has been growing for 500 years, some people question what is really underground.	It was easy at first. "I'm a potato". "The Moon belongs to Spain". "There's no such thing as a horse". An endless stream of petty falsehoods, easy to churn out as often as you want. The tree grew eternally, and with it grew a new age. Infinite energy, if you just kept burning the wood- with each new lie, the tree grew instantly. Humanity, ever resourceful, began to use it to bring warmth and production at unheard of levels. And then the petty lies stopped working. Over-saturated, he supposed. He went onto more significant ones- "You can see the great wall of china from orbit", "You swallow 5 spiders a year." "You need to drink 8 litres of water a day". Bigger lies, more likely to fool someone, maybe cause some minor worry or inconvenience. But still, ultimately, harmless. And old wives had made enough to keep this going for a long time. The tree kept growing, and the world kept developing. No more hunger. No more homelessness. Endless energy made a lot of things easier. Not for him, of course. He was still trapped in the dark, endlessly cut apart and regrown. The pain and the helplessness was near unbearable, but what could he do? Doom the world? He stayed, and he wasn't surprised when the minor lies stopped counting. So he got worse. Slander and libel. Lies against nations and races. Deadly advice and fearmongering. The kind of lies that ruined lives, that killed and destroyed, that started wars and worse. Terrible lies. The tree kept going, higher and higher, and the world grew more and more dependent on it. Now, if it was taken away, the world would collapse. What could he do? He lay, immobile in the darkness, a wooden mind filled with splintered thoughts. He had to ignore his own misery and think- what to do when the worst lies stopped working? He had to save the world. He couldn't let it collapse. What was the biggest lie he could tell? He thought for a minute, helpless and tortured in the dark. "I'm glad the blue fairy brought me to life." "I never wanted to be a real boy anyway." "I still think it's worth it." Above, the tree grew a little bit more.	They say that if you press your ears to the ground and hold your breath, you will hear a faint murmur. So soft and muffled is this sound that most will dismiss it as a shifting of the earth, a strange amalgamation of the clicking of beetle legs and the footsteps of soldier ants. The brain tricking itself into hearing whispers in the soil. Perhaps this is true. We grown-upslf the village have our stories. And the children of the village have theirs. If you tell a child that the tree cannot speak, they will give you a pitiable look and shake their heads. They have no doubts. They know what they hear. The tree speaks. And what it says, over and over, from sun-up to sun-down, is this- "I AM a real boy. I AM a real boy..."
	[WP] Pinocchio is able to create infinite wood by lying constantly. He sacrifices his lifetime by telling falsehoods nonstop in order to feed the hungry and reduce scarcity. The Pinocchio tree has been growing for 500 years, some people question what is really underground.	I took a deep breath. They were all depending on me. The last trees were gone. The last grass. The air was full of smoke. The gaunt-faced survivors circled me with desperate eyes. "Bury me," I said at last, holding out my arms to them. They did. The sprout grew quickly taller above the gravelly grave. It seemed to shoot into the air, thickening by the day. Soon a passing child shouted in disbelief: upon the highest twig there budded a single violent spark of green, the only color in the dust-colored waste. From there, a tree simply burst into existence, its growth almost visibly rapid. The tree extended a welcoming green crown above the barren dust. Water dripped from its leaves. The survivors crowded and stared. They came with buckets to set beneath the dripping leaves, and they drank with the parched thirst of many days. They came to sit in the velvet shade, their only shelter from the blaze of an angry sun. The tree burst into flower as if to welcome them. Eventually, a ripe fruit hit someone in the head. A shout went up as fruit swelled and fell, pelting the starving with sustenance. They ate and were filled joy. Branches and leaves began to fall, replaced by new growth. The people built fires for warmth. As the fallen branches grew larger, they began to build shelters. Time passed. The Tale of the Tree was handed down, generation after generation: the story of how the single grave in the vast wasteland sprouted life and supported them all. Children made crowns of its leaves, the dead were buried among its roots, and all ate of the fruit it bore. They spoke the name of their savior with reverence, centuries later. It was graven into the mythology of their culture. "Pinnocchio. Here he lies."	They say that if you press your ears to the ground and hold your breath, you will hear a faint murmur. So soft and muffled is this sound that most will dismiss it as a shifting of the earth, a strange amalgamation of the clicking of beetle legs and the footsteps of soldier ants. The brain tricking itself into hearing whispers in the soil. Perhaps this is true. We grown-upslf the village have our stories. And the children of the village have theirs. If you tell a child that the tree cannot speak, they will give you a pitiable look and shake their heads. They have no doubts. They know what they hear. The tree speaks. And what it says, over and over, from sun-up to sun-down, is this- "I AM a real boy. I AM a real boy..."
	[WP] “We’re super strong, we can move faster than anyone can see, and we can fly. Now tell me why we shouldn’t be superheroes.” “Because we’re not superheroes we’re vampires!”	"I don't think those two are necessarily mutually exclusive." Count Velkan said. "Of course they're mutually exclusive!" Dorin the Blooded replied. "Have you ever heard of a vampire superhero? Superheroes fight crime and save people, we kill people and/or turn them into unthinking thralls!" "Well just because we kill people doesn't mean we can't also save them." Velkan said. "Have you actually put any thought into this idiotic idea?" Dorin asked. "I've actually thought about this a lot," Velkan explained. "Hear me out. Whenever vampires do die, how do we die?" "Either they go out in sunlight, they don't feed long enough, or some vampire-hunting asshole goes out and stakes us" Dorin replied. "Right," Velkan said. "And of those three, which is the most common?" "The assholes, of course" Dorin answered. "Indeed." Velkan said. "So, how do we get rid of the vampire hunters?" "We fill our castles with undead minions and traps?" Dorin ventured. "But we already do that, and yet they always fight their way through and start throwing their holy water and silver daggers and whatnot." Velkan said. "So, I've been thinking, how else do we get rid of the vampire hunters?" "Don't tell me..." Dorin said. "We become superheroes!" Velkan said. "We already have super powers, and that way the vampire hunters won't fight us, because they won't need to. We'll be a force of justice rather than evil." "I can't believe I'm going to actually entertain this idea," Dorin said. "But how would we feed if we became heroes? Wouldn't it ruin our image if we started sucking the blood of the people we save?" "That part is easy," Velkan said. "We just feed of the criminals. I don't think the vampire hunters would mind that as much." "But we can't even go out during the day!" Dorin protested. "That's not a problem! According to my research, most crime happens at night." Velkan said. "How would the vampire hunters know it's us then? If we fight all the crime in the dark, how will they figure out it's us 'noble vampires' that are helping society?" Dorin asked. "Easy!" Velkan said. "With these!" Velkan made a sweeping gesture, and his wardrobe flew open, revealing flashy costumes laced with glitter. On the chests could be seen two logos, one of a bat, and the other of bloodied vampire fangs. "I'll be Count Crimestopper, and you can be the Bloody Avenger!" Velkan said. "Why all the glitter? Why in Dracula's name all the glitter?" Dorin cried out. "How else would they see us at night?" Velkan asked. "You know, Velkan." Dorin said. "I think, if I had to pick and choose, I would much rather have some guy invade my castle, kill all my servants and stake me through my heart, than have to fly around wearing that. Goodnight!" Dorin then changed into a bat and left Velkan's castle through the window, Velkan watched him leave and then shrugged. "Oh well, more criminals to eat for me."	I hope someone picks this up, because I can see a dumb anime plot easily flying off this premise. Either going for light hearted comedy or some edgy seinen. Vampire council displeased, Duke or baron's youngest was spoiled when a servant's comic books were accidentally discovered by him, or a newly turned who's always wanted to be a super hero. Cue unbridled (begin the song Suite Sioux from the red clay album)bloodlust where the first few acts of good result in vicious murder, throw in an innocent bystander, have him or her almost murder them then their sense of justice kick in with the only way left forward to save them from their own actions is to turn them, but it's a slow turn. They'll live their life normally at first for the coming months. The story splits on two different arcs, we see the acts of justice become less animalistic. There's less outright murder, there's more survivors. We see the effects of the young super heros actions in time with our survivors surrounding becoming less dangerous, old characters of I'll repute disappearing, some people happier, new evil doers appearing to take control of the power vacuum in the lower class areas our superhero is creating with glimpses & sound of their appearance being fleeting. A small chapter or scene here & there of the super hero in question leaving a general idea of their progression. Crime & such slowly begins to take on a new life, the dark turns into the time when everyone is truly safe. It is the daytime regular folk learn to fear, cops out and about are now more exposed to the dealings of the night as the more unsavory elements are forced from the dark, with it news & media coverage are now fully witness to what truly goes on in the cracks of society & the turning has finally begun. Our survivor is staying in more during the day, most normal folk who can are. There's nothing wrong about becoming a night owl, the schedule is actually quite pleasant. The senses truly begin to sharpen around this time, "must be all the time spent outside at night, I don't remember my night vision ever being this good actually" a perfect bill of health where once diabetes was. No longer any cramps, or light headed Ness. Things of that nature that while small some might dismiss. Till the cravings. By now stores don't truly open in this area till 8pm. It's just not safe to conduct business during the day. Only the nicer areas of the city open that early, the night life has really taken off with people feeling significantly safer at night in what used to be shittiest dive bars. By now you can see kids skateboarding & goofing off down here whenever the streetlights turn on & people actually jogging. JOGGING!!! It's been good for the community. You only need to be 18 to become a bartender, our survivor has finally graduated from night classes, her/his foster parents have been kind enough not to kick them out yet & the rent they're charging is too appealing to pass up. Life is looking good, the day has calmed some with the police now retreating from the area altogether & everyone seeming to know the rules. "Behave at night or go night night" dumb, but it's caught on. Kids still going to school got it rough though but cops haven't given up watching those areas during the day yet. Again. Life is good, looking up even. That's when it hits them. After a smoke, they're closing, a drunk accidentally falls in the back by the dumpster pants down in a pool of blood & piss. They fell on a bottle by the looks. Then through the stench something so so deliciously sweet, meaty, heart wrenchiny filling with all the love & satisfied lust of the world a scent curls it's way through the aroma of filth that taints this place. They can barely resist, the drunk certainly can't, they go down to help them fully intending to help them. Trash bag forgotten by the side of the dumpster, when did they drop those? & they shake them. Trying to wake them up and just looking down... something about that smell. The drunk, startled swings their arm out right into our survivors face, into their mouth, cutting themselves on the survivors teeth & then they know little more. A rush of small intoxicated ecstasy, this feels even better than cocaine, then their body moves on its own. This is where we merge the story lines back together. Our superhero, our survivor, and one of the few remaining unsavory characters left in the area from the old times. We'll know him as the HR attendant later. Hero restrains survivor, keeping them from killing our drunk, but drunk might not live. Now survivor must be educated, it was a mistake on the heroes part to leave un attended for as long as they did knowing our survivors time was so close. Thankfully they did not kill our drunk who has been hypnotized for the moment to consciously speaking, live & breathe as though he were in a dream. He now says & does the most loopy of things unless ordered otherwise. Our survivor is torn from her human life, job ended suddenly, foster family left wondering where she went with a note mentioning her leave & 5 months worth of rent, the hero had one of his attendants stalking & evaluating her in their off time. The survivor is forced into a world of Vampiric politics with their "heroes" main concern being that he should be allowed to do more. Attempted gang genocide, barred from the destruction of the drug trade, & wanting to hang the thugs from the lampposts by their skin, our hero is out of touch with reality. Our survivor must help bring them to heel while educating them on the gray morals of the world where in turn the heros educates our survivor on the ways of controlling oneself as they are nearly lost to the appeal of blood at most new humans. Our drunk being the exception as she has had her fill of him, & she grows tired over time of his taste. They are young, not even 2 years old, just a babe in their new life. Their lack of education & control shows. The hero must rectify this while maintaining control of what territory they believe they have eekked out. Politics, education, drunks permanent loopy behavior but streetwise education on gang violence & how to survive its back lashes mixed with both their growing education eventually leads the hero to believe the council is wrong. So so terribly wrong about many things, & change will come. By peace or by blood, but first. The world needs saving & they can only do so when the sun falls. How much can a newborn vamp, loopy minded attendant & our well educated vampire accomplish? Find out in next week's issue of RAMBLINGS!!! Coming probly never, but I really do like this writing prompt. Focus wise, the musical theme were there to be one would be jazz primarily
	[WP]You're not a mad scientist or a supervillain. You just like to clone dinosaurs and turn them into heavily armed cyborgs.	It’s surprising the things you learn while working on your hobbies. I may have gone a bit overboard with cosplay, but I’m solidly convinced that the results were worth it. I started small, breeding lizards to get the horns here, the neck flare just so, but it could never be quite good enough. For one, they didn’t breed fast enough and had a high failure rate. Sometimes the genes you bred for just don’t show through. But that took to long, they would only get so big, and they were all still cold blooded. Not to mention how difficult it was to add feathers! Breeding birds wasn’t any easier either. So, the next step. I took a few classes in genetics and CRISPER. That got me a bit farther, but it was still extremely difficult. Sure, I was considered a top expert in the field of genetics, but that wasn’t what I wanted. I just wanted dinosaurs. Some people had raised ethics concerns, but I’d always try to be as humane as possible. I started using publicly available video logs to document my work and put any ethical concerns at ease. The videos became quite popular too, and some people started to send in money. Lots of people wanted real dinosaurs, it seemed. Eventually, I built enough funds for a few massive paleontology efforts, a tradition I continue to this day. Finally a genetic sample was found preserved in amber. Just a claw of what now known as the amber velociraptor. It wasn’t easy, of course it wasn’t, it took thousands of dna mapping runs, I had to find a compatible host, and ensure that the process went smoothly. I had one now. The cloning worked. The ostrich I’d used as a surrogate had laid an egg, one that had hatched only today. I still had more work to do, though. The veterinarian with a paleontology minor said that one of the legs wasn’t right. But I hadn’t come this far to give up. I reached out to prosthesis makers around the world. Three years later I had earned a degree in robotics and physiotherapy, and Amber had a working prosthetic. The little dinosaur seemed so happy with it! I had another egg now, this one was another velociraptor, but from a different tissue sample. Again, the dinosaur had a injured limb. This time a prosthetic arm did nicely. I had a backup arm that I’d attached a glock to as part of a costume. I’d actually welded it so that it could never be used, but people seemed to like it. I really do love dinosaurs.	This sounds like a musical. I’m thinking there’ll be a scene right after the first fight between the “hero” and the mad villain’s cybersaurs. It will be the mad villain’s first solo: And now… the time has come For me to set aside my heart, and do what must be done And now…. There is nowhere left to run I must step out from this darkness, I must turn and face the sun All my life, I never asked a foe to take up arms. All I tried to do was protect my flock, and keep them safe from harm What am I supposed to do? A man who was raised by dinosaurs Who as a child was marooned by his parents on Derrh, in the year 2064 What was I supposed to do? Let my saviors be killed by meteors? Or just watch as they hunted without the help, of gigantic flaming swords? NO. I said NO to all of that. I assembled an army of mechanized reptiles and painted the chassis black NO. I say NO to more hiding away. Ill set course for the furthest reaches of space, vow to kill anyone in our waaaaaaaay
	[WP]You bought a pocket watch. Whenever you stop it time freezes, but only in a one mile radius.	“Stop moving or I’ll blow his brains ou-” click Time stops, as I hold my breath and move towards the hostage taker. I reach the scared fifty-something year old man and pick him up. I move him behind our police line. I then walk back to the hostage taker, and slightly force his grip open to pry the gun from his hands. In it’s place, I put a banana. Click “out,” the ex-hostage taker says, with visible confusion as he sees his gun is now a banana. With armed police officers pointing guns towards him, he drops his banana on the ground and puts his hands up. I exhale and inhale fresh oxygen. One minute while carrying a heavy object, that was a record. A few minutes and one handcuffed suspect later, I’m driving back to the precinct with my partner. “You have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be used against you,” my partner begins reading the suspect his Miranda rights. “How did you do it?” I turn around slightly then look back to the road. “Do what?” “Don’t. What happened isn’t natural. I was holding that man and then suddenly I wasn’t.” I chuckle. Not the first suspect to think of anything. “You’ve been read your rights, just be aware that this is more or less a confession,” I say. That shuts him up. My right hand goes from the steering wheel to my pocket. I feel the stop watch there, and it’s presence comforts me. I was dubbed “Just-in-Time” Desmond at the 29th precinct you know. People are relieved when cops show up to a crime scene. Well, cops are relieved when I show up. None of them know how I do it, but none question it. All they know is, they’re a lot safer by having me on their side. Arrests go up, fatalities on both sides go down. Commissioner is happy, District Attorney is happy, questions aren’t asked. I pull up at the front gate of the precinct, as I hear static. “All units, we have a bank robbery in progress, requesting additionals. 10-999.” My blood freezes. 10-999. Officer down. I look at my partner, who immediately exits the vehicle and grabs this suspect by his collar from the back. “Go. I’ll handle this one,” he says, roughly grabbing the suspect and shoving him towards the precinct doors as I see vehicles rushing out of the police department. I follow suit, as I radio in. “Senior Officer Desmond Hodges, Badge number 308. Show me going.” I hear a faint sight of relief from dispatch as she confirms that she allocated me to the scene. Red and blue, sirens wailing, I drive like a maniac as I reach the scene in five minutes. To say it felt like a war zone is an understatement as bullets whiz around me. I see the officer down behind a police car, he appears to be bleeding out. Click I hold my breath as the bullets stop mid air. I run towards the officer and hoist him on my shoulders. Not today. I slowly walk, holding my breath, step by step, until I reach a SWAT Van parked thirty meters or so from the officer’s car. Click I exhale as a SWAT Officer yelps in surprise as he sees me with the bleeding officer on my back. “Get him some assistance,” I say as I walk towards the bank. “Where are you going?” I look back towards the officer, my eyes full of malice. “I’m going to end this.” Click I see the gunmen, I make my way to them, taking away all their guns, and even punching one. He deserved it. My heart skips a beat as I see a robber going back and forth between the vault door and the center of the bank, moving bags of cash. The robber freezes as she sees me, and she takes off her mask. “How.. how can you move?” The question came from both of us, as I notice she is wearing a stop watch on her wrist.	Domsliv's Magical Emporium they told me, get something nice why don't you. Broken thing, the darn doesn't even keep time proper. The hands are stuck dead twelve o'clock on the arcanium brass watch behind some magically treated glass and they assured me that this watch is right proper. Figures the artificers tinkered something wrong or the bloke who sold me the watch was a con, or me ma and the whole of Newchester got conned with the whole Magical Emporium business. I'm blaming the bloody bloke who sold me the bloody watch, didn't like his mug when I said anything right proper to tarry on out to please me mum. Could be a glorified paperweight or fuel for the arcanium furnaces. Or I figures I could fix the watch me' self. Was what I thought in that moment not realising the time go by as I fixed the melted runic framework and spun up the ticker. I only knew what had happened when I looked at a proper clock to copy the time that it hadn't skipped past twelve, the very same when I first started working on that watch. You see, this watch here is a sort of stop watch meant to count how much time has passed once you clicked the ticker. It wasn't keeping no time. What happens if it don't tick proper? Magical twat all. I'm no rich bloke, all I's could tells ya is that it done broke the damn neighbourhood of locomotion. Went right back to the Emporium I did I tells ya but the bloke ran shop, some sort of Mary Sue crossed Alice in Wonderland door poofed it away. So officer I tells ya it ain't my fault and read no slip of no 'timestop' enchanted stopwatch.
	[WP] All alien species are universally religious. The concept of atheism is completely foreign to them.	The starship Faces of the Creator orbited Earth in a polar orbit in order to fully map the planet. The assembled species, who categorized aliens beliefs, gazed stunned at each other as a hologram of Jerusalem spun gently in the center of the room. "They have the usual variety of concentrated holy spots of a multilingual early development species," the Slort had explained. "Yes," the Nimber had added, "we can even trace the prehistoric holy spots that share an early Cosmic-type of worship." "But," and this was the source of the bewilderment, "a cross-longitudal intellectual scan has shown a religious ambient average of only .7 with the mean of .8." The Frinba had thrown up its tentacles in exasperation. "So... the average Terran is able to live on less than 1 ambient average awe?! How is that possible? How can they face the world without awe of the Creator?! " exclaimed the Nirg collective as each of its constitute parts sang a part of the sentence. "To be fair, some of them have an extreme belief in an early extremist Creator- one that commands them to love their enemy but then posits an afterlife where their Creator then has their enemies tortured for eternity. Very similar in many ways to the early Proggers beliefs... And there are others, much more enlightened that almost approximate the generic Goodness Creator ethos. But yes, on average their AAA is below 1." said the Slort. The Nimber stood up and stretched, "the best guess we have is the Creator has chosen to manifest in extreme forms here. We have a few current theories : sports teams, meme, brands, and their medium of exchange all seem to play the role of what we had seen as previous manifestations of the creator."	When humans were discovered, they also had religious believes, like all species. They even had hundreds of different religions across the world, how wonderful. Humans are normal beings right....Right? Wrong. Ever since technology began to explain how genetics worked and the Earth had evolution, many humans lost belief in their many faiths in favor of believing absolutely nothing. This concept existed of course, but not on the scale that humans brought. When answering tests, and completing job interviews, we were forced to put a "Don't believe in any deity" option. Only for humans. That's how many were losing their faiths.
	[WP] “Well Death,” you say, “I never thought it would end this way. But it’s definitely in my top three, you know?” “It’s how I’d want to go.” Death agrees supportively.	Ninety feet below the surface, there are no waves. Fan corals wave gently. A sea turtle munches on some algae and a clownfish pokes its face out of an anemone. A silhouette of a reef shark in the distance promises some good pictures for my GoPro, should she decide to come closer. A complete silence surrounds me except for the sound of my own breathing. I kick slowly, in a practiced frog-kick of someone who's been scuba diving for nearly twenty years. Not stirring up sediment, not scaring the marine life, just being an observer. A gracious guest in a beautiful house that the ocean built. A small shark appears in my peripheral vision and comes up to me. No danger, he can't bite anything bigger than an orange. Just curious. "Hey, nice dive, right?" -- says the shark "What???" -- I say into my regulator "I'm Nitro. Nitrogen narcosis. Are you feeling good?" "Amazing" "So, dude, I'm here to tell you something. That big mole on your back? Malignant melanoma, Stage 4." "Shit" -- I've suspected that thing on my back was no good, but me? doctors? I'm a healthy dude, a marathoner, nothing medical ever sticks to me. "Yeah, shit indeed. Did your wife tell you to get it checked out years ago? Yes. Did you? No. So here we are. Whichever way you go, this is your last dive. You go up, go see a doctor, there's surgery and chemo and pain. You go down and keep looking at fish -- and in five minutes you'll be unconscious, drifting down 2000 feet." OK, nitrogen narcosis, I know this stuff. Don't listen to the shark. Ascend slowly to a safe depth, evaluate and orient. I kick slowly but deliberately and ascend ten feet, 20, 30. Breathe. Nitrogen dissipates from my brain and I no longer feel light-headed. The shark is still there. "Here you are", says the shark, "still trying to control things. Self-efficacy. Safety procedures. Rely on your training. Do you think you'll cheat me by playing by the rules? I play by my own rules. One day you're mine no matter what you do" "You're the grim reaper, eh?" "Yes. I just happened to be a shark for a bit, I like being underwater too, but I don't need scuba, I just think SHARK and here I am. I'm actually a chill dude, even if my job is a bit gruesome" "Hey, man... I wasn't quite ready for this... I'm a single dad, I've got a son to raise. He's a scuba diver too, loves the ocean." "I know. Listen, I like you. I've talked to the cancer on your back, it'll slow down and give you a few more years. Then you come back here and see me, and I'll show you what's at the bottom of the ocean. You'll see true beauty on your way. Of course, if you hit it with chemo the deal is off, you'll be in hospice in six months with liver failure." "OK man, I'll be back when it's my time. It's not the way I thought I'd go but it's one of the top three" When I looked at my dive computer, I realized I'm deep into decompression territory, and I'll be running out of air soon. Ascending to 33 feet... stop for a few minutes... 16 feet... Here's the boat but I can't go, or I'll risk getting the bends. I wave my dive light, and the captain drops a spare tank and a regulator on a rope. Half an hour later I'm on the boat safe. At least, safe from the shark hallucinations Five years pass. I put up the biggest fight I could against the cancer, and I was winning. Two surgeries and a new gene therapy put me into steady remission. Feeling good, even great. I hiked my bike to the top of Rainbow Mountain in Peru, and prepared for an epic ride through the Inca country, winding down mountain roads and through villages and eventually stopping in the main square of Cuzco. The rustle of gravel under my wheels, wind in my hair... "Nice ride, eh?" -- said an eagle, surfing an air current next to my bike. "You again?" "Yup. Thought you'd cheat me? That valley below? That's a three hundred-foot drop. You know what to do. That was #2 on your list, wasn't it?" "I'll pass. The finish line of the New York Marathon next year -- be there, as a bird or a mugger or whatever. If I get under 3 hours, you can have the soul. Otherwise -- fuck off and let's just enjoy this ride" The eagle landed on my shoulder and folded its wings. It was surprisingly light and was careful not to hurt me with its talons "Yeah. I like your attitude, man. Let's enjoy this ride"	Death stood over me as I laid face up in a bloody puddle of mud. His face was hooded but he seemed pensive. Watching that pompous aristocrat, who watched the battle from his throne, being carried by prisoners so he could see over the crowd. "there's nothing I am so passionate about as much as your hatred for this king, but if I did cross over it would be making such a passion become reality" Death said. "If only I got another three feet further... he'd still be... too far... but I bet he would've... shat his pants" I laughed at the thought. I went countless yards through a sea of spearmen and swordsmen, just to be stopped at the edge. It would've been a clear run from here out but the look of fear and shock in his eyes was reward enough. "... Well, you're not dead yet. Not until I collect you" He said. I felt a blade near my hand. Whose was it? It didn't really matter. I grabbed it and swung to the right, wildly, not the controlled dance as usual but the reckless haymaker of an amateur. It sliced through something but I couldn't see what. The world was going dark. A body fell in front of me and to my left I saw a throne, on it was a madman joyously laughing at the hell he had wrought. My blade was gone, did I drop it? I would need another. "I see one below you" Death said I saw it, a freshly killed body with a dagger on his belt, what luck. I took it, and the world became bright. I saw my brother, climbing a tree for the first time. The first attack on my village where he was killed. Training with mercenaries. Watching me grow, playing drinking games and throwing knives. "I need... one moment more" "I'm afraid a moment more is useless. The dagger has already left your hand." Shame, I would've loved to see the look on his face "I would describe it to you, but I fear I am too pre-occupied. I have many souls to collect today, and you've just added two more for me to collect." He held me in his arms, I felt a warmth I only felt once in my life, but from when I couldn't remember. Perhaps a life long gone after all the years in the mercenary guild. I crossed over, content in what I accomplished.
	[WP] “Well Death,” you say, “I never thought it would end this way. But it’s definitely in my top three, you know?” “It’s how I’d want to go.” Death agrees supportively.	"You know what I have always liked?" I asked the impeccably dressed gentleman sitting beside me. "Cheesy romantic comedies which you pretend you hate." He said wryly. I looked at him with a look of faux betrayal. "You didn't need to say it out loud." He looked at me confused. "But you asked." I rolled my eyes. "Do you always take things literally?" "Yes." "And what if someone says 'kill me now, god!'? Because if you took that literally, Earth's population would plummet drastically." He laughed. "And there lies the answer to your question, they ask God, not Death but god." I chuckle, amused. I had to admit, of all things I hoped Death would be like, excellent conversationalist was not one of them. "I think I'm ready now." I say as look at my sleeping form, well an eternal sleep now. "We can wait a bit more if you'd like. Your family will find out soon." My throat closed up thinking about them, their reactions, their tears. I loved my family and my family had loved me, but being the cause of their tears was something that I would never want to see. "You had a good life, you know." Death said, his voice gentle. "Very few people live a fulfilling life." "I'm- I was 16," I said almost laughing at the absurdity of it. "And you died saving a person." Death replied calmly. "What you are- is a hero." I saw the flatline on my life-support monitor one last time. "I think I'm ready now." Death nodded, placing his hand on my shoulder. For some reason I expected them to be cold but they were warm, warm like snuggling in your blanket on a cold evening, warm like basking in the early rays of sun, warm- almost like happiness. "At least one of my day-dream came true. Die heroically, check." Death chuckled as we moved towards the light. "That's on my wishlist too, buddy."	Death stood over me as I laid face up in a bloody puddle of mud. His face was hooded but he seemed pensive. Watching that pompous aristocrat, who watched the battle from his throne, being carried by prisoners so he could see over the crowd. "there's nothing I am so passionate about as much as your hatred for this king, but if I did cross over it would be making such a passion become reality" Death said. "If only I got another three feet further... he'd still be... too far... but I bet he would've... shat his pants" I laughed at the thought. I went countless yards through a sea of spearmen and swordsmen, just to be stopped at the edge. It would've been a clear run from here out but the look of fear and shock in his eyes was reward enough. "... Well, you're not dead yet. Not until I collect you" He said. I felt a blade near my hand. Whose was it? It didn't really matter. I grabbed it and swung to the right, wildly, not the controlled dance as usual but the reckless haymaker of an amateur. It sliced through something but I couldn't see what. The world was going dark. A body fell in front of me and to my left I saw a throne, on it was a madman joyously laughing at the hell he had wrought. My blade was gone, did I drop it? I would need another. "I see one below you" Death said I saw it, a freshly killed body with a dagger on his belt, what luck. I took it, and the world became bright. I saw my brother, climbing a tree for the first time. The first attack on my village where he was killed. Training with mercenaries. Watching me grow, playing drinking games and throwing knives. "I need... one moment more" "I'm afraid a moment more is useless. The dagger has already left your hand." Shame, I would've loved to see the look on his face "I would describe it to you, but I fear I am too pre-occupied. I have many souls to collect today, and you've just added two more for me to collect." He held me in his arms, I felt a warmth I only felt once in my life, but from when I couldn't remember. Perhaps a life long gone after all the years in the mercenary guild. I crossed over, content in what I accomplished.
	[WP] “Well Death,” you say, “I never thought it would end this way. But it’s definitely in my top three, you know?” “It’s how I’d want to go.” Death agrees supportively.	"You know what I have always liked?" I asked the impeccably dressed gentleman sitting beside me. "Cheesy romantic comedies which you pretend you hate." He said wryly. I looked at him with a look of faux betrayal. "You didn't need to say it out loud." He looked at me confused. "But you asked." I rolled my eyes. "Do you always take things literally?" "Yes." "And what if someone says 'kill me now, god!'? Because if you took that literally, Earth's population would plummet drastically." He laughed. "And there lies the answer to your question, they ask God, not Death but god." I chuckle, amused. I had to admit, of all things I hoped Death would be like, excellent conversationalist was not one of them. "I think I'm ready now." I say as look at my sleeping form, well an eternal sleep now. "We can wait a bit more if you'd like. Your family will find out soon." My throat closed up thinking about them, their reactions, their tears. I loved my family and my family had loved me, but being the cause of their tears was something that I would never want to see. "You had a good life, you know." Death said, his voice gentle. "Very few people live a fulfilling life." "I'm- I was 16," I said almost laughing at the absurdity of it. "And you died saving a person." Death replied calmly. "What you are- is a hero." I saw the flatline on my life-support monitor one last time. "I think I'm ready now." Death nodded, placing his hand on my shoulder. For some reason I expected them to be cold but they were warm, warm like snuggling in your blanket on a cold evening, warm like basking in the early rays of sun, warm- almost like happiness. "At least one of my day-dream came true. Die heroically, check." Death chuckled as we moved towards the light. "That's on my wishlist too, buddy."	I had a near-death experience once. I swung too high on a playground swing, and landed on my head, and I felt my breathing grow shorter and faster, until black overtook my vision. And I saw Death. I knew he was him, and how I knew the end was near. Though his face was but bone, there was forlorn sorrow in those empty eyes. But he turned away, and I lived, thanks for a quick trip to the hospital. Now, I faced Death again, once again in that deep ink that seemed to consume light itself. But this time, there was a smile dancing on his skeletal cheeks. “Well, Death,” I said. “I never thought it would end this way.” “It’s how I’d want to go,” Death agreed. “I wanted it this way, but I didn’t spend very much time imagining it, you know?” I said. “I thought about dying in a car accident, drowning in quicksand, or getting chased down by a giant rolling boulder… and yet, here I am.” “No one expects me,” Death said. “But the way you went, with peace in your heart… nothing can beat that feeling, knowing you are well-prepared.” “I know, right?” I chuckled. “And Death? Thank you. But don’t you need to go? I’m happy where I am.” “I am everywhere and everywhen,” Death smiled. “I have time, then and now.” Death knew. He was really there, that time I almost split my own skull into pieces. “We’ve met once, didn’t we?” I whispered. “We did,” Death said. “But you lived.” “That? That would not have been my top three ways to die.” “What’s the other two?” Death asked. I thought for a bit, and realized I didn’t really have an answer. I said top three by instinct, not by any empirical evidence. After all, I only died once. “Maybe this was the best way,” I smiled. “A long and fulfilled life, surrounded by family? I’ll say so,” Death said. “I really never thought it would end this way,” I said. “Few do. Some have it happen to them,” Death said. “It is the nature of life and death.” The silence took us for a moment, weighing itself upon us like a comfortable blanket. Seconds felt like wobbly hours, the sand of an hourglass intentionally jammed up. “He misses you very much,” Death finally said. “That old coot,” I shook my head. “I told him to move on. I’ve lived a good life, and died a good death.” There was a melancholy in the air. “I am not yet fulfilled,” Death said. “But you have done well, soul. May you fare well from here on out.” “I had,” I smiled. “And I will.” --- r/dexdrafts
	[WP] “Well Death,” you say, “I never thought it would end this way. But it’s definitely in my top three, you know?” “It’s how I’d want to go.” Death agrees supportively.	"You know what I have always liked?" I asked the impeccably dressed gentleman sitting beside me. "Cheesy romantic comedies which you pretend you hate." He said wryly. I looked at him with a look of faux betrayal. "You didn't need to say it out loud." He looked at me confused. "But you asked." I rolled my eyes. "Do you always take things literally?" "Yes." "And what if someone says 'kill me now, god!'? Because if you took that literally, Earth's population would plummet drastically." He laughed. "And there lies the answer to your question, they ask God, not Death but god." I chuckle, amused. I had to admit, of all things I hoped Death would be like, excellent conversationalist was not one of them. "I think I'm ready now." I say as look at my sleeping form, well an eternal sleep now. "We can wait a bit more if you'd like. Your family will find out soon." My throat closed up thinking about them, their reactions, their tears. I loved my family and my family had loved me, but being the cause of their tears was something that I would never want to see. "You had a good life, you know." Death said, his voice gentle. "Very few people live a fulfilling life." "I'm- I was 16," I said almost laughing at the absurdity of it. "And you died saving a person." Death replied calmly. "What you are- is a hero." I saw the flatline on my life-support monitor one last time. "I think I'm ready now." Death nodded, placing his hand on my shoulder. For some reason I expected them to be cold but they were warm, warm like snuggling in your blanket on a cold evening, warm like basking in the early rays of sun, warm- almost like happiness. "At least one of my day-dream came true. Die heroically, check." Death chuckled as we moved towards the light. "That's on my wishlist too, buddy."	"Best. Orgy. Ever." I say as we walk towards the light. "I SAW, IT WAS PRETTY GOOD", said Death and he paused for a moment, awkwardly raising a bony hand up next to where i presume his face would be. "I BELIEVE YOU MORTALS CALL THIS AN 'UP FIVE'?". I playfully give him a high five, not correcting him, we've got an eternity to sort out semantics. Then as we start walking again, the light grows brighter, enveloping me in a shimmer, and Death seems to be fading away. "You coming?" I ask. "NO... YOU KNOW... WORK STUFF." he says with a voice like lead doors scraping open on a hardwood floor. Then i step through and the shimmer behind me starts to fade, and the last thing i hear as i start my afterlife in limbo is: "NICE"
	[WP]You adopt a stray cat. The gifts it leaves on your bed are getting more concerning.	Mimo, black-tailed and otherwise white as snow, hopped onto the kitchen counter and presented her master with her most recent catch: an ear. "M-Mimo! Not again. I've told you, I--" Her innocent eyes sparkled and her tail danced behind her as she plopped the ear down on the cool granite. Konrad sighed. Yesterday it had been a nose. The day before that, a glass eye. One of these days, he reckoned, he might catch Mimo pulling an entire head by its hairs across the living room. Well, she almost had already. Bit by bit. The body parts were all a pale shade of blue. A cold shiver went down Konrad's spine as he considered that there may be some decomposing neighbor--a woman in her late 40s, perhaps--lying on the floor in a house nearby, her cadaver picked apart by a stealthy feline intruder. But this ear went against that whole idea. It was drooping at its tip and there had never been an earring in it as far as Konrad could tell. Was that a common thing? Women with masculine ears who never bothered to have them pierced? Konrad didn't know many women. He knew his mother. And he knew his sister. Barely. She had gone off to Belgium on a whim when he was in preschool and she'd never returned, not even for holidays or birthdays. There was a woman working at the local deli with whom he had been building a report over the past years. By now she knew exactly how he liked his sandwich and also when he'd like to have it. Not as well as his mother, sure. But not even Konrad knew how he liked his sandwich as well as his mother. It hadn't been easy describing it to Jane, though Konrad had tried his best, and Jane had tried her best as well in following his ramblings about mustard and slices of ham and just how to place the lettuce (it makes more of a difference than you might think). Jane wore earrings. Silver, circular; for months Konrad had been researching in an attempt to find out what brand, precisely, she preferred so that he could buy her a nice present. But right now he had his hands full with a different lady. "You could at least eat them," said Konrad. "Instead you leave me with your troubling ... evidence. I'll flush this one down like I did the rest, but it's the last time, you hear? If it happens just once more I'll be flushing you down instead." Mimo purred and hopped off the counter, apparently satisfied with their brief discussion. She tippy-tapped over to Konrad's bedroom and, presumably, went to enjoy a long nap. The apartment was filled with dolls, ornate pillows, bookshelves packed with crime fiction, and a whole assortment of dead plants. Dust covered most of it like pollen does a street come spring. Konrad put on his coat, the thin, dark grey one that he preferred for intricate missions, and quietly closed the front door behind him as he left to investigate. In his mother's books, the private eye would often huff and puff as he--or she--worked cases on behalf of poor, helpless relatives or friends or lovers. But with his asthma something like that was out of the question. His lungs couldn't take it. Konrad's mother had even gotten him a medical exemption from PE. "My poor boy," she had cried in front of his entire class. "Look at him wheezing, gasping for air; the horror!" Strangely, though, he'd never reacted with coughs nor asthmatic fits to Mimo. She had entered his life abruptly, and it had been something of a blessing. Konrad had found her shivering in the side of the road, and he brought her home, even risking messing up his suit. It wasn't such a big deal. He'd only worn it once, and unless things worked out with the Deli woman he couldn't think of a reason to wear it in the future. He wasn't sure what sort of signs to look out for. Something unusual. Something suspicious. Perhaps a mailbox stuffed full because its intended recipient lay lifeless on their floor somewhere? Or maybe a smell. He could follow it, if there was one. Alas, he couldn't detect anything like it. But just as he was growing frustrated with his lack of ideas--they seemed to come so readily to the detectives in his mother's books--he had a mysterious encounter. Something so unexpected and unusual and suspicious that it had to be related to the case, because at this point he had begun to think of it as a case; it was a woman, and she smiled at him. She had long, brown hair and as she passed Konrad she looked him in his eyes and she smiled. He took a deep breath. His first clue had arrived, and he intended to pursue it. TBC	I couldn’t turn away fast enough. I immediately slammed the door closed and screamed “WHAT THE FUCK!!” in utter disbelief of the image forever now branded into my deepest synapsis. Atoms overloaded, neurons on all cylinders, new pathways forged instantaneously. Milliseconds turned into centuries as I barely made two steps before buckling to my knees head in hands. I had to crawl away as fast as I could but my body was moving thru tar. Just as I looked up and took my first breath; I saw my wife walk into the house, the cat at her feet…
	[WP]You adopt a stray cat. The gifts it leaves on your bed are getting more concerning.	It's getting to the point I don't want to wake up. Yes, I know; giving presents is how cats show their love...or their superior ability to hunt. Honestly, either's possible. And I want you to know, I do play with the cat. No, he's not my cat. A neighborhood stray, I think, or maybe he's just got a lot of homes. Point is, I feed him sometimes. And groom him sometimes. And let him sleep in my music room, but that's it! I'm a professional harpist. Of course I have a music room. It's even soundproof, so I don't have neighbors lodging complaints against me at three in the morning while I'm trying a new descending scale. Anyway, the cat likes listening to me play. I thought that was all it was. I'm not one of those people who demand that cats change their nature to live with humans. I know they're hunters. I'm not here because of the half a bird, or the rat, or the rabbit, or even the drone. What are you talking about? I just said the drone's not important. None of them were. Look, I found their owners and sent the damn things back, okay? At first I thought the cat was bringing me doll parts. I mean, that's the only explanation, right? Why else would there be a hand the size of my pinky nail? But--here's the thing--dolls don't bleed. And this--whatever--that the cat is bringing me parts from? They're bloody. Bleeding. They have flesh. It's not normal. You think I'm kidding? Here! These are just from this morning! No, it's not a trick! Ugh. No, they're not from a Halloween store. Trust me; they're real. What do you mean, how do I know? I know because I cook food! You know, handle meat? It is very easy to tell what is meat and what isn't, thank you not at all! Well, no. No, these aren't what brought me here today. To be honest, I've been getting these for almost a month now, and I'm kind of used to it at this point. Hell, last week I tried to make a whole person with the tiny parts. Impossible, of course. You know. Because there is no head... Anyway. This is what I'm here for. Take a look at this. Huge, isn't it? Man, I thought I was having an asthma attack this morning, this thing is so heavy. But there it was, right on my chest, just like all the other...presents. So--is it metal? I mean, it looks like metal, but it gives like flesh. Look. What do you mean, "don't touch it?" Don't you realize I drove almost two hundred miles here with this thing? My car's shocks are shot, let me tell you; feel every bump. Point is, whatever this thing is, it's not about to explode, or it would have done it already. Why the fuck do you think the cat is pink? Who ever heard of a pink cat? That's the most ridiculous--ohmyGod! It's MOVING!	I couldn’t turn away fast enough. I immediately slammed the door closed and screamed “WHAT THE FUCK!!” in utter disbelief of the image forever now branded into my deepest synapsis. Atoms overloaded, neurons on all cylinders, new pathways forged instantaneously. Milliseconds turned into centuries as I barely made two steps before buckling to my knees head in hands. I had to crawl away as fast as I could but my body was moving thru tar. Just as I looked up and took my first breath; I saw my wife walk into the house, the cat at her feet…
	[WP]You adopt a stray cat. The gifts it leaves on your bed are getting more concerning.	I thought it was adorable at first. It started a few days after I brought her home. I had a giant potted plant in my living room. It's leaves were bigger than the cats head. She would rip an entire leaf off the plant, and carry it all the way up the stairs, down the hall to my bedroom and leave it on my bed. It was cute, but upsetting since I loved this plant and had it for a couple years. After a couple leaves, she would get into my laundry and began leaving me socks. Always different socks. Different colors, and she never grabbed the same sock twice. This went on for a couple weeks. It wasn't ever day mind you. Just every 2-3 days. after about a month, is when it got weird. Things that I know she shouldn't have been able to grab ended up on the bed. Potatoes are one thing. Rather large, but no teeth marks. How did she get it up the stairs and onto my bed? Then there was the can of chicken noodle soup. Not the small one either, the bigger one. The one you get when your really hungry or really really like soup. After the can of soup, it stared escalating. Shoes, bars of soap, coat hangers, shampoo bottle and a picture frame. I started putting things away more, thinking it would help. I got into the habit of not leaving a single thing out. I got child locks on kitchen cabinets. I kept all the doors in the house closed, but somehow, that just made it even worse. Exactly 3 months after I brought her home, I found a knife. I remember coming home from work that day. I walked up the stairs to my room and opened my door. I remember thinking I had finally won. She hadn't brought anything in since I shut all the doors. She was even sleeping on the couch when I came home. But when I walked into my room I could feel the color drain from my face. A knife. And not just any knife, it was a bloody one. I remember staring at it for a few seconds before I ran down the stairs and out of the house. I went to my neighbors and called the police. Within minutes they were there and investigating the house, asking me all kinds of questions. The thing was, it was not a knife I owned. I have no idea how it got in my home. After a few hours, they left. They took the knife, and dozens of pictures. They found no trace of anything out of place. As I shut the door behind me, I walked up the stairs to my room once more. As I walked into my room, I saw my cat standing on my bed, exactly where the knife had been. Only this time, she had something in her mouth, and it was dripping. In horror, I watched her drop the object onto my bed and look up at me, as if proud of her find. It was a finger. A human finger. Freshly severed. I felt the room start spinning and I felt dizzy. My stomach started doing flips and she just stared at me and mowed happily.	I couldn’t turn away fast enough. I immediately slammed the door closed and screamed “WHAT THE FUCK!!” in utter disbelief of the image forever now branded into my deepest synapsis. Atoms overloaded, neurons on all cylinders, new pathways forged instantaneously. Milliseconds turned into centuries as I barely made two steps before buckling to my knees head in hands. I had to crawl away as fast as I could but my body was moving thru tar. Just as I looked up and took my first breath; I saw my wife walk into the house, the cat at her feet…
	[WP]You adopt a stray cat. The gifts it leaves on your bed are getting more concerning.	When Mrs. Blanchard rolled onto her side and tugged on her blanket, sunlight hit her face. Her eyes opened, then she screamed. A dead mouse's glassy eyes stared at her. Mrs. Blanchard's hands reacted without conscious choice, and she sent the little carcass flying to the other end of the room. She sat up in bed, still hyperventilating. The high-pitched mewing of a cat startled her. But the cat was her cat and Mrs. Blanchard knew that it lived with her under the same roof. Confirming that the cat was indeed hers Mrs. Blanchard took some deep breaths and composed herself as the cat jumped on the bed to snuggle with her owner. "You surprised me there Caramel," Mrs. Blanchard said and stroked the cat. Then she went about her day as usual thinking nothing of the dead mouse, thinking it was an unhappy accident whose result had to be put into the garbage bin. But she was greeted the next day by a sock that looked familiar. The day after there was a necktie. Mrs. Blanchard inquired about the clothes in her neighborhood. No one had lost so much as a wet rag. Then there was a ring. Mrs. Blanchard's wedding ring. It was not the one she had stored away in the cupboard. Mr. Blanchard won't return her calls. Then there was an ear. It looked familiar. "Oh god, Caramel. What have you done!"	I couldn’t turn away fast enough. I immediately slammed the door closed and screamed “WHAT THE FUCK!!” in utter disbelief of the image forever now branded into my deepest synapsis. Atoms overloaded, neurons on all cylinders, new pathways forged instantaneously. Milliseconds turned into centuries as I barely made two steps before buckling to my knees head in hands. I had to crawl away as fast as I could but my body was moving thru tar. Just as I looked up and took my first breath; I saw my wife walk into the house, the cat at her feet…
	[WP]You adopt a stray cat. The gifts it leaves on your bed are getting more concerning.	I blinked hard, rubbed my eyes, and blinked again. Nope, still there. But I tried again, shaking my head this time, as if that would change things. But no, still here. Jason Momoa was sprawled out on my bed, looking around in abject confusion. I sighed, hard. 'Look what the cat dragged in,' I muttered. Jason stared at me. 'What?' he asked. I shrugged. 'Umm, hi. Sorry. My cat is really enthusiastic.' I gestured vaguely at the small striped beast, camped out on my pillow, looking smug. Jason eyed the cat warily. The cat looked at him for a moment unimpressed, and began to wash his face. 'Can I....' Jason began and struggled to sit up. 'I wouldn't,' I said. The cat put a paw on Jason and he immediately froze. 'How is he doing this?' Jason screeched. I sighed again. 'I don't know. All I know is one day I wished I had some hot chocolate. I found hot chocolate packets on the bed, with the car purring over them. Cool, right? I asked out loud for a fuzzy pink sweater, and the car brought that too. Wrong size, but probably a hint that I should lose a few. And this time....' I trailed off. 'This time what?' Jason asked, still struggling under the cat's paw. 'The pool at the gym was closed last night. Code brown,' I explained. 'When I came home, I was on the phone and I said.... I said....' Jason raised an eyebrow. 'I said this was a job for Aquaman.'	I couldn’t turn away fast enough. I immediately slammed the door closed and screamed “WHAT THE FUCK!!” in utter disbelief of the image forever now branded into my deepest synapsis. Atoms overloaded, neurons on all cylinders, new pathways forged instantaneously. Milliseconds turned into centuries as I barely made two steps before buckling to my knees head in hands. I had to crawl away as fast as I could but my body was moving thru tar. Just as I looked up and took my first breath; I saw my wife walk into the house, the cat at her feet…
	[WP]You adopt a stray cat. The gifts it leaves on your bed are getting more concerning.	Naxos was a long slim cat, half Siamese with a light mottled coloring that reminded Julia of the marble from the Greek island that gave the cat her name. Julia wasn't usually one to take in stray animals, but when she first saw the cat hiding from the rain on her doorstep, soaked, she let her in to warm by the fire, and fed her, and after that Julia was her owner, as far as Naxos was concerned. She got out all the old cat stuff from where it had been stowed in the garage and that was that. The dead mouse on her bed the next morning was a little concerning, but since the mouse had obviously been inside the house already she decided that she preferred it to whatever the creature had been doing before it got to her bed. "Good job, Naxos," she said, stroking the cat's fur. "But you can keep that. Mice aren't really my thing." The next morning she was awoken by a lot of movement on the bed. Without opening her eyes, she mumbled to Naxos to settle down. "Oh, sorry," said a deep voice from beside her. Julia jumped out of bed and scrambled for the wooden dowel she kept under her nightstand as a weapon. She saw the source of the voice was a handsome, half-naked man. "Who are you? What are you doing here? I'm calling the police. Get out." The man raised his hands in surrender to the stick she waved in front of him. "Sorry, the cat made me come in here. I think it was supposed to be a surprise, but I realize — yeah — thinking about it now... It's kind of weird. Imma head out." Naxos was sitting at the bedroom door as the man left. Julia gave her a look. "You should be preventing strange men from coming into my bed. Especially ones that are — I'm gonna say drunk? No men in my bed." The cat seemed to nod and sauntered off. The next morning, Julia was again awakened by a lot of movement on her bed. She reached out a hand towards her dowel. "That better not be a drunk guy," she said before opening her eyes. "The cat told me to come here," said the woman sitting on the bed. She was not nearly as half-naked as the man. In fact, she was wearing an old sweater covered in cat hair. "Out, you crazy person," Julia said, pointing with her dowel. "Cat's can't talk and I'm getting new locks." "Well, Naxos said you needed company and weren't into men." "I'm into men just fine. Get out. Cats can't talk. Naxos, can you talk?" "No," said the cat. "See. I've known that cat three days and she's never lied to me." When the woman had left, Julia turned to the cat. "Did you talk before?" "Meow," said the cat. "That sounded like you just said the word meow instead of actually meowing." "Purr," said the cat, rubbing up against her leg. "Imma get some coffee." The next morning, Julia was again awakened by a lot of movement on her bed. She already had the dowel in her hand under the blanket. "That better not be a person," she said. "If it is and the cat told you to come here, just leave. The locksmith is coming today." When no answer came, she peeked open an eye. Naxos was sitting on the bed, next to a pile of cash. "Where did you get this?" "Um— Meow?" Naxos responded, refusing to look Julia in the eyes. "I don't need these gifts. You can stay here without them." Naxos bent to pick up one of the bundles of bills in her teeth, and began to take it away. "Wait. Since it's already here you can leave it. Just stick to mice in the future." "Okay. Purr," said the cat. Julia squinted at Naxos and pursed her lips. "And cats can't talk." \[This story dedicated to Naxos, the clumsy half-Siamese furball, R.I.P.\] \[More at r/c_avery_m\]	I couldn’t turn away fast enough. I immediately slammed the door closed and screamed “WHAT THE FUCK!!” in utter disbelief of the image forever now branded into my deepest synapsis. Atoms overloaded, neurons on all cylinders, new pathways forged instantaneously. Milliseconds turned into centuries as I barely made two steps before buckling to my knees head in hands. I had to crawl away as fast as I could but my body was moving thru tar. Just as I looked up and took my first breath; I saw my wife walk into the house, the cat at her feet…
	[WP]You adopt a stray cat. The gifts it leaves on your bed are getting more concerning.	From the moment Elliot found the cat he knew it was a little odd. Most obviously there was the coat. A tabby cat, at least by day, by night the cat sported a coat of many colors. Its thin bands of black fur changed to suit its mood or environment, and the warm brown could grow very much warmer, or chill all the way to midnight blue. Often, Elliot would find the cat stretched out on a windowsill as the sun went down. They would sit together as the moon rose and the cat decided his colors for the night. He seemed happiest with silver bands, as if little strips of moonlight had come down to clothe him. There was also the fact that the cat knew his name. Elliot tried to call him many things: Simba, Charlie, Smokey. He tried Milo after Google told him it was very popular and the cat (silver striped that night) shook his head immediately and rammed his nose into Elliot’s. He tried Sampson on account of the cat’s magic hair, and Kit Kat just because. And then, when Elliot was very sure that he’d never know the cat’s name, it darted out through the open window and disappeared into the alley where Elliot had found him. In the morning the cat returned, an empty mochi box clutched between his teeth. “Mochi?” Elliot said. Mochi the cat nodded and rammed his nose into Elliot’s again. They found a rhythm in their cloistered days. Outside a pandemic raged. Inside, Elliot found that not much had changed. When the lockdowns set in he’d shut himself in and locked his doors like the rest of them, turned to delivery apps and Netflix, and occasionally his guitar, though all his passions had waned steadily in the last years. So together they waited, but when the sun set all their rhythm fell away and Mochi sat in his windowsill, all the colors of his fur shifting until Elliot opened the window and let him out again. And every morning Mochi would come back, hopping through the window onto Elliot’s chest with the night’s discovery clutched between his teeth. Like his fur and his name, these too were a little odd. Mochi brought him little keys and little boxes that never matched each other, he brought postcards and stamps, tattered photos and expired plane tickets. Mochi dropped them onto Elliot’s chest and then stared down at his human, bumping noses until Elliot dragged himself out of bed. He pried most of the little boxes open. There was never anything in them but a scent; Elliot could have spent a lifetime trying to define them. They smelled like… Freedom. The outdoors. A place where wind blew across the trees and there were flowers, people there to see them. And always, the gifts came right at the moment Elliot needed them the most. The walls had been closing in you see. They had been closing in for a very long time. In time, as the pandemic morphed around them and people began to leave again, Elliot realized that one of those intrepid people must have been looking for Mochi. He’d found the cat in the alley by his apartment, but he’d been well-groomed and used to people. If he was a little thin at the time that had been easily remedied, and the cat had never gotten sick since. He must have had his shots, or whatever else it was one did to take care of a cat. There was the matter of his name as well. Mochi. Mochi. Elliot thought it a unique name for a cat. That night Mochi brought him paper and a pencil. Every night after that he brought him receipts, all from businesses along the same few streets. Receipts for cigarettes or candy bars, energy drinks and sugar-free sodas. The message was clear. Elliot sat with Mochi on the windowsill, staring up at the moon that so loved the cat, and he wanted more than anything for Mochi to be his cat. It had been a very long time since Elliot loved someone. Even before the pandemic and the connections he’d lost with it, Elliot hadn’t been good at things like that. But Mochi was. Mochi was a little ball of light. Silver light. Warm browns. A meow like sawing wood but that was okay, Mochi was his cat. Elliot said as much. He looked down at little Mochi and said “I’m sorry buddy. You understand, don’t you?” The moon was high above. It was full and beautiful. Mochi looked up at him with big, luminous eyes. His fur dimmed. The silver left his bands, and the cat became coal black. In the morning there were no gifts. Elliot stared at the pile of receipts, stared at Mochi on his window sill. Stared at the paper and the pencil, and the days, months, and years ahead if he did what Mochi so obviously wanted. It was awful. Elliot’s hands trembled when he reached out, and he didn’t know if he was reaching for the cat or the pencil, or if he was just reaching for anything at all. He put his hand down. He looked up and around. Elliot saw the mess, the abandoned guitar. The worn computer chair and the walls that might have been six inches away from him wherever he stood. Or sat. Or lay. “Please,” Elliot said. Mochi meowed. When the moon came there was no silver in him, just coal-black and open, sleepless eyes. In the morning, the final morning, Elliot pulled Mochi off the windowsill and onto the bed. He stared into the cat’s eyes, wishing Mochi would bump his nose again, and said, “I get it. You’ve got people to go home to, don’t you?” Mochi meowed. He nodded. Elliot wrapped him up in a hug and squirmed in his arms, made distressed put-me-down noises. But Elliot couldn’t put him down. He said, “I can’t lose you too,” and Mochi meowed again. Elliot said, “Mochi please!” And Mochi meowed again. And then Elliot put him down. Mochi was his normal tabby self, warm browns and thin black bands. He’d filled out since Elliot had found him. Elliot had done the math the night before, it had been six months. Six shockingly quick months. He didn’t know where the time had gone. He didn’t know when he’d last gone farther than the alley. “Okay,” Elliot said. “Okay, buddy. I get it. Just know that I appreciated it. You. I owe you one. Or a lot. Or…” Mochi stretched up, put his paws on Elliot’s shoulder, and bumped his nose. “Meow,” Mochi said, that awful sawing wood sound. Then he turned and leapt off Elliot’s lap, scurried under the desk, and rooted around until he found something. He came back with a box in his mouth. A small black box, tattered all around. “Meow,” Mochi tried to say. “When did you get this?” Elliot asked. “I thought I opened all of them. Mochi dropped the box into Elliot’s lap. It wasn’t locked. He was surprised by that, all the others had been. Elliot opened the box, dropped it again. He stared at the thing inside for a very long time before he said, “Mochi, what am I supposed to do with this?” The cat plucked out the ring and stuffed it into the pocket of Elliot’s favorite coat. “Meow,” Mochi said. It didn’t take long to make Missing posters. Truthfully, Elliot had drawn them up a long time ago, when Mochi first brought the pencil and the paper. He hadn’t been able to admit to himself that he needed them, but now that he had Elliot simply printed them up. He found an old roll of tape and the leash and collar he’d ordered when he’d thought of taking Mochi for a walk. They got to the apartment door before Elliot froze. He was shaking. He hadn’t left in such a long time, not since he’d heard those pitiful meows beneath the window and gone to investigate. And the streets where the receipts were from were across town. He’d have to take a bus. There would be questions. People would look at him. “Meow,” Mochi said. “I know buddy, I know.” Elliot was shaking. He reached down and petted the cat until the warmth was back in his hands. “Mochi?” “Meow?” “I love you, buddy.” “Meow,” Mochi said.	I couldn’t turn away fast enough. I immediately slammed the door closed and screamed “WHAT THE FUCK!!” in utter disbelief of the image forever now branded into my deepest synapsis. Atoms overloaded, neurons on all cylinders, new pathways forged instantaneously. Milliseconds turned into centuries as I barely made two steps before buckling to my knees head in hands. I had to crawl away as fast as I could but my body was moving thru tar. Just as I looked up and took my first breath; I saw my wife walk into the house, the cat at her feet…
	[WP]You adopt a stray cat. The gifts it leaves on your bed are getting more concerning.	It was a calico cat, shaded by darkness on half its scruffy face, scorched by flame on the other. The moon and sun heading towards an eclipse over a pale mountain of white fur. For weeks after Josh had moved back to the family home, the cat had watched him. Sat outside the windows, or lay in the yard in the maple-shadows, or on the cooler evenings, on the burnt brown grass. ”If you hadn’t fed it,” said Nina, Josh’s girlfriend who’d come down from Maine for the week, “then it would’ve got the message eventually and gone bothered some other soft-hearted guy. We’d have been left in wonderful peace.” Josh didn’t think so. He’d resisted feeding it for weeks, but the cat hadn’t seemed to care. It didn’t seem to be fussed about the food — although it ate it. Maybe Josh just wanted to believe it was about him, not the tuna. Maybe, if he was being totally truthful to himself, he believed the cat held some kind of connection to his mother. A link. Maybe she’d looked after it and it missed her as much as he did. Now the cat, Fia — flickering fire — lounged on the sofa, ear cocked as if listening in. ”It had been so lonely,” said Josh. Nina opened her mouth, about to ask if he meant the cat or himself. But she knew the answer and bit her tongue. Josh’s mother had lived here alone for the last six years, after Josh’s father passed away. His brother lived in Germany, having gone to university in Munich and have fallen in love. He stayed there, married, and rarely visited. And then Josh’s mother had gone missing on a mountain walk. Neighbor saw her leave but not return. Rangers found no trace, only her car parked near the entrance to the trail. This house that once must have brimmed with loved, warmed itself with laughter, had been desolate when Josh moved back. Empty. Nina thought how that must have affected Josh. She knew how similar events had hurt her in the past. How those memories you must have of childhood and of unconditional love get wrung out of your heart by the rough-handed realities of life. And of death. ”Besides, he’s a lovely cat,” said Josh. ”Aren’t you boy?” Josh sat by Fia’s side and stroked him until he purred, as if he’d started up a mower. “He’d be nicer if he didn’t leave us… gifts, every morning.” Gifts was Josh’s term. Dead birds, live rats, plastic bags stuffed with used condoms and tissues and needles — and god knew what else because she’d retched at that point and dropped the bag. When she’d regained her composure she placed the bag inside two more bags and used a pair of tongs to carry it all to the outside trash. “I’m sure he’ll quit with it soon. Won’t you, Fia?” Fia rubbed his head against Josh’s knuckle in a non-committal answer. “He’ll have to — there won’t be anything left to dig up soon.” She yawned lazily. “I’m going to bed. Don’t you two stay up too late.” “I’ll be in shortly. Besides, you know what Fia’s like. He’ll be gone for the night soon. Wherever it is he goes.” “To the local tip I should think.”	I couldn’t turn away fast enough. I immediately slammed the door closed and screamed “WHAT THE FUCK!!” in utter disbelief of the image forever now branded into my deepest synapsis. Atoms overloaded, neurons on all cylinders, new pathways forged instantaneously. Milliseconds turned into centuries as I barely made two steps before buckling to my knees head in hands. I had to crawl away as fast as I could but my body was moving thru tar. Just as I looked up and took my first breath; I saw my wife walk into the house, the cat at her feet…
	[WP]You adopt a stray cat. The gifts it leaves on your bed are getting more concerning.	It's getting to the point I don't want to wake up. Yes, I know; giving presents is how cats show their love...or their superior ability to hunt. Honestly, either's possible. And I want you to know, I do play with the cat. No, he's not my cat. A neighborhood stray, I think, or maybe he's just got a lot of homes. Point is, I feed him sometimes. And groom him sometimes. And let him sleep in my music room, but that's it! I'm a professional harpist. Of course I have a music room. It's even soundproof, so I don't have neighbors lodging complaints against me at three in the morning while I'm trying a new descending scale. Anyway, the cat likes listening to me play. I thought that was all it was. I'm not one of those people who demand that cats change their nature to live with humans. I know they're hunters. I'm not here because of the half a bird, or the rat, or the rabbit, or even the drone. What are you talking about? I just said the drone's not important. None of them were. Look, I found their owners and sent the damn things back, okay? At first I thought the cat was bringing me doll parts. I mean, that's the only explanation, right? Why else would there be a hand the size of my pinky nail? But--here's the thing--dolls don't bleed. And this--whatever--that the cat is bringing me parts from? They're bloody. Bleeding. They have flesh. It's not normal. You think I'm kidding? Here! These are just from this morning! No, it's not a trick! Ugh. No, they're not from a Halloween store. Trust me; they're real. What do you mean, how do I know? I know because I cook food! You know, handle meat? It is very easy to tell what is meat and what isn't, thank you not at all! Well, no. No, these aren't what brought me here today. To be honest, I've been getting these for almost a month now, and I'm kind of used to it at this point. Hell, last week I tried to make a whole person with the tiny parts. Impossible, of course. You know. Because there is no head... Anyway. This is what I'm here for. Take a look at this. Huge, isn't it? Man, I thought I was having an asthma attack this morning, this thing is so heavy. But there it was, right on my chest, just like all the other...presents. So--is it metal? I mean, it looks like metal, but it gives like flesh. Look. What do you mean, "don't touch it?" Don't you realize I drove almost two hundred miles here with this thing? My car's shocks are shot, let me tell you; feel every bump. Point is, whatever this thing is, it's not about to explode, or it would have done it already. Why the fuck do you think the cat is pink? Who ever heard of a pink cat? That's the most ridiculous--ohmyGod! It's MOVING!	Mimo, black-tailed and otherwise white as snow, hopped onto the kitchen counter and presented her master with her most recent catch: an ear. "M-Mimo! Not again. I've told you, I--" Her innocent eyes sparkled and her tail danced behind her as she plopped the ear down on the cool granite. Konrad sighed. Yesterday it had been a nose. The day before that, a glass eye. One of these days, he reckoned, he might catch Mimo pulling an entire head by its hairs across the living room. Well, she almost had already. Bit by bit. The body parts were all a pale shade of blue. A cold shiver went down Konrad's spine as he considered that there may be some decomposing neighbor--a woman in her late 40s, perhaps--lying on the floor in a house nearby, her cadaver picked apart by a stealthy feline intruder. But this ear went against that whole idea. It was drooping at its tip and there had never been an earring in it as far as Konrad could tell. Was that a common thing? Women with masculine ears who never bothered to have them pierced? Konrad didn't know many women. He knew his mother. And he knew his sister. Barely. She had gone off to Belgium on a whim when he was in preschool and she'd never returned, not even for holidays or birthdays. There was a woman working at the local deli with whom he had been building a report over the past years. By now she knew exactly how he liked his sandwich and also when he'd like to have it. Not as well as his mother, sure. But not even Konrad knew how he liked his sandwich as well as his mother. It hadn't been easy describing it to Jane, though Konrad had tried his best, and Jane had tried her best as well in following his ramblings about mustard and slices of ham and just how to place the lettuce (it makes more of a difference than you might think). Jane wore earrings. Silver, circular; for months Konrad had been researching in an attempt to find out what brand, precisely, she preferred so that he could buy her a nice present. But right now he had his hands full with a different lady. "You could at least eat them," said Konrad. "Instead you leave me with your troubling ... evidence. I'll flush this one down like I did the rest, but it's the last time, you hear? If it happens just once more I'll be flushing you down instead." Mimo purred and hopped off the counter, apparently satisfied with their brief discussion. She tippy-tapped over to Konrad's bedroom and, presumably, went to enjoy a long nap. The apartment was filled with dolls, ornate pillows, bookshelves packed with crime fiction, and a whole assortment of dead plants. Dust covered most of it like pollen does a street come spring. Konrad put on his coat, the thin, dark grey one that he preferred for intricate missions, and quietly closed the front door behind him as he left to investigate. In his mother's books, the private eye would often huff and puff as he--or she--worked cases on behalf of poor, helpless relatives or friends or lovers. But with his asthma something like that was out of the question. His lungs couldn't take it. Konrad's mother had even gotten him a medical exemption from PE. "My poor boy," she had cried in front of his entire class. "Look at him wheezing, gasping for air; the horror!" Strangely, though, he'd never reacted with coughs nor asthmatic fits to Mimo. She had entered his life abruptly, and it had been something of a blessing. Konrad had found her shivering in the side of the road, and he brought her home, even risking messing up his suit. It wasn't such a big deal. He'd only worn it once, and unless things worked out with the Deli woman he couldn't think of a reason to wear it in the future. He wasn't sure what sort of signs to look out for. Something unusual. Something suspicious. Perhaps a mailbox stuffed full because its intended recipient lay lifeless on their floor somewhere? Or maybe a smell. He could follow it, if there was one. Alas, he couldn't detect anything like it. But just as he was growing frustrated with his lack of ideas--they seemed to come so readily to the detectives in his mother's books--he had a mysterious encounter. Something so unexpected and unusual and suspicious that it had to be related to the case, because at this point he had begun to think of it as a case; it was a woman, and she smiled at him. She had long, brown hair and as she passed Konrad she looked him in his eyes and she smiled. He took a deep breath. His first clue had arrived, and he intended to pursue it. TBC
	[WP]You adopt a stray cat. The gifts it leaves on your bed are getting more concerning.	When Mrs. Blanchard rolled onto her side and tugged on her blanket, sunlight hit her face. Her eyes opened, then she screamed. A dead mouse's glassy eyes stared at her. Mrs. Blanchard's hands reacted without conscious choice, and she sent the little carcass flying to the other end of the room. She sat up in bed, still hyperventilating. The high-pitched mewing of a cat startled her. But the cat was her cat and Mrs. Blanchard knew that it lived with her under the same roof. Confirming that the cat was indeed hers Mrs. Blanchard took some deep breaths and composed herself as the cat jumped on the bed to snuggle with her owner. "You surprised me there Caramel," Mrs. Blanchard said and stroked the cat. Then she went about her day as usual thinking nothing of the dead mouse, thinking it was an unhappy accident whose result had to be put into the garbage bin. But she was greeted the next day by a sock that looked familiar. The day after there was a necktie. Mrs. Blanchard inquired about the clothes in her neighborhood. No one had lost so much as a wet rag. Then there was a ring. Mrs. Blanchard's wedding ring. It was not the one she had stored away in the cupboard. Mr. Blanchard won't return her calls. Then there was an ear. It looked familiar. "Oh god, Caramel. What have you done!"	Mimo, black-tailed and otherwise white as snow, hopped onto the kitchen counter and presented her master with her most recent catch: an ear. "M-Mimo! Not again. I've told you, I--" Her innocent eyes sparkled and her tail danced behind her as she plopped the ear down on the cool granite. Konrad sighed. Yesterday it had been a nose. The day before that, a glass eye. One of these days, he reckoned, he might catch Mimo pulling an entire head by its hairs across the living room. Well, she almost had already. Bit by bit. The body parts were all a pale shade of blue. A cold shiver went down Konrad's spine as he considered that there may be some decomposing neighbor--a woman in her late 40s, perhaps--lying on the floor in a house nearby, her cadaver picked apart by a stealthy feline intruder. But this ear went against that whole idea. It was drooping at its tip and there had never been an earring in it as far as Konrad could tell. Was that a common thing? Women with masculine ears who never bothered to have them pierced? Konrad didn't know many women. He knew his mother. And he knew his sister. Barely. She had gone off to Belgium on a whim when he was in preschool and she'd never returned, not even for holidays or birthdays. There was a woman working at the local deli with whom he had been building a report over the past years. By now she knew exactly how he liked his sandwich and also when he'd like to have it. Not as well as his mother, sure. But not even Konrad knew how he liked his sandwich as well as his mother. It hadn't been easy describing it to Jane, though Konrad had tried his best, and Jane had tried her best as well in following his ramblings about mustard and slices of ham and just how to place the lettuce (it makes more of a difference than you might think). Jane wore earrings. Silver, circular; for months Konrad had been researching in an attempt to find out what brand, precisely, she preferred so that he could buy her a nice present. But right now he had his hands full with a different lady. "You could at least eat them," said Konrad. "Instead you leave me with your troubling ... evidence. I'll flush this one down like I did the rest, but it's the last time, you hear? If it happens just once more I'll be flushing you down instead." Mimo purred and hopped off the counter, apparently satisfied with their brief discussion. She tippy-tapped over to Konrad's bedroom and, presumably, went to enjoy a long nap. The apartment was filled with dolls, ornate pillows, bookshelves packed with crime fiction, and a whole assortment of dead plants. Dust covered most of it like pollen does a street come spring. Konrad put on his coat, the thin, dark grey one that he preferred for intricate missions, and quietly closed the front door behind him as he left to investigate. In his mother's books, the private eye would often huff and puff as he--or she--worked cases on behalf of poor, helpless relatives or friends or lovers. But with his asthma something like that was out of the question. His lungs couldn't take it. Konrad's mother had even gotten him a medical exemption from PE. "My poor boy," she had cried in front of his entire class. "Look at him wheezing, gasping for air; the horror!" Strangely, though, he'd never reacted with coughs nor asthmatic fits to Mimo. She had entered his life abruptly, and it had been something of a blessing. Konrad had found her shivering in the side of the road, and he brought her home, even risking messing up his suit. It wasn't such a big deal. He'd only worn it once, and unless things worked out with the Deli woman he couldn't think of a reason to wear it in the future. He wasn't sure what sort of signs to look out for. Something unusual. Something suspicious. Perhaps a mailbox stuffed full because its intended recipient lay lifeless on their floor somewhere? Or maybe a smell. He could follow it, if there was one. Alas, he couldn't detect anything like it. But just as he was growing frustrated with his lack of ideas--they seemed to come so readily to the detectives in his mother's books--he had a mysterious encounter. Something so unexpected and unusual and suspicious that it had to be related to the case, because at this point he had begun to think of it as a case; it was a woman, and she smiled at him. She had long, brown hair and as she passed Konrad she looked him in his eyes and she smiled. He took a deep breath. His first clue had arrived, and he intended to pursue it. TBC
	[WP]You adopt a stray cat. The gifts it leaves on your bed are getting more concerning.	I blinked hard, rubbed my eyes, and blinked again. Nope, still there. But I tried again, shaking my head this time, as if that would change things. But no, still here. Jason Momoa was sprawled out on my bed, looking around in abject confusion. I sighed, hard. 'Look what the cat dragged in,' I muttered. Jason stared at me. 'What?' he asked. I shrugged. 'Umm, hi. Sorry. My cat is really enthusiastic.' I gestured vaguely at the small striped beast, camped out on my pillow, looking smug. Jason eyed the cat warily. The cat looked at him for a moment unimpressed, and began to wash his face. 'Can I....' Jason began and struggled to sit up. 'I wouldn't,' I said. The cat put a paw on Jason and he immediately froze. 'How is he doing this?' Jason screeched. I sighed again. 'I don't know. All I know is one day I wished I had some hot chocolate. I found hot chocolate packets on the bed, with the car purring over them. Cool, right? I asked out loud for a fuzzy pink sweater, and the car brought that too. Wrong size, but probably a hint that I should lose a few. And this time....' I trailed off. 'This time what?' Jason asked, still struggling under the cat's paw. 'The pool at the gym was closed last night. Code brown,' I explained. 'When I came home, I was on the phone and I said.... I said....' Jason raised an eyebrow. 'I said this was a job for Aquaman.'	Mimo, black-tailed and otherwise white as snow, hopped onto the kitchen counter and presented her master with her most recent catch: an ear. "M-Mimo! Not again. I've told you, I--" Her innocent eyes sparkled and her tail danced behind her as she plopped the ear down on the cool granite. Konrad sighed. Yesterday it had been a nose. The day before that, a glass eye. One of these days, he reckoned, he might catch Mimo pulling an entire head by its hairs across the living room. Well, she almost had already. Bit by bit. The body parts were all a pale shade of blue. A cold shiver went down Konrad's spine as he considered that there may be some decomposing neighbor--a woman in her late 40s, perhaps--lying on the floor in a house nearby, her cadaver picked apart by a stealthy feline intruder. But this ear went against that whole idea. It was drooping at its tip and there had never been an earring in it as far as Konrad could tell. Was that a common thing? Women with masculine ears who never bothered to have them pierced? Konrad didn't know many women. He knew his mother. And he knew his sister. Barely. She had gone off to Belgium on a whim when he was in preschool and she'd never returned, not even for holidays or birthdays. There was a woman working at the local deli with whom he had been building a report over the past years. By now she knew exactly how he liked his sandwich and also when he'd like to have it. Not as well as his mother, sure. But not even Konrad knew how he liked his sandwich as well as his mother. It hadn't been easy describing it to Jane, though Konrad had tried his best, and Jane had tried her best as well in following his ramblings about mustard and slices of ham and just how to place the lettuce (it makes more of a difference than you might think). Jane wore earrings. Silver, circular; for months Konrad had been researching in an attempt to find out what brand, precisely, she preferred so that he could buy her a nice present. But right now he had his hands full with a different lady. "You could at least eat them," said Konrad. "Instead you leave me with your troubling ... evidence. I'll flush this one down like I did the rest, but it's the last time, you hear? If it happens just once more I'll be flushing you down instead." Mimo purred and hopped off the counter, apparently satisfied with their brief discussion. She tippy-tapped over to Konrad's bedroom and, presumably, went to enjoy a long nap. The apartment was filled with dolls, ornate pillows, bookshelves packed with crime fiction, and a whole assortment of dead plants. Dust covered most of it like pollen does a street come spring. Konrad put on his coat, the thin, dark grey one that he preferred for intricate missions, and quietly closed the front door behind him as he left to investigate. In his mother's books, the private eye would often huff and puff as he--or she--worked cases on behalf of poor, helpless relatives or friends or lovers. But with his asthma something like that was out of the question. His lungs couldn't take it. Konrad's mother had even gotten him a medical exemption from PE. "My poor boy," she had cried in front of his entire class. "Look at him wheezing, gasping for air; the horror!" Strangely, though, he'd never reacted with coughs nor asthmatic fits to Mimo. She had entered his life abruptly, and it had been something of a blessing. Konrad had found her shivering in the side of the road, and he brought her home, even risking messing up his suit. It wasn't such a big deal. He'd only worn it once, and unless things worked out with the Deli woman he couldn't think of a reason to wear it in the future. He wasn't sure what sort of signs to look out for. Something unusual. Something suspicious. Perhaps a mailbox stuffed full because its intended recipient lay lifeless on their floor somewhere? Or maybe a smell. He could follow it, if there was one. Alas, he couldn't detect anything like it. But just as he was growing frustrated with his lack of ideas--they seemed to come so readily to the detectives in his mother's books--he had a mysterious encounter. Something so unexpected and unusual and suspicious that it had to be related to the case, because at this point he had begun to think of it as a case; it was a woman, and she smiled at him. She had long, brown hair and as she passed Konrad she looked him in his eyes and she smiled. He took a deep breath. His first clue had arrived, and he intended to pursue it. TBC
	[WP]You adopt a stray cat. The gifts it leaves on your bed are getting more concerning.	Naxos was a long slim cat, half Siamese with a light mottled coloring that reminded Julia of the marble from the Greek island that gave the cat her name. Julia wasn't usually one to take in stray animals, but when she first saw the cat hiding from the rain on her doorstep, soaked, she let her in to warm by the fire, and fed her, and after that Julia was her owner, as far as Naxos was concerned. She got out all the old cat stuff from where it had been stowed in the garage and that was that. The dead mouse on her bed the next morning was a little concerning, but since the mouse had obviously been inside the house already she decided that she preferred it to whatever the creature had been doing before it got to her bed. "Good job, Naxos," she said, stroking the cat's fur. "But you can keep that. Mice aren't really my thing." The next morning she was awoken by a lot of movement on the bed. Without opening her eyes, she mumbled to Naxos to settle down. "Oh, sorry," said a deep voice from beside her. Julia jumped out of bed and scrambled for the wooden dowel she kept under her nightstand as a weapon. She saw the source of the voice was a handsome, half-naked man. "Who are you? What are you doing here? I'm calling the police. Get out." The man raised his hands in surrender to the stick she waved in front of him. "Sorry, the cat made me come in here. I think it was supposed to be a surprise, but I realize — yeah — thinking about it now... It's kind of weird. Imma head out." Naxos was sitting at the bedroom door as the man left. Julia gave her a look. "You should be preventing strange men from coming into my bed. Especially ones that are — I'm gonna say drunk? No men in my bed." The cat seemed to nod and sauntered off. The next morning, Julia was again awakened by a lot of movement on her bed. She reached out a hand towards her dowel. "That better not be a drunk guy," she said before opening her eyes. "The cat told me to come here," said the woman sitting on the bed. She was not nearly as half-naked as the man. In fact, she was wearing an old sweater covered in cat hair. "Out, you crazy person," Julia said, pointing with her dowel. "Cat's can't talk and I'm getting new locks." "Well, Naxos said you needed company and weren't into men." "I'm into men just fine. Get out. Cats can't talk. Naxos, can you talk?" "No," said the cat. "See. I've known that cat three days and she's never lied to me." When the woman had left, Julia turned to the cat. "Did you talk before?" "Meow," said the cat. "That sounded like you just said the word meow instead of actually meowing." "Purr," said the cat, rubbing up against her leg. "Imma get some coffee." The next morning, Julia was again awakened by a lot of movement on her bed. She already had the dowel in her hand under the blanket. "That better not be a person," she said. "If it is and the cat told you to come here, just leave. The locksmith is coming today." When no answer came, she peeked open an eye. Naxos was sitting on the bed, next to a pile of cash. "Where did you get this?" "Um— Meow?" Naxos responded, refusing to look Julia in the eyes. "I don't need these gifts. You can stay here without them." Naxos bent to pick up one of the bundles of bills in her teeth, and began to take it away. "Wait. Since it's already here you can leave it. Just stick to mice in the future." "Okay. Purr," said the cat. Julia squinted at Naxos and pursed her lips. "And cats can't talk." \[This story dedicated to Naxos, the clumsy half-Siamese furball, R.I.P.\] \[More at r/c_avery_m\]	Mimo, black-tailed and otherwise white as snow, hopped onto the kitchen counter and presented her master with her most recent catch: an ear. "M-Mimo! Not again. I've told you, I--" Her innocent eyes sparkled and her tail danced behind her as she plopped the ear down on the cool granite. Konrad sighed. Yesterday it had been a nose. The day before that, a glass eye. One of these days, he reckoned, he might catch Mimo pulling an entire head by its hairs across the living room. Well, she almost had already. Bit by bit. The body parts were all a pale shade of blue. A cold shiver went down Konrad's spine as he considered that there may be some decomposing neighbor--a woman in her late 40s, perhaps--lying on the floor in a house nearby, her cadaver picked apart by a stealthy feline intruder. But this ear went against that whole idea. It was drooping at its tip and there had never been an earring in it as far as Konrad could tell. Was that a common thing? Women with masculine ears who never bothered to have them pierced? Konrad didn't know many women. He knew his mother. And he knew his sister. Barely. She had gone off to Belgium on a whim when he was in preschool and she'd never returned, not even for holidays or birthdays. There was a woman working at the local deli with whom he had been building a report over the past years. By now she knew exactly how he liked his sandwich and also when he'd like to have it. Not as well as his mother, sure. But not even Konrad knew how he liked his sandwich as well as his mother. It hadn't been easy describing it to Jane, though Konrad had tried his best, and Jane had tried her best as well in following his ramblings about mustard and slices of ham and just how to place the lettuce (it makes more of a difference than you might think). Jane wore earrings. Silver, circular; for months Konrad had been researching in an attempt to find out what brand, precisely, she preferred so that he could buy her a nice present. But right now he had his hands full with a different lady. "You could at least eat them," said Konrad. "Instead you leave me with your troubling ... evidence. I'll flush this one down like I did the rest, but it's the last time, you hear? If it happens just once more I'll be flushing you down instead." Mimo purred and hopped off the counter, apparently satisfied with their brief discussion. She tippy-tapped over to Konrad's bedroom and, presumably, went to enjoy a long nap. The apartment was filled with dolls, ornate pillows, bookshelves packed with crime fiction, and a whole assortment of dead plants. Dust covered most of it like pollen does a street come spring. Konrad put on his coat, the thin, dark grey one that he preferred for intricate missions, and quietly closed the front door behind him as he left to investigate. In his mother's books, the private eye would often huff and puff as he--or she--worked cases on behalf of poor, helpless relatives or friends or lovers. But with his asthma something like that was out of the question. His lungs couldn't take it. Konrad's mother had even gotten him a medical exemption from PE. "My poor boy," she had cried in front of his entire class. "Look at him wheezing, gasping for air; the horror!" Strangely, though, he'd never reacted with coughs nor asthmatic fits to Mimo. She had entered his life abruptly, and it had been something of a blessing. Konrad had found her shivering in the side of the road, and he brought her home, even risking messing up his suit. It wasn't such a big deal. He'd only worn it once, and unless things worked out with the Deli woman he couldn't think of a reason to wear it in the future. He wasn't sure what sort of signs to look out for. Something unusual. Something suspicious. Perhaps a mailbox stuffed full because its intended recipient lay lifeless on their floor somewhere? Or maybe a smell. He could follow it, if there was one. Alas, he couldn't detect anything like it. But just as he was growing frustrated with his lack of ideas--they seemed to come so readily to the detectives in his mother's books--he had a mysterious encounter. Something so unexpected and unusual and suspicious that it had to be related to the case, because at this point he had begun to think of it as a case; it was a woman, and she smiled at him. She had long, brown hair and as she passed Konrad she looked him in his eyes and she smiled. He took a deep breath. His first clue had arrived, and he intended to pursue it. TBC
	[WP]You adopt a stray cat. The gifts it leaves on your bed are getting more concerning.	From the moment Elliot found the cat he knew it was a little odd. Most obviously there was the coat. A tabby cat, at least by day, by night the cat sported a coat of many colors. Its thin bands of black fur changed to suit its mood or environment, and the warm brown could grow very much warmer, or chill all the way to midnight blue. Often, Elliot would find the cat stretched out on a windowsill as the sun went down. They would sit together as the moon rose and the cat decided his colors for the night. He seemed happiest with silver bands, as if little strips of moonlight had come down to clothe him. There was also the fact that the cat knew his name. Elliot tried to call him many things: Simba, Charlie, Smokey. He tried Milo after Google told him it was very popular and the cat (silver striped that night) shook his head immediately and rammed his nose into Elliot’s. He tried Sampson on account of the cat’s magic hair, and Kit Kat just because. And then, when Elliot was very sure that he’d never know the cat’s name, it darted out through the open window and disappeared into the alley where Elliot had found him. In the morning the cat returned, an empty mochi box clutched between his teeth. “Mochi?” Elliot said. Mochi the cat nodded and rammed his nose into Elliot’s again. They found a rhythm in their cloistered days. Outside a pandemic raged. Inside, Elliot found that not much had changed. When the lockdowns set in he’d shut himself in and locked his doors like the rest of them, turned to delivery apps and Netflix, and occasionally his guitar, though all his passions had waned steadily in the last years. So together they waited, but when the sun set all their rhythm fell away and Mochi sat in his windowsill, all the colors of his fur shifting until Elliot opened the window and let him out again. And every morning Mochi would come back, hopping through the window onto Elliot’s chest with the night’s discovery clutched between his teeth. Like his fur and his name, these too were a little odd. Mochi brought him little keys and little boxes that never matched each other, he brought postcards and stamps, tattered photos and expired plane tickets. Mochi dropped them onto Elliot’s chest and then stared down at his human, bumping noses until Elliot dragged himself out of bed. He pried most of the little boxes open. There was never anything in them but a scent; Elliot could have spent a lifetime trying to define them. They smelled like… Freedom. The outdoors. A place where wind blew across the trees and there were flowers, people there to see them. And always, the gifts came right at the moment Elliot needed them the most. The walls had been closing in you see. They had been closing in for a very long time. In time, as the pandemic morphed around them and people began to leave again, Elliot realized that one of those intrepid people must have been looking for Mochi. He’d found the cat in the alley by his apartment, but he’d been well-groomed and used to people. If he was a little thin at the time that had been easily remedied, and the cat had never gotten sick since. He must have had his shots, or whatever else it was one did to take care of a cat. There was the matter of his name as well. Mochi. Mochi. Elliot thought it a unique name for a cat. That night Mochi brought him paper and a pencil. Every night after that he brought him receipts, all from businesses along the same few streets. Receipts for cigarettes or candy bars, energy drinks and sugar-free sodas. The message was clear. Elliot sat with Mochi on the windowsill, staring up at the moon that so loved the cat, and he wanted more than anything for Mochi to be his cat. It had been a very long time since Elliot loved someone. Even before the pandemic and the connections he’d lost with it, Elliot hadn’t been good at things like that. But Mochi was. Mochi was a little ball of light. Silver light. Warm browns. A meow like sawing wood but that was okay, Mochi was his cat. Elliot said as much. He looked down at little Mochi and said “I’m sorry buddy. You understand, don’t you?” The moon was high above. It was full and beautiful. Mochi looked up at him with big, luminous eyes. His fur dimmed. The silver left his bands, and the cat became coal black. In the morning there were no gifts. Elliot stared at the pile of receipts, stared at Mochi on his window sill. Stared at the paper and the pencil, and the days, months, and years ahead if he did what Mochi so obviously wanted. It was awful. Elliot’s hands trembled when he reached out, and he didn’t know if he was reaching for the cat or the pencil, or if he was just reaching for anything at all. He put his hand down. He looked up and around. Elliot saw the mess, the abandoned guitar. The worn computer chair and the walls that might have been six inches away from him wherever he stood. Or sat. Or lay. “Please,” Elliot said. Mochi meowed. When the moon came there was no silver in him, just coal-black and open, sleepless eyes. In the morning, the final morning, Elliot pulled Mochi off the windowsill and onto the bed. He stared into the cat’s eyes, wishing Mochi would bump his nose again, and said, “I get it. You’ve got people to go home to, don’t you?” Mochi meowed. He nodded. Elliot wrapped him up in a hug and squirmed in his arms, made distressed put-me-down noises. But Elliot couldn’t put him down. He said, “I can’t lose you too,” and Mochi meowed again. Elliot said, “Mochi please!” And Mochi meowed again. And then Elliot put him down. Mochi was his normal tabby self, warm browns and thin black bands. He’d filled out since Elliot had found him. Elliot had done the math the night before, it had been six months. Six shockingly quick months. He didn’t know where the time had gone. He didn’t know when he’d last gone farther than the alley. “Okay,” Elliot said. “Okay, buddy. I get it. Just know that I appreciated it. You. I owe you one. Or a lot. Or…” Mochi stretched up, put his paws on Elliot’s shoulder, and bumped his nose. “Meow,” Mochi said, that awful sawing wood sound. Then he turned and leapt off Elliot’s lap, scurried under the desk, and rooted around until he found something. He came back with a box in his mouth. A small black box, tattered all around. “Meow,” Mochi tried to say. “When did you get this?” Elliot asked. “I thought I opened all of them. Mochi dropped the box into Elliot’s lap. It wasn’t locked. He was surprised by that, all the others had been. Elliot opened the box, dropped it again. He stared at the thing inside for a very long time before he said, “Mochi, what am I supposed to do with this?” The cat plucked out the ring and stuffed it into the pocket of Elliot’s favorite coat. “Meow,” Mochi said. It didn’t take long to make Missing posters. Truthfully, Elliot had drawn them up a long time ago, when Mochi first brought the pencil and the paper. He hadn’t been able to admit to himself that he needed them, but now that he had Elliot simply printed them up. He found an old roll of tape and the leash and collar he’d ordered when he’d thought of taking Mochi for a walk. They got to the apartment door before Elliot froze. He was shaking. He hadn’t left in such a long time, not since he’d heard those pitiful meows beneath the window and gone to investigate. And the streets where the receipts were from were across town. He’d have to take a bus. There would be questions. People would look at him. “Meow,” Mochi said. “I know buddy, I know.” Elliot was shaking. He reached down and petted the cat until the warmth was back in his hands. “Mochi?” “Meow?” “I love you, buddy.” “Meow,” Mochi said.	Mimo, black-tailed and otherwise white as snow, hopped onto the kitchen counter and presented her master with her most recent catch: an ear. "M-Mimo! Not again. I've told you, I--" Her innocent eyes sparkled and her tail danced behind her as she plopped the ear down on the cool granite. Konrad sighed. Yesterday it had been a nose. The day before that, a glass eye. One of these days, he reckoned, he might catch Mimo pulling an entire head by its hairs across the living room. Well, she almost had already. Bit by bit. The body parts were all a pale shade of blue. A cold shiver went down Konrad's spine as he considered that there may be some decomposing neighbor--a woman in her late 40s, perhaps--lying on the floor in a house nearby, her cadaver picked apart by a stealthy feline intruder. But this ear went against that whole idea. It was drooping at its tip and there had never been an earring in it as far as Konrad could tell. Was that a common thing? Women with masculine ears who never bothered to have them pierced? Konrad didn't know many women. He knew his mother. And he knew his sister. Barely. She had gone off to Belgium on a whim when he was in preschool and she'd never returned, not even for holidays or birthdays. There was a woman working at the local deli with whom he had been building a report over the past years. By now she knew exactly how he liked his sandwich and also when he'd like to have it. Not as well as his mother, sure. But not even Konrad knew how he liked his sandwich as well as his mother. It hadn't been easy describing it to Jane, though Konrad had tried his best, and Jane had tried her best as well in following his ramblings about mustard and slices of ham and just how to place the lettuce (it makes more of a difference than you might think). Jane wore earrings. Silver, circular; for months Konrad had been researching in an attempt to find out what brand, precisely, she preferred so that he could buy her a nice present. But right now he had his hands full with a different lady. "You could at least eat them," said Konrad. "Instead you leave me with your troubling ... evidence. I'll flush this one down like I did the rest, but it's the last time, you hear? If it happens just once more I'll be flushing you down instead." Mimo purred and hopped off the counter, apparently satisfied with their brief discussion. She tippy-tapped over to Konrad's bedroom and, presumably, went to enjoy a long nap. The apartment was filled with dolls, ornate pillows, bookshelves packed with crime fiction, and a whole assortment of dead plants. Dust covered most of it like pollen does a street come spring. Konrad put on his coat, the thin, dark grey one that he preferred for intricate missions, and quietly closed the front door behind him as he left to investigate. In his mother's books, the private eye would often huff and puff as he--or she--worked cases on behalf of poor, helpless relatives or friends or lovers. But with his asthma something like that was out of the question. His lungs couldn't take it. Konrad's mother had even gotten him a medical exemption from PE. "My poor boy," she had cried in front of his entire class. "Look at him wheezing, gasping for air; the horror!" Strangely, though, he'd never reacted with coughs nor asthmatic fits to Mimo. She had entered his life abruptly, and it had been something of a blessing. Konrad had found her shivering in the side of the road, and he brought her home, even risking messing up his suit. It wasn't such a big deal. He'd only worn it once, and unless things worked out with the Deli woman he couldn't think of a reason to wear it in the future. He wasn't sure what sort of signs to look out for. Something unusual. Something suspicious. Perhaps a mailbox stuffed full because its intended recipient lay lifeless on their floor somewhere? Or maybe a smell. He could follow it, if there was one. Alas, he couldn't detect anything like it. But just as he was growing frustrated with his lack of ideas--they seemed to come so readily to the detectives in his mother's books--he had a mysterious encounter. Something so unexpected and unusual and suspicious that it had to be related to the case, because at this point he had begun to think of it as a case; it was a woman, and she smiled at him. She had long, brown hair and as she passed Konrad she looked him in his eyes and she smiled. He took a deep breath. His first clue had arrived, and he intended to pursue it. TBC
	[WP]You adopt a stray cat. The gifts it leaves on your bed are getting more concerning.	It was a calico cat, shaded by darkness on half its scruffy face, scorched by flame on the other. The moon and sun heading towards an eclipse over a pale mountain of white fur. For weeks after Josh had moved back to the family home, the cat had watched him. Sat outside the windows, or lay in the yard in the maple-shadows, or on the cooler evenings, on the burnt brown grass. ”If you hadn’t fed it,” said Nina, Josh’s girlfriend who’d come down from Maine for the week, “then it would’ve got the message eventually and gone bothered some other soft-hearted guy. We’d have been left in wonderful peace.” Josh didn’t think so. He’d resisted feeding it for weeks, but the cat hadn’t seemed to care. It didn’t seem to be fussed about the food — although it ate it. Maybe Josh just wanted to believe it was about him, not the tuna. Maybe, if he was being totally truthful to himself, he believed the cat held some kind of connection to his mother. A link. Maybe she’d looked after it and it missed her as much as he did. Now the cat, Fia — flickering fire — lounged on the sofa, ear cocked as if listening in. ”It had been so lonely,” said Josh. Nina opened her mouth, about to ask if he meant the cat or himself. But she knew the answer and bit her tongue. Josh’s mother had lived here alone for the last six years, after Josh’s father passed away. His brother lived in Germany, having gone to university in Munich and have fallen in love. He stayed there, married, and rarely visited. And then Josh’s mother had gone missing on a mountain walk. Neighbor saw her leave but not return. Rangers found no trace, only her car parked near the entrance to the trail. This house that once must have brimmed with loved, warmed itself with laughter, had been desolate when Josh moved back. Empty. Nina thought how that must have affected Josh. She knew how similar events had hurt her in the past. How those memories you must have of childhood and of unconditional love get wrung out of your heart by the rough-handed realities of life. And of death. ”Besides, he’s a lovely cat,” said Josh. ”Aren’t you boy?” Josh sat by Fia’s side and stroked him until he purred, as if he’d started up a mower. “He’d be nicer if he didn’t leave us… gifts, every morning.” Gifts was Josh’s term. Dead birds, live rats, plastic bags stuffed with used condoms and tissues and needles — and god knew what else because she’d retched at that point and dropped the bag. When she’d regained her composure she placed the bag inside two more bags and used a pair of tongs to carry it all to the outside trash. “I’m sure he’ll quit with it soon. Won’t you, Fia?” Fia rubbed his head against Josh’s knuckle in a non-committal answer. “He’ll have to — there won’t be anything left to dig up soon.” She yawned lazily. “I’m going to bed. Don’t you two stay up too late.” “I’ll be in shortly. Besides, you know what Fia’s like. He’ll be gone for the night soon. Wherever it is he goes.” “To the local tip I should think.”	Mimo, black-tailed and otherwise white as snow, hopped onto the kitchen counter and presented her master with her most recent catch: an ear. "M-Mimo! Not again. I've told you, I--" Her innocent eyes sparkled and her tail danced behind her as she plopped the ear down on the cool granite. Konrad sighed. Yesterday it had been a nose. The day before that, a glass eye. One of these days, he reckoned, he might catch Mimo pulling an entire head by its hairs across the living room. Well, she almost had already. Bit by bit. The body parts were all a pale shade of blue. A cold shiver went down Konrad's spine as he considered that there may be some decomposing neighbor--a woman in her late 40s, perhaps--lying on the floor in a house nearby, her cadaver picked apart by a stealthy feline intruder. But this ear went against that whole idea. It was drooping at its tip and there had never been an earring in it as far as Konrad could tell. Was that a common thing? Women with masculine ears who never bothered to have them pierced? Konrad didn't know many women. He knew his mother. And he knew his sister. Barely. She had gone off to Belgium on a whim when he was in preschool and she'd never returned, not even for holidays or birthdays. There was a woman working at the local deli with whom he had been building a report over the past years. By now she knew exactly how he liked his sandwich and also when he'd like to have it. Not as well as his mother, sure. But not even Konrad knew how he liked his sandwich as well as his mother. It hadn't been easy describing it to Jane, though Konrad had tried his best, and Jane had tried her best as well in following his ramblings about mustard and slices of ham and just how to place the lettuce (it makes more of a difference than you might think). Jane wore earrings. Silver, circular; for months Konrad had been researching in an attempt to find out what brand, precisely, she preferred so that he could buy her a nice present. But right now he had his hands full with a different lady. "You could at least eat them," said Konrad. "Instead you leave me with your troubling ... evidence. I'll flush this one down like I did the rest, but it's the last time, you hear? If it happens just once more I'll be flushing you down instead." Mimo purred and hopped off the counter, apparently satisfied with their brief discussion. She tippy-tapped over to Konrad's bedroom and, presumably, went to enjoy a long nap. The apartment was filled with dolls, ornate pillows, bookshelves packed with crime fiction, and a whole assortment of dead plants. Dust covered most of it like pollen does a street come spring. Konrad put on his coat, the thin, dark grey one that he preferred for intricate missions, and quietly closed the front door behind him as he left to investigate. In his mother's books, the private eye would often huff and puff as he--or she--worked cases on behalf of poor, helpless relatives or friends or lovers. But with his asthma something like that was out of the question. His lungs couldn't take it. Konrad's mother had even gotten him a medical exemption from PE. "My poor boy," she had cried in front of his entire class. "Look at him wheezing, gasping for air; the horror!" Strangely, though, he'd never reacted with coughs nor asthmatic fits to Mimo. She had entered his life abruptly, and it had been something of a blessing. Konrad had found her shivering in the side of the road, and he brought her home, even risking messing up his suit. It wasn't such a big deal. He'd only worn it once, and unless things worked out with the Deli woman he couldn't think of a reason to wear it in the future. He wasn't sure what sort of signs to look out for. Something unusual. Something suspicious. Perhaps a mailbox stuffed full because its intended recipient lay lifeless on their floor somewhere? Or maybe a smell. He could follow it, if there was one. Alas, he couldn't detect anything like it. But just as he was growing frustrated with his lack of ideas--they seemed to come so readily to the detectives in his mother's books--he had a mysterious encounter. Something so unexpected and unusual and suspicious that it had to be related to the case, because at this point he had begun to think of it as a case; it was a woman, and she smiled at him. She had long, brown hair and as she passed Konrad she looked him in his eyes and she smiled. He took a deep breath. His first clue had arrived, and he intended to pursue it. TBC
	[WP]You adopt a stray cat. The gifts it leaves on your bed are getting more concerning.	I blinked hard, rubbed my eyes, and blinked again. Nope, still there. But I tried again, shaking my head this time, as if that would change things. But no, still here. Jason Momoa was sprawled out on my bed, looking around in abject confusion. I sighed, hard. 'Look what the cat dragged in,' I muttered. Jason stared at me. 'What?' he asked. I shrugged. 'Umm, hi. Sorry. My cat is really enthusiastic.' I gestured vaguely at the small striped beast, camped out on my pillow, looking smug. Jason eyed the cat warily. The cat looked at him for a moment unimpressed, and began to wash his face. 'Can I....' Jason began and struggled to sit up. 'I wouldn't,' I said. The cat put a paw on Jason and he immediately froze. 'How is he doing this?' Jason screeched. I sighed again. 'I don't know. All I know is one day I wished I had some hot chocolate. I found hot chocolate packets on the bed, with the car purring over them. Cool, right? I asked out loud for a fuzzy pink sweater, and the car brought that too. Wrong size, but probably a hint that I should lose a few. And this time....' I trailed off. 'This time what?' Jason asked, still struggling under the cat's paw. 'The pool at the gym was closed last night. Code brown,' I explained. 'When I came home, I was on the phone and I said.... I said....' Jason raised an eyebrow. 'I said this was a job for Aquaman.'	It's getting to the point I don't want to wake up. Yes, I know; giving presents is how cats show their love...or their superior ability to hunt. Honestly, either's possible. And I want you to know, I do play with the cat. No, he's not my cat. A neighborhood stray, I think, or maybe he's just got a lot of homes. Point is, I feed him sometimes. And groom him sometimes. And let him sleep in my music room, but that's it! I'm a professional harpist. Of course I have a music room. It's even soundproof, so I don't have neighbors lodging complaints against me at three in the morning while I'm trying a new descending scale. Anyway, the cat likes listening to me play. I thought that was all it was. I'm not one of those people who demand that cats change their nature to live with humans. I know they're hunters. I'm not here because of the half a bird, or the rat, or the rabbit, or even the drone. What are you talking about? I just said the drone's not important. None of them were. Look, I found their owners and sent the damn things back, okay? At first I thought the cat was bringing me doll parts. I mean, that's the only explanation, right? Why else would there be a hand the size of my pinky nail? But--here's the thing--dolls don't bleed. And this--whatever--that the cat is bringing me parts from? They're bloody. Bleeding. They have flesh. It's not normal. You think I'm kidding? Here! These are just from this morning! No, it's not a trick! Ugh. No, they're not from a Halloween store. Trust me; they're real. What do you mean, how do I know? I know because I cook food! You know, handle meat? It is very easy to tell what is meat and what isn't, thank you not at all! Well, no. No, these aren't what brought me here today. To be honest, I've been getting these for almost a month now, and I'm kind of used to it at this point. Hell, last week I tried to make a whole person with the tiny parts. Impossible, of course. You know. Because there is no head... Anyway. This is what I'm here for. Take a look at this. Huge, isn't it? Man, I thought I was having an asthma attack this morning, this thing is so heavy. But there it was, right on my chest, just like all the other...presents. So--is it metal? I mean, it looks like metal, but it gives like flesh. Look. What do you mean, "don't touch it?" Don't you realize I drove almost two hundred miles here with this thing? My car's shocks are shot, let me tell you; feel every bump. Point is, whatever this thing is, it's not about to explode, or it would have done it already. Why the fuck do you think the cat is pink? Who ever heard of a pink cat? That's the most ridiculous--ohmyGod! It's MOVING!
	[WP]You adopt a stray cat. The gifts it leaves on your bed are getting more concerning.	Naxos was a long slim cat, half Siamese with a light mottled coloring that reminded Julia of the marble from the Greek island that gave the cat her name. Julia wasn't usually one to take in stray animals, but when she first saw the cat hiding from the rain on her doorstep, soaked, she let her in to warm by the fire, and fed her, and after that Julia was her owner, as far as Naxos was concerned. She got out all the old cat stuff from where it had been stowed in the garage and that was that. The dead mouse on her bed the next morning was a little concerning, but since the mouse had obviously been inside the house already she decided that she preferred it to whatever the creature had been doing before it got to her bed. "Good job, Naxos," she said, stroking the cat's fur. "But you can keep that. Mice aren't really my thing." The next morning she was awoken by a lot of movement on the bed. Without opening her eyes, she mumbled to Naxos to settle down. "Oh, sorry," said a deep voice from beside her. Julia jumped out of bed and scrambled for the wooden dowel she kept under her nightstand as a weapon. She saw the source of the voice was a handsome, half-naked man. "Who are you? What are you doing here? I'm calling the police. Get out." The man raised his hands in surrender to the stick she waved in front of him. "Sorry, the cat made me come in here. I think it was supposed to be a surprise, but I realize — yeah — thinking about it now... It's kind of weird. Imma head out." Naxos was sitting at the bedroom door as the man left. Julia gave her a look. "You should be preventing strange men from coming into my bed. Especially ones that are — I'm gonna say drunk? No men in my bed." The cat seemed to nod and sauntered off. The next morning, Julia was again awakened by a lot of movement on her bed. She reached out a hand towards her dowel. "That better not be a drunk guy," she said before opening her eyes. "The cat told me to come here," said the woman sitting on the bed. She was not nearly as half-naked as the man. In fact, she was wearing an old sweater covered in cat hair. "Out, you crazy person," Julia said, pointing with her dowel. "Cat's can't talk and I'm getting new locks." "Well, Naxos said you needed company and weren't into men." "I'm into men just fine. Get out. Cats can't talk. Naxos, can you talk?" "No," said the cat. "See. I've known that cat three days and she's never lied to me." When the woman had left, Julia turned to the cat. "Did you talk before?" "Meow," said the cat. "That sounded like you just said the word meow instead of actually meowing." "Purr," said the cat, rubbing up against her leg. "Imma get some coffee." The next morning, Julia was again awakened by a lot of movement on her bed. She already had the dowel in her hand under the blanket. "That better not be a person," she said. "If it is and the cat told you to come here, just leave. The locksmith is coming today." When no answer came, she peeked open an eye. Naxos was sitting on the bed, next to a pile of cash. "Where did you get this?" "Um— Meow?" Naxos responded, refusing to look Julia in the eyes. "I don't need these gifts. You can stay here without them." Naxos bent to pick up one of the bundles of bills in her teeth, and began to take it away. "Wait. Since it's already here you can leave it. Just stick to mice in the future." "Okay. Purr," said the cat. Julia squinted at Naxos and pursed her lips. "And cats can't talk." \[This story dedicated to Naxos, the clumsy half-Siamese furball, R.I.P.\] \[More at r/c_avery_m\]	It's getting to the point I don't want to wake up. Yes, I know; giving presents is how cats show their love...or their superior ability to hunt. Honestly, either's possible. And I want you to know, I do play with the cat. No, he's not my cat. A neighborhood stray, I think, or maybe he's just got a lot of homes. Point is, I feed him sometimes. And groom him sometimes. And let him sleep in my music room, but that's it! I'm a professional harpist. Of course I have a music room. It's even soundproof, so I don't have neighbors lodging complaints against me at three in the morning while I'm trying a new descending scale. Anyway, the cat likes listening to me play. I thought that was all it was. I'm not one of those people who demand that cats change their nature to live with humans. I know they're hunters. I'm not here because of the half a bird, or the rat, or the rabbit, or even the drone. What are you talking about? I just said the drone's not important. None of them were. Look, I found their owners and sent the damn things back, okay? At first I thought the cat was bringing me doll parts. I mean, that's the only explanation, right? Why else would there be a hand the size of my pinky nail? But--here's the thing--dolls don't bleed. And this--whatever--that the cat is bringing me parts from? They're bloody. Bleeding. They have flesh. It's not normal. You think I'm kidding? Here! These are just from this morning! No, it's not a trick! Ugh. No, they're not from a Halloween store. Trust me; they're real. What do you mean, how do I know? I know because I cook food! You know, handle meat? It is very easy to tell what is meat and what isn't, thank you not at all! Well, no. No, these aren't what brought me here today. To be honest, I've been getting these for almost a month now, and I'm kind of used to it at this point. Hell, last week I tried to make a whole person with the tiny parts. Impossible, of course. You know. Because there is no head... Anyway. This is what I'm here for. Take a look at this. Huge, isn't it? Man, I thought I was having an asthma attack this morning, this thing is so heavy. But there it was, right on my chest, just like all the other...presents. So--is it metal? I mean, it looks like metal, but it gives like flesh. Look. What do you mean, "don't touch it?" Don't you realize I drove almost two hundred miles here with this thing? My car's shocks are shot, let me tell you; feel every bump. Point is, whatever this thing is, it's not about to explode, or it would have done it already. Why the fuck do you think the cat is pink? Who ever heard of a pink cat? That's the most ridiculous--ohmyGod! It's MOVING!
	[WP]You adopt a stray cat. The gifts it leaves on your bed are getting more concerning.	When Mrs. Blanchard rolled onto her side and tugged on her blanket, sunlight hit her face. Her eyes opened, then she screamed. A dead mouse's glassy eyes stared at her. Mrs. Blanchard's hands reacted without conscious choice, and she sent the little carcass flying to the other end of the room. She sat up in bed, still hyperventilating. The high-pitched mewing of a cat startled her. But the cat was her cat and Mrs. Blanchard knew that it lived with her under the same roof. Confirming that the cat was indeed hers Mrs. Blanchard took some deep breaths and composed herself as the cat jumped on the bed to snuggle with her owner. "You surprised me there Caramel," Mrs. Blanchard said and stroked the cat. Then she went about her day as usual thinking nothing of the dead mouse, thinking it was an unhappy accident whose result had to be put into the garbage bin. But she was greeted the next day by a sock that looked familiar. The day after there was a necktie. Mrs. Blanchard inquired about the clothes in her neighborhood. No one had lost so much as a wet rag. Then there was a ring. Mrs. Blanchard's wedding ring. It was not the one she had stored away in the cupboard. Mr. Blanchard won't return her calls. Then there was an ear. It looked familiar. "Oh god, Caramel. What have you done!"	I thought it was adorable at first. It started a few days after I brought her home. I had a giant potted plant in my living room. It's leaves were bigger than the cats head. She would rip an entire leaf off the plant, and carry it all the way up the stairs, down the hall to my bedroom and leave it on my bed. It was cute, but upsetting since I loved this plant and had it for a couple years. After a couple leaves, she would get into my laundry and began leaving me socks. Always different socks. Different colors, and she never grabbed the same sock twice. This went on for a couple weeks. It wasn't ever day mind you. Just every 2-3 days. after about a month, is when it got weird. Things that I know she shouldn't have been able to grab ended up on the bed. Potatoes are one thing. Rather large, but no teeth marks. How did she get it up the stairs and onto my bed? Then there was the can of chicken noodle soup. Not the small one either, the bigger one. The one you get when your really hungry or really really like soup. After the can of soup, it stared escalating. Shoes, bars of soap, coat hangers, shampoo bottle and a picture frame. I started putting things away more, thinking it would help. I got into the habit of not leaving a single thing out. I got child locks on kitchen cabinets. I kept all the doors in the house closed, but somehow, that just made it even worse. Exactly 3 months after I brought her home, I found a knife. I remember coming home from work that day. I walked up the stairs to my room and opened my door. I remember thinking I had finally won. She hadn't brought anything in since I shut all the doors. She was even sleeping on the couch when I came home. But when I walked into my room I could feel the color drain from my face. A knife. And not just any knife, it was a bloody one. I remember staring at it for a few seconds before I ran down the stairs and out of the house. I went to my neighbors and called the police. Within minutes they were there and investigating the house, asking me all kinds of questions. The thing was, it was not a knife I owned. I have no idea how it got in my home. After a few hours, they left. They took the knife, and dozens of pictures. They found no trace of anything out of place. As I shut the door behind me, I walked up the stairs to my room once more. As I walked into my room, I saw my cat standing on my bed, exactly where the knife had been. Only this time, she had something in her mouth, and it was dripping. In horror, I watched her drop the object onto my bed and look up at me, as if proud of her find. It was a finger. A human finger. Freshly severed. I felt the room start spinning and I felt dizzy. My stomach started doing flips and she just stared at me and mowed happily.
	[WP]You adopt a stray cat. The gifts it leaves on your bed are getting more concerning.	I blinked hard, rubbed my eyes, and blinked again. Nope, still there. But I tried again, shaking my head this time, as if that would change things. But no, still here. Jason Momoa was sprawled out on my bed, looking around in abject confusion. I sighed, hard. 'Look what the cat dragged in,' I muttered. Jason stared at me. 'What?' he asked. I shrugged. 'Umm, hi. Sorry. My cat is really enthusiastic.' I gestured vaguely at the small striped beast, camped out on my pillow, looking smug. Jason eyed the cat warily. The cat looked at him for a moment unimpressed, and began to wash his face. 'Can I....' Jason began and struggled to sit up. 'I wouldn't,' I said. The cat put a paw on Jason and he immediately froze. 'How is he doing this?' Jason screeched. I sighed again. 'I don't know. All I know is one day I wished I had some hot chocolate. I found hot chocolate packets on the bed, with the car purring over them. Cool, right? I asked out loud for a fuzzy pink sweater, and the car brought that too. Wrong size, but probably a hint that I should lose a few. And this time....' I trailed off. 'This time what?' Jason asked, still struggling under the cat's paw. 'The pool at the gym was closed last night. Code brown,' I explained. 'When I came home, I was on the phone and I said.... I said....' Jason raised an eyebrow. 'I said this was a job for Aquaman.'	I thought it was adorable at first. It started a few days after I brought her home. I had a giant potted plant in my living room. It's leaves were bigger than the cats head. She would rip an entire leaf off the plant, and carry it all the way up the stairs, down the hall to my bedroom and leave it on my bed. It was cute, but upsetting since I loved this plant and had it for a couple years. After a couple leaves, she would get into my laundry and began leaving me socks. Always different socks. Different colors, and she never grabbed the same sock twice. This went on for a couple weeks. It wasn't ever day mind you. Just every 2-3 days. after about a month, is when it got weird. Things that I know she shouldn't have been able to grab ended up on the bed. Potatoes are one thing. Rather large, but no teeth marks. How did she get it up the stairs and onto my bed? Then there was the can of chicken noodle soup. Not the small one either, the bigger one. The one you get when your really hungry or really really like soup. After the can of soup, it stared escalating. Shoes, bars of soap, coat hangers, shampoo bottle and a picture frame. I started putting things away more, thinking it would help. I got into the habit of not leaving a single thing out. I got child locks on kitchen cabinets. I kept all the doors in the house closed, but somehow, that just made it even worse. Exactly 3 months after I brought her home, I found a knife. I remember coming home from work that day. I walked up the stairs to my room and opened my door. I remember thinking I had finally won. She hadn't brought anything in since I shut all the doors. She was even sleeping on the couch when I came home. But when I walked into my room I could feel the color drain from my face. A knife. And not just any knife, it was a bloody one. I remember staring at it for a few seconds before I ran down the stairs and out of the house. I went to my neighbors and called the police. Within minutes they were there and investigating the house, asking me all kinds of questions. The thing was, it was not a knife I owned. I have no idea how it got in my home. After a few hours, they left. They took the knife, and dozens of pictures. They found no trace of anything out of place. As I shut the door behind me, I walked up the stairs to my room once more. As I walked into my room, I saw my cat standing on my bed, exactly where the knife had been. Only this time, she had something in her mouth, and it was dripping. In horror, I watched her drop the object onto my bed and look up at me, as if proud of her find. It was a finger. A human finger. Freshly severed. I felt the room start spinning and I felt dizzy. My stomach started doing flips and she just stared at me and mowed happily.
	[WP]You adopt a stray cat. The gifts it leaves on your bed are getting more concerning.	Naxos was a long slim cat, half Siamese with a light mottled coloring that reminded Julia of the marble from the Greek island that gave the cat her name. Julia wasn't usually one to take in stray animals, but when she first saw the cat hiding from the rain on her doorstep, soaked, she let her in to warm by the fire, and fed her, and after that Julia was her owner, as far as Naxos was concerned. She got out all the old cat stuff from where it had been stowed in the garage and that was that. The dead mouse on her bed the next morning was a little concerning, but since the mouse had obviously been inside the house already she decided that she preferred it to whatever the creature had been doing before it got to her bed. "Good job, Naxos," she said, stroking the cat's fur. "But you can keep that. Mice aren't really my thing." The next morning she was awoken by a lot of movement on the bed. Without opening her eyes, she mumbled to Naxos to settle down. "Oh, sorry," said a deep voice from beside her. Julia jumped out of bed and scrambled for the wooden dowel she kept under her nightstand as a weapon. She saw the source of the voice was a handsome, half-naked man. "Who are you? What are you doing here? I'm calling the police. Get out." The man raised his hands in surrender to the stick she waved in front of him. "Sorry, the cat made me come in here. I think it was supposed to be a surprise, but I realize — yeah — thinking about it now... It's kind of weird. Imma head out." Naxos was sitting at the bedroom door as the man left. Julia gave her a look. "You should be preventing strange men from coming into my bed. Especially ones that are — I'm gonna say drunk? No men in my bed." The cat seemed to nod and sauntered off. The next morning, Julia was again awakened by a lot of movement on her bed. She reached out a hand towards her dowel. "That better not be a drunk guy," she said before opening her eyes. "The cat told me to come here," said the woman sitting on the bed. She was not nearly as half-naked as the man. In fact, she was wearing an old sweater covered in cat hair. "Out, you crazy person," Julia said, pointing with her dowel. "Cat's can't talk and I'm getting new locks." "Well, Naxos said you needed company and weren't into men." "I'm into men just fine. Get out. Cats can't talk. Naxos, can you talk?" "No," said the cat. "See. I've known that cat three days and she's never lied to me." When the woman had left, Julia turned to the cat. "Did you talk before?" "Meow," said the cat. "That sounded like you just said the word meow instead of actually meowing." "Purr," said the cat, rubbing up against her leg. "Imma get some coffee." The next morning, Julia was again awakened by a lot of movement on her bed. She already had the dowel in her hand under the blanket. "That better not be a person," she said. "If it is and the cat told you to come here, just leave. The locksmith is coming today." When no answer came, she peeked open an eye. Naxos was sitting on the bed, next to a pile of cash. "Where did you get this?" "Um— Meow?" Naxos responded, refusing to look Julia in the eyes. "I don't need these gifts. You can stay here without them." Naxos bent to pick up one of the bundles of bills in her teeth, and began to take it away. "Wait. Since it's already here you can leave it. Just stick to mice in the future." "Okay. Purr," said the cat. Julia squinted at Naxos and pursed her lips. "And cats can't talk." \[This story dedicated to Naxos, the clumsy half-Siamese furball, R.I.P.\] \[More at r/c_avery_m\]	I thought it was adorable at first. It started a few days after I brought her home. I had a giant potted plant in my living room. It's leaves were bigger than the cats head. She would rip an entire leaf off the plant, and carry it all the way up the stairs, down the hall to my bedroom and leave it on my bed. It was cute, but upsetting since I loved this plant and had it for a couple years. After a couple leaves, she would get into my laundry and began leaving me socks. Always different socks. Different colors, and she never grabbed the same sock twice. This went on for a couple weeks. It wasn't ever day mind you. Just every 2-3 days. after about a month, is when it got weird. Things that I know she shouldn't have been able to grab ended up on the bed. Potatoes are one thing. Rather large, but no teeth marks. How did she get it up the stairs and onto my bed? Then there was the can of chicken noodle soup. Not the small one either, the bigger one. The one you get when your really hungry or really really like soup. After the can of soup, it stared escalating. Shoes, bars of soap, coat hangers, shampoo bottle and a picture frame. I started putting things away more, thinking it would help. I got into the habit of not leaving a single thing out. I got child locks on kitchen cabinets. I kept all the doors in the house closed, but somehow, that just made it even worse. Exactly 3 months after I brought her home, I found a knife. I remember coming home from work that day. I walked up the stairs to my room and opened my door. I remember thinking I had finally won. She hadn't brought anything in since I shut all the doors. She was even sleeping on the couch when I came home. But when I walked into my room I could feel the color drain from my face. A knife. And not just any knife, it was a bloody one. I remember staring at it for a few seconds before I ran down the stairs and out of the house. I went to my neighbors and called the police. Within minutes they were there and investigating the house, asking me all kinds of questions. The thing was, it was not a knife I owned. I have no idea how it got in my home. After a few hours, they left. They took the knife, and dozens of pictures. They found no trace of anything out of place. As I shut the door behind me, I walked up the stairs to my room once more. As I walked into my room, I saw my cat standing on my bed, exactly where the knife had been. Only this time, she had something in her mouth, and it was dripping. In horror, I watched her drop the object onto my bed and look up at me, as if proud of her find. It was a finger. A human finger. Freshly severed. I felt the room start spinning and I felt dizzy. My stomach started doing flips and she just stared at me and mowed happily.
	[WP]You adopt a stray cat. The gifts it leaves on your bed are getting more concerning.	From the moment Elliot found the cat he knew it was a little odd. Most obviously there was the coat. A tabby cat, at least by day, by night the cat sported a coat of many colors. Its thin bands of black fur changed to suit its mood or environment, and the warm brown could grow very much warmer, or chill all the way to midnight blue. Often, Elliot would find the cat stretched out on a windowsill as the sun went down. They would sit together as the moon rose and the cat decided his colors for the night. He seemed happiest with silver bands, as if little strips of moonlight had come down to clothe him. There was also the fact that the cat knew his name. Elliot tried to call him many things: Simba, Charlie, Smokey. He tried Milo after Google told him it was very popular and the cat (silver striped that night) shook his head immediately and rammed his nose into Elliot’s. He tried Sampson on account of the cat’s magic hair, and Kit Kat just because. And then, when Elliot was very sure that he’d never know the cat’s name, it darted out through the open window and disappeared into the alley where Elliot had found him. In the morning the cat returned, an empty mochi box clutched between his teeth. “Mochi?” Elliot said. Mochi the cat nodded and rammed his nose into Elliot’s again. They found a rhythm in their cloistered days. Outside a pandemic raged. Inside, Elliot found that not much had changed. When the lockdowns set in he’d shut himself in and locked his doors like the rest of them, turned to delivery apps and Netflix, and occasionally his guitar, though all his passions had waned steadily in the last years. So together they waited, but when the sun set all their rhythm fell away and Mochi sat in his windowsill, all the colors of his fur shifting until Elliot opened the window and let him out again. And every morning Mochi would come back, hopping through the window onto Elliot’s chest with the night’s discovery clutched between his teeth. Like his fur and his name, these too were a little odd. Mochi brought him little keys and little boxes that never matched each other, he brought postcards and stamps, tattered photos and expired plane tickets. Mochi dropped them onto Elliot’s chest and then stared down at his human, bumping noses until Elliot dragged himself out of bed. He pried most of the little boxes open. There was never anything in them but a scent; Elliot could have spent a lifetime trying to define them. They smelled like… Freedom. The outdoors. A place where wind blew across the trees and there were flowers, people there to see them. And always, the gifts came right at the moment Elliot needed them the most. The walls had been closing in you see. They had been closing in for a very long time. In time, as the pandemic morphed around them and people began to leave again, Elliot realized that one of those intrepid people must have been looking for Mochi. He’d found the cat in the alley by his apartment, but he’d been well-groomed and used to people. If he was a little thin at the time that had been easily remedied, and the cat had never gotten sick since. He must have had his shots, or whatever else it was one did to take care of a cat. There was the matter of his name as well. Mochi. Mochi. Elliot thought it a unique name for a cat. That night Mochi brought him paper and a pencil. Every night after that he brought him receipts, all from businesses along the same few streets. Receipts for cigarettes or candy bars, energy drinks and sugar-free sodas. The message was clear. Elliot sat with Mochi on the windowsill, staring up at the moon that so loved the cat, and he wanted more than anything for Mochi to be his cat. It had been a very long time since Elliot loved someone. Even before the pandemic and the connections he’d lost with it, Elliot hadn’t been good at things like that. But Mochi was. Mochi was a little ball of light. Silver light. Warm browns. A meow like sawing wood but that was okay, Mochi was his cat. Elliot said as much. He looked down at little Mochi and said “I’m sorry buddy. You understand, don’t you?” The moon was high above. It was full and beautiful. Mochi looked up at him with big, luminous eyes. His fur dimmed. The silver left his bands, and the cat became coal black. In the morning there were no gifts. Elliot stared at the pile of receipts, stared at Mochi on his window sill. Stared at the paper and the pencil, and the days, months, and years ahead if he did what Mochi so obviously wanted. It was awful. Elliot’s hands trembled when he reached out, and he didn’t know if he was reaching for the cat or the pencil, or if he was just reaching for anything at all. He put his hand down. He looked up and around. Elliot saw the mess, the abandoned guitar. The worn computer chair and the walls that might have been six inches away from him wherever he stood. Or sat. Or lay. “Please,” Elliot said. Mochi meowed. When the moon came there was no silver in him, just coal-black and open, sleepless eyes. In the morning, the final morning, Elliot pulled Mochi off the windowsill and onto the bed. He stared into the cat’s eyes, wishing Mochi would bump his nose again, and said, “I get it. You’ve got people to go home to, don’t you?” Mochi meowed. He nodded. Elliot wrapped him up in a hug and squirmed in his arms, made distressed put-me-down noises. But Elliot couldn’t put him down. He said, “I can’t lose you too,” and Mochi meowed again. Elliot said, “Mochi please!” And Mochi meowed again. And then Elliot put him down. Mochi was his normal tabby self, warm browns and thin black bands. He’d filled out since Elliot had found him. Elliot had done the math the night before, it had been six months. Six shockingly quick months. He didn’t know where the time had gone. He didn’t know when he’d last gone farther than the alley. “Okay,” Elliot said. “Okay, buddy. I get it. Just know that I appreciated it. You. I owe you one. Or a lot. Or…” Mochi stretched up, put his paws on Elliot’s shoulder, and bumped his nose. “Meow,” Mochi said, that awful sawing wood sound. Then he turned and leapt off Elliot’s lap, scurried under the desk, and rooted around until he found something. He came back with a box in his mouth. A small black box, tattered all around. “Meow,” Mochi tried to say. “When did you get this?” Elliot asked. “I thought I opened all of them. Mochi dropped the box into Elliot’s lap. It wasn’t locked. He was surprised by that, all the others had been. Elliot opened the box, dropped it again. He stared at the thing inside for a very long time before he said, “Mochi, what am I supposed to do with this?” The cat plucked out the ring and stuffed it into the pocket of Elliot’s favorite coat. “Meow,” Mochi said. It didn’t take long to make Missing posters. Truthfully, Elliot had drawn them up a long time ago, when Mochi first brought the pencil and the paper. He hadn’t been able to admit to himself that he needed them, but now that he had Elliot simply printed them up. He found an old roll of tape and the leash and collar he’d ordered when he’d thought of taking Mochi for a walk. They got to the apartment door before Elliot froze. He was shaking. He hadn’t left in such a long time, not since he’d heard those pitiful meows beneath the window and gone to investigate. And the streets where the receipts were from were across town. He’d have to take a bus. There would be questions. People would look at him. “Meow,” Mochi said. “I know buddy, I know.” Elliot was shaking. He reached down and petted the cat until the warmth was back in his hands. “Mochi?” “Meow?” “I love you, buddy.” “Meow,” Mochi said.	I thought it was adorable at first. It started a few days after I brought her home. I had a giant potted plant in my living room. It's leaves were bigger than the cats head. She would rip an entire leaf off the plant, and carry it all the way up the stairs, down the hall to my bedroom and leave it on my bed. It was cute, but upsetting since I loved this plant and had it for a couple years. After a couple leaves, she would get into my laundry and began leaving me socks. Always different socks. Different colors, and she never grabbed the same sock twice. This went on for a couple weeks. It wasn't ever day mind you. Just every 2-3 days. after about a month, is when it got weird. Things that I know she shouldn't have been able to grab ended up on the bed. Potatoes are one thing. Rather large, but no teeth marks. How did she get it up the stairs and onto my bed? Then there was the can of chicken noodle soup. Not the small one either, the bigger one. The one you get when your really hungry or really really like soup. After the can of soup, it stared escalating. Shoes, bars of soap, coat hangers, shampoo bottle and a picture frame. I started putting things away more, thinking it would help. I got into the habit of not leaving a single thing out. I got child locks on kitchen cabinets. I kept all the doors in the house closed, but somehow, that just made it even worse. Exactly 3 months after I brought her home, I found a knife. I remember coming home from work that day. I walked up the stairs to my room and opened my door. I remember thinking I had finally won. She hadn't brought anything in since I shut all the doors. She was even sleeping on the couch when I came home. But when I walked into my room I could feel the color drain from my face. A knife. And not just any knife, it was a bloody one. I remember staring at it for a few seconds before I ran down the stairs and out of the house. I went to my neighbors and called the police. Within minutes they were there and investigating the house, asking me all kinds of questions. The thing was, it was not a knife I owned. I have no idea how it got in my home. After a few hours, they left. They took the knife, and dozens of pictures. They found no trace of anything out of place. As I shut the door behind me, I walked up the stairs to my room once more. As I walked into my room, I saw my cat standing on my bed, exactly where the knife had been. Only this time, she had something in her mouth, and it was dripping. In horror, I watched her drop the object onto my bed and look up at me, as if proud of her find. It was a finger. A human finger. Freshly severed. I felt the room start spinning and I felt dizzy. My stomach started doing flips and she just stared at me and mowed happily.
	[WP]You adopt a stray cat. The gifts it leaves on your bed are getting more concerning.	It was a calico cat, shaded by darkness on half its scruffy face, scorched by flame on the other. The moon and sun heading towards an eclipse over a pale mountain of white fur. For weeks after Josh had moved back to the family home, the cat had watched him. Sat outside the windows, or lay in the yard in the maple-shadows, or on the cooler evenings, on the burnt brown grass. ”If you hadn’t fed it,” said Nina, Josh’s girlfriend who’d come down from Maine for the week, “then it would’ve got the message eventually and gone bothered some other soft-hearted guy. We’d have been left in wonderful peace.” Josh didn’t think so. He’d resisted feeding it for weeks, but the cat hadn’t seemed to care. It didn’t seem to be fussed about the food — although it ate it. Maybe Josh just wanted to believe it was about him, not the tuna. Maybe, if he was being totally truthful to himself, he believed the cat held some kind of connection to his mother. A link. Maybe she’d looked after it and it missed her as much as he did. Now the cat, Fia — flickering fire — lounged on the sofa, ear cocked as if listening in. ”It had been so lonely,” said Josh. Nina opened her mouth, about to ask if he meant the cat or himself. But she knew the answer and bit her tongue. Josh’s mother had lived here alone for the last six years, after Josh’s father passed away. His brother lived in Germany, having gone to university in Munich and have fallen in love. He stayed there, married, and rarely visited. And then Josh’s mother had gone missing on a mountain walk. Neighbor saw her leave but not return. Rangers found no trace, only her car parked near the entrance to the trail. This house that once must have brimmed with loved, warmed itself with laughter, had been desolate when Josh moved back. Empty. Nina thought how that must have affected Josh. She knew how similar events had hurt her in the past. How those memories you must have of childhood and of unconditional love get wrung out of your heart by the rough-handed realities of life. And of death. ”Besides, he’s a lovely cat,” said Josh. ”Aren’t you boy?” Josh sat by Fia’s side and stroked him until he purred, as if he’d started up a mower. “He’d be nicer if he didn’t leave us… gifts, every morning.” Gifts was Josh’s term. Dead birds, live rats, plastic bags stuffed with used condoms and tissues and needles — and god knew what else because she’d retched at that point and dropped the bag. When she’d regained her composure she placed the bag inside two more bags and used a pair of tongs to carry it all to the outside trash. “I’m sure he’ll quit with it soon. Won’t you, Fia?” Fia rubbed his head against Josh’s knuckle in a non-committal answer. “He’ll have to — there won’t be anything left to dig up soon.” She yawned lazily. “I’m going to bed. Don’t you two stay up too late.” “I’ll be in shortly. Besides, you know what Fia’s like. He’ll be gone for the night soon. Wherever it is he goes.” “To the local tip I should think.”	I thought it was adorable at first. It started a few days after I brought her home. I had a giant potted plant in my living room. It's leaves were bigger than the cats head. She would rip an entire leaf off the plant, and carry it all the way up the stairs, down the hall to my bedroom and leave it on my bed. It was cute, but upsetting since I loved this plant and had it for a couple years. After a couple leaves, she would get into my laundry and began leaving me socks. Always different socks. Different colors, and she never grabbed the same sock twice. This went on for a couple weeks. It wasn't ever day mind you. Just every 2-3 days. after about a month, is when it got weird. Things that I know she shouldn't have been able to grab ended up on the bed. Potatoes are one thing. Rather large, but no teeth marks. How did she get it up the stairs and onto my bed? Then there was the can of chicken noodle soup. Not the small one either, the bigger one. The one you get when your really hungry or really really like soup. After the can of soup, it stared escalating. Shoes, bars of soap, coat hangers, shampoo bottle and a picture frame. I started putting things away more, thinking it would help. I got into the habit of not leaving a single thing out. I got child locks on kitchen cabinets. I kept all the doors in the house closed, but somehow, that just made it even worse. Exactly 3 months after I brought her home, I found a knife. I remember coming home from work that day. I walked up the stairs to my room and opened my door. I remember thinking I had finally won. She hadn't brought anything in since I shut all the doors. She was even sleeping on the couch when I came home. But when I walked into my room I could feel the color drain from my face. A knife. And not just any knife, it was a bloody one. I remember staring at it for a few seconds before I ran down the stairs and out of the house. I went to my neighbors and called the police. Within minutes they were there and investigating the house, asking me all kinds of questions. The thing was, it was not a knife I owned. I have no idea how it got in my home. After a few hours, they left. They took the knife, and dozens of pictures. They found no trace of anything out of place. As I shut the door behind me, I walked up the stairs to my room once more. As I walked into my room, I saw my cat standing on my bed, exactly where the knife had been. Only this time, she had something in her mouth, and it was dripping. In horror, I watched her drop the object onto my bed and look up at me, as if proud of her find. It was a finger. A human finger. Freshly severed. I felt the room start spinning and I felt dizzy. My stomach started doing flips and she just stared at me and mowed happily.
	[WP]You adopt a stray cat. The gifts it leaves on your bed are getting more concerning.	I blinked hard, rubbed my eyes, and blinked again. Nope, still there. But I tried again, shaking my head this time, as if that would change things. But no, still here. Jason Momoa was sprawled out on my bed, looking around in abject confusion. I sighed, hard. 'Look what the cat dragged in,' I muttered. Jason stared at me. 'What?' he asked. I shrugged. 'Umm, hi. Sorry. My cat is really enthusiastic.' I gestured vaguely at the small striped beast, camped out on my pillow, looking smug. Jason eyed the cat warily. The cat looked at him for a moment unimpressed, and began to wash his face. 'Can I....' Jason began and struggled to sit up. 'I wouldn't,' I said. The cat put a paw on Jason and he immediately froze. 'How is he doing this?' Jason screeched. I sighed again. 'I don't know. All I know is one day I wished I had some hot chocolate. I found hot chocolate packets on the bed, with the car purring over them. Cool, right? I asked out loud for a fuzzy pink sweater, and the car brought that too. Wrong size, but probably a hint that I should lose a few. And this time....' I trailed off. 'This time what?' Jason asked, still struggling under the cat's paw. 'The pool at the gym was closed last night. Code brown,' I explained. 'When I came home, I was on the phone and I said.... I said....' Jason raised an eyebrow. 'I said this was a job for Aquaman.'	When Mrs. Blanchard rolled onto her side and tugged on her blanket, sunlight hit her face. Her eyes opened, then she screamed. A dead mouse's glassy eyes stared at her. Mrs. Blanchard's hands reacted without conscious choice, and she sent the little carcass flying to the other end of the room. She sat up in bed, still hyperventilating. The high-pitched mewing of a cat startled her. But the cat was her cat and Mrs. Blanchard knew that it lived with her under the same roof. Confirming that the cat was indeed hers Mrs. Blanchard took some deep breaths and composed herself as the cat jumped on the bed to snuggle with her owner. "You surprised me there Caramel," Mrs. Blanchard said and stroked the cat. Then she went about her day as usual thinking nothing of the dead mouse, thinking it was an unhappy accident whose result had to be put into the garbage bin. But she was greeted the next day by a sock that looked familiar. The day after there was a necktie. Mrs. Blanchard inquired about the clothes in her neighborhood. No one had lost so much as a wet rag. Then there was a ring. Mrs. Blanchard's wedding ring. It was not the one she had stored away in the cupboard. Mr. Blanchard won't return her calls. Then there was an ear. It looked familiar. "Oh god, Caramel. What have you done!"
	[WP]You adopt a stray cat. The gifts it leaves on your bed are getting more concerning.	Naxos was a long slim cat, half Siamese with a light mottled coloring that reminded Julia of the marble from the Greek island that gave the cat her name. Julia wasn't usually one to take in stray animals, but when she first saw the cat hiding from the rain on her doorstep, soaked, she let her in to warm by the fire, and fed her, and after that Julia was her owner, as far as Naxos was concerned. She got out all the old cat stuff from where it had been stowed in the garage and that was that. The dead mouse on her bed the next morning was a little concerning, but since the mouse had obviously been inside the house already she decided that she preferred it to whatever the creature had been doing before it got to her bed. "Good job, Naxos," she said, stroking the cat's fur. "But you can keep that. Mice aren't really my thing." The next morning she was awoken by a lot of movement on the bed. Without opening her eyes, she mumbled to Naxos to settle down. "Oh, sorry," said a deep voice from beside her. Julia jumped out of bed and scrambled for the wooden dowel she kept under her nightstand as a weapon. She saw the source of the voice was a handsome, half-naked man. "Who are you? What are you doing here? I'm calling the police. Get out." The man raised his hands in surrender to the stick she waved in front of him. "Sorry, the cat made me come in here. I think it was supposed to be a surprise, but I realize — yeah — thinking about it now... It's kind of weird. Imma head out." Naxos was sitting at the bedroom door as the man left. Julia gave her a look. "You should be preventing strange men from coming into my bed. Especially ones that are — I'm gonna say drunk? No men in my bed." The cat seemed to nod and sauntered off. The next morning, Julia was again awakened by a lot of movement on her bed. She reached out a hand towards her dowel. "That better not be a drunk guy," she said before opening her eyes. "The cat told me to come here," said the woman sitting on the bed. She was not nearly as half-naked as the man. In fact, she was wearing an old sweater covered in cat hair. "Out, you crazy person," Julia said, pointing with her dowel. "Cat's can't talk and I'm getting new locks." "Well, Naxos said you needed company and weren't into men." "I'm into men just fine. Get out. Cats can't talk. Naxos, can you talk?" "No," said the cat. "See. I've known that cat three days and she's never lied to me." When the woman had left, Julia turned to the cat. "Did you talk before?" "Meow," said the cat. "That sounded like you just said the word meow instead of actually meowing." "Purr," said the cat, rubbing up against her leg. "Imma get some coffee." The next morning, Julia was again awakened by a lot of movement on her bed. She already had the dowel in her hand under the blanket. "That better not be a person," she said. "If it is and the cat told you to come here, just leave. The locksmith is coming today." When no answer came, she peeked open an eye. Naxos was sitting on the bed, next to a pile of cash. "Where did you get this?" "Um— Meow?" Naxos responded, refusing to look Julia in the eyes. "I don't need these gifts. You can stay here without them." Naxos bent to pick up one of the bundles of bills in her teeth, and began to take it away. "Wait. Since it's already here you can leave it. Just stick to mice in the future." "Okay. Purr," said the cat. Julia squinted at Naxos and pursed her lips. "And cats can't talk." \[This story dedicated to Naxos, the clumsy half-Siamese furball, R.I.P.\] \[More at r/c_avery_m\]	When Mrs. Blanchard rolled onto her side and tugged on her blanket, sunlight hit her face. Her eyes opened, then she screamed. A dead mouse's glassy eyes stared at her. Mrs. Blanchard's hands reacted without conscious choice, and she sent the little carcass flying to the other end of the room. She sat up in bed, still hyperventilating. The high-pitched mewing of a cat startled her. But the cat was her cat and Mrs. Blanchard knew that it lived with her under the same roof. Confirming that the cat was indeed hers Mrs. Blanchard took some deep breaths and composed herself as the cat jumped on the bed to snuggle with her owner. "You surprised me there Caramel," Mrs. Blanchard said and stroked the cat. Then she went about her day as usual thinking nothing of the dead mouse, thinking it was an unhappy accident whose result had to be put into the garbage bin. But she was greeted the next day by a sock that looked familiar. The day after there was a necktie. Mrs. Blanchard inquired about the clothes in her neighborhood. No one had lost so much as a wet rag. Then there was a ring. Mrs. Blanchard's wedding ring. It was not the one she had stored away in the cupboard. Mr. Blanchard won't return her calls. Then there was an ear. It looked familiar. "Oh god, Caramel. What have you done!"
	[WP]You adopt a stray cat. The gifts it leaves on your bed are getting more concerning.	From the moment Elliot found the cat he knew it was a little odd. Most obviously there was the coat. A tabby cat, at least by day, by night the cat sported a coat of many colors. Its thin bands of black fur changed to suit its mood or environment, and the warm brown could grow very much warmer, or chill all the way to midnight blue. Often, Elliot would find the cat stretched out on a windowsill as the sun went down. They would sit together as the moon rose and the cat decided his colors for the night. He seemed happiest with silver bands, as if little strips of moonlight had come down to clothe him. There was also the fact that the cat knew his name. Elliot tried to call him many things: Simba, Charlie, Smokey. He tried Milo after Google told him it was very popular and the cat (silver striped that night) shook his head immediately and rammed his nose into Elliot’s. He tried Sampson on account of the cat’s magic hair, and Kit Kat just because. And then, when Elliot was very sure that he’d never know the cat’s name, it darted out through the open window and disappeared into the alley where Elliot had found him. In the morning the cat returned, an empty mochi box clutched between his teeth. “Mochi?” Elliot said. Mochi the cat nodded and rammed his nose into Elliot’s again. They found a rhythm in their cloistered days. Outside a pandemic raged. Inside, Elliot found that not much had changed. When the lockdowns set in he’d shut himself in and locked his doors like the rest of them, turned to delivery apps and Netflix, and occasionally his guitar, though all his passions had waned steadily in the last years. So together they waited, but when the sun set all their rhythm fell away and Mochi sat in his windowsill, all the colors of his fur shifting until Elliot opened the window and let him out again. And every morning Mochi would come back, hopping through the window onto Elliot’s chest with the night’s discovery clutched between his teeth. Like his fur and his name, these too were a little odd. Mochi brought him little keys and little boxes that never matched each other, he brought postcards and stamps, tattered photos and expired plane tickets. Mochi dropped them onto Elliot’s chest and then stared down at his human, bumping noses until Elliot dragged himself out of bed. He pried most of the little boxes open. There was never anything in them but a scent; Elliot could have spent a lifetime trying to define them. They smelled like… Freedom. The outdoors. A place where wind blew across the trees and there were flowers, people there to see them. And always, the gifts came right at the moment Elliot needed them the most. The walls had been closing in you see. They had been closing in for a very long time. In time, as the pandemic morphed around them and people began to leave again, Elliot realized that one of those intrepid people must have been looking for Mochi. He’d found the cat in the alley by his apartment, but he’d been well-groomed and used to people. If he was a little thin at the time that had been easily remedied, and the cat had never gotten sick since. He must have had his shots, or whatever else it was one did to take care of a cat. There was the matter of his name as well. Mochi. Mochi. Elliot thought it a unique name for a cat. That night Mochi brought him paper and a pencil. Every night after that he brought him receipts, all from businesses along the same few streets. Receipts for cigarettes or candy bars, energy drinks and sugar-free sodas. The message was clear. Elliot sat with Mochi on the windowsill, staring up at the moon that so loved the cat, and he wanted more than anything for Mochi to be his cat. It had been a very long time since Elliot loved someone. Even before the pandemic and the connections he’d lost with it, Elliot hadn’t been good at things like that. But Mochi was. Mochi was a little ball of light. Silver light. Warm browns. A meow like sawing wood but that was okay, Mochi was his cat. Elliot said as much. He looked down at little Mochi and said “I’m sorry buddy. You understand, don’t you?” The moon was high above. It was full and beautiful. Mochi looked up at him with big, luminous eyes. His fur dimmed. The silver left his bands, and the cat became coal black. In the morning there were no gifts. Elliot stared at the pile of receipts, stared at Mochi on his window sill. Stared at the paper and the pencil, and the days, months, and years ahead if he did what Mochi so obviously wanted. It was awful. Elliot’s hands trembled when he reached out, and he didn’t know if he was reaching for the cat or the pencil, or if he was just reaching for anything at all. He put his hand down. He looked up and around. Elliot saw the mess, the abandoned guitar. The worn computer chair and the walls that might have been six inches away from him wherever he stood. Or sat. Or lay. “Please,” Elliot said. Mochi meowed. When the moon came there was no silver in him, just coal-black and open, sleepless eyes. In the morning, the final morning, Elliot pulled Mochi off the windowsill and onto the bed. He stared into the cat’s eyes, wishing Mochi would bump his nose again, and said, “I get it. You’ve got people to go home to, don’t you?” Mochi meowed. He nodded. Elliot wrapped him up in a hug and squirmed in his arms, made distressed put-me-down noises. But Elliot couldn’t put him down. He said, “I can’t lose you too,” and Mochi meowed again. Elliot said, “Mochi please!” And Mochi meowed again. And then Elliot put him down. Mochi was his normal tabby self, warm browns and thin black bands. He’d filled out since Elliot had found him. Elliot had done the math the night before, it had been six months. Six shockingly quick months. He didn’t know where the time had gone. He didn’t know when he’d last gone farther than the alley. “Okay,” Elliot said. “Okay, buddy. I get it. Just know that I appreciated it. You. I owe you one. Or a lot. Or…” Mochi stretched up, put his paws on Elliot’s shoulder, and bumped his nose. “Meow,” Mochi said, that awful sawing wood sound. Then he turned and leapt off Elliot’s lap, scurried under the desk, and rooted around until he found something. He came back with a box in his mouth. A small black box, tattered all around. “Meow,” Mochi tried to say. “When did you get this?” Elliot asked. “I thought I opened all of them. Mochi dropped the box into Elliot’s lap. It wasn’t locked. He was surprised by that, all the others had been. Elliot opened the box, dropped it again. He stared at the thing inside for a very long time before he said, “Mochi, what am I supposed to do with this?” The cat plucked out the ring and stuffed it into the pocket of Elliot’s favorite coat. “Meow,” Mochi said. It didn’t take long to make Missing posters. Truthfully, Elliot had drawn them up a long time ago, when Mochi first brought the pencil and the paper. He hadn’t been able to admit to himself that he needed them, but now that he had Elliot simply printed them up. He found an old roll of tape and the leash and collar he’d ordered when he’d thought of taking Mochi for a walk. They got to the apartment door before Elliot froze. He was shaking. He hadn’t left in such a long time, not since he’d heard those pitiful meows beneath the window and gone to investigate. And the streets where the receipts were from were across town. He’d have to take a bus. There would be questions. People would look at him. “Meow,” Mochi said. “I know buddy, I know.” Elliot was shaking. He reached down and petted the cat until the warmth was back in his hands. “Mochi?” “Meow?” “I love you, buddy.” “Meow,” Mochi said.	When Mrs. Blanchard rolled onto her side and tugged on her blanket, sunlight hit her face. Her eyes opened, then she screamed. A dead mouse's glassy eyes stared at her. Mrs. Blanchard's hands reacted without conscious choice, and she sent the little carcass flying to the other end of the room. She sat up in bed, still hyperventilating. The high-pitched mewing of a cat startled her. But the cat was her cat and Mrs. Blanchard knew that it lived with her under the same roof. Confirming that the cat was indeed hers Mrs. Blanchard took some deep breaths and composed herself as the cat jumped on the bed to snuggle with her owner. "You surprised me there Caramel," Mrs. Blanchard said and stroked the cat. Then she went about her day as usual thinking nothing of the dead mouse, thinking it was an unhappy accident whose result had to be put into the garbage bin. But she was greeted the next day by a sock that looked familiar. The day after there was a necktie. Mrs. Blanchard inquired about the clothes in her neighborhood. No one had lost so much as a wet rag. Then there was a ring. Mrs. Blanchard's wedding ring. It was not the one she had stored away in the cupboard. Mr. Blanchard won't return her calls. Then there was an ear. It looked familiar. "Oh god, Caramel. What have you done!"
	[WP]You adopt a stray cat. The gifts it leaves on your bed are getting more concerning.	It was a calico cat, shaded by darkness on half its scruffy face, scorched by flame on the other. The moon and sun heading towards an eclipse over a pale mountain of white fur. For weeks after Josh had moved back to the family home, the cat had watched him. Sat outside the windows, or lay in the yard in the maple-shadows, or on the cooler evenings, on the burnt brown grass. ”If you hadn’t fed it,” said Nina, Josh’s girlfriend who’d come down from Maine for the week, “then it would’ve got the message eventually and gone bothered some other soft-hearted guy. We’d have been left in wonderful peace.” Josh didn’t think so. He’d resisted feeding it for weeks, but the cat hadn’t seemed to care. It didn’t seem to be fussed about the food — although it ate it. Maybe Josh just wanted to believe it was about him, not the tuna. Maybe, if he was being totally truthful to himself, he believed the cat held some kind of connection to his mother. A link. Maybe she’d looked after it and it missed her as much as he did. Now the cat, Fia — flickering fire — lounged on the sofa, ear cocked as if listening in. ”It had been so lonely,” said Josh. Nina opened her mouth, about to ask if he meant the cat or himself. But she knew the answer and bit her tongue. Josh’s mother had lived here alone for the last six years, after Josh’s father passed away. His brother lived in Germany, having gone to university in Munich and have fallen in love. He stayed there, married, and rarely visited. And then Josh’s mother had gone missing on a mountain walk. Neighbor saw her leave but not return. Rangers found no trace, only her car parked near the entrance to the trail. This house that once must have brimmed with loved, warmed itself with laughter, had been desolate when Josh moved back. Empty. Nina thought how that must have affected Josh. She knew how similar events had hurt her in the past. How those memories you must have of childhood and of unconditional love get wrung out of your heart by the rough-handed realities of life. And of death. ”Besides, he’s a lovely cat,” said Josh. ”Aren’t you boy?” Josh sat by Fia’s side and stroked him until he purred, as if he’d started up a mower. “He’d be nicer if he didn’t leave us… gifts, every morning.” Gifts was Josh’s term. Dead birds, live rats, plastic bags stuffed with used condoms and tissues and needles — and god knew what else because she’d retched at that point and dropped the bag. When she’d regained her composure she placed the bag inside two more bags and used a pair of tongs to carry it all to the outside trash. “I’m sure he’ll quit with it soon. Won’t you, Fia?” Fia rubbed his head against Josh’s knuckle in a non-committal answer. “He’ll have to — there won’t be anything left to dig up soon.” She yawned lazily. “I’m going to bed. Don’t you two stay up too late.” “I’ll be in shortly. Besides, you know what Fia’s like. He’ll be gone for the night soon. Wherever it is he goes.” “To the local tip I should think.”	I found the most precious little thing near our street today. It's a beautiful red and white furball and I have decided to name it Crookwig because I'm a potterhead and it reminds of Hermione's cat, Crookshanks and Harry's owl, Hedwig. Anyway, I could see a new friendship blossoming. I'm so happy. ~ She's adorable. She likes to run like there's no tomorrow unlike most cats I've seen, in my defense the only pet cat I've studied up close is my sister's and it is a slob but not mine, no sir. Crookwig likes her shower, and on time, and if it's not on time she likes yowl. Also, she apparently likes to watch tv, a lot. ~ The first "gift" I received from Crookwig is, well innocent, it is a bit of paper, a design actually. I have absolutely no idea what it meant. I patted her head, showing her my gratitude. It is a thoughtful gift, atleast for a cat. ~ That day onwards the gifts kept getting weirder. One day it was a few screws and a metal pipe, then wires, then more items to construct something? Until today, all these seemed harmless, but today, today she brought a photo. She kept meowing until I picked up the photo and went to my computer to do a reverse image search. * Dr. Charlotte Anna Scientist Missing for a year * My heart gave a lurch. Is Crookwig Dr. Anna's cat. What happened to Dr. Anna. I picked up Crookwig and the photo she brought. It's time to go the Police. ~ Crookwig Of all the stupid experiments my brain had to pick the one where humans turned into animals. I just hope, this one knows what to do with the design.
	[WP] Despite common misconception, you're not marrying the local hero. You met him less than ten times, all for emergency issues. You're betrothed to a prince who will create a very good political alliance. You've known him since childhood. You're not letting that go for a goat herder!	I didn’t want to marry the local ‘Hero,’ Calvex was just a highly skilled knight, only without the title, more arrogance than you could fit in a member of the Royal family, and without the regret for his actions or the abnormal reactions to a piece of metal dropping to the ground and clanging. He thought that by ‘saving’ Zaren’s princess half a dozen times it would be grounds for me wishing to marry him. He was just a murderer, a fiend and a burden. He had killed innocent creatures for the sake of ‘saving’ someone, likely in an attempt to get on Father’s good side. The populace is on his side, and despite what I tell them when i’m out in the market they refuse to believe what I tell them, they refuse to believe me when I tell them that no, that lone wolf was not attacking me when Cavex decided to kill it. No, that group of peasants were not trying to thieve from me. No, those knights of a small kingdom were not trying to take me prisoner. Just to name half of his exploits. He caused a war for crying out loud, all because he thought two knights were being aggressive towards me. We annihilated a small kingdom and burned down entire cities, slaughtered families due to this… this imbecile! We subjugated an entire population to hell because of Calvex’s words alone, I was not even asked my story, I was shut down when I even tried to object. It is like he wants something from Father, the populace seems to have a consensus on marriage between him and I. That could never happen. I am already betrothed for the god sake! I am happy with that, Azra, Prince of Corvus is a kind man, that is rare considering the normalcy around marriage for money, power, or property over love. Sure, the marriage benefits both Zaren and Corvus, but that’s only part of the reason me and Azra have agreed to marriage. In our eyes, the political alliance is secondary to our love for one another, harboured since childhood no less! I won’t throw away such a rare thing for some… goat herder.	Silence, a commodity too valuable in desperate times. Beats, fleeing moments, echoed while uninviting cityscape. Towers erected in sandbox of houses, each sparkling as grains of dust soon to be blown away. Is house, now lost to horizon of glass and metal visible right now? There is no dust on sims, no wind lifting heavy clothes and jewelry as you peer trough mirror of an window outwards to setting sun. Stupid thick wall of mesmerizing fata-morgana. Avoid of light, nature and chatter in quadrata it felt so close yet distant. Single drop in the water, signaled the end of the beat falsely accommodating tradition. Staring at the receding sun, robust silhouette solemnly stared its gaze back. Why would he want to stay in a place that is so avoid of life? \- "Sir?" - screech arrogantly tore trough the air - "are you ready?" \- "No." - deep echo resonated from glass walls. - "I'm not coming down Mufti." \- "Sir?" - timid rasp voice of elderly man echoed back, fearfully. \- "I ... am sorry." - adamant disjointed words cut back at the lavish doorway. \- "Sir! Please..." \- "Halas!" Aggressively turning away from an empty sight, downing the light from the shadows, there stood an imposing man, covered in red, black and adorned in heavy jewelry. His shadow stretched eons, covering up to shoulders an elderly figure struck at the gold arch. Finally, silence. Mind emptied, finger faded into pale shade as his fingernails tore into his palms, yet silence was there when words needed to break it. Baby blue eyes of elderly man framed by his shadow stood wide and panicked. Order was given, and after years of wars and turbulence finally peace was achieved. So many blood, steel, carbon and bones were sacrificed only to be met with this moment, to this consolidation to ensure future eons of peace. \- "Sir, if i may speak freely?" - with small steps, Mufti pushed onto shadow a bit, framing his gaze and eye color in darkness. \- "Go on..." - cold, heartless voice echoed with an cold gaze directed at poor mans soul. \- "How many kith and kin have been lost so far?" - a breath of an silence - "Too much to bury and too much not to be felt further on! This union of you and master is only way to stop it! Do you wish more blood on your hands?" \- "You speak soo freely knowing i had nothing to do with it. I fought at side of the Empire against demons of Belgiroth! Do you dare question my loyalty?!" - thunder struck as glass vibrated in rage. \- "Of course not! But we won, and we need peace otherwise more blood will be shed! Master Aalee is a hero of the war! You have fought together at many battles, saved many lives! Why resist it?" \- "Ten! Ten battles! It took 10 battles for him to mercy his ass into helping!" \- "Still... why resist it?" - elderly figure continued to push onto the shadow with each word. Silence took over air once again, now what seemed years counted in beats of water clock, pushing agency on right response what shouldn't be given. Truth that has no merit in political landscape since it cuts trough all stories and lies. Disgusting sight of an elderly man almost covered in his shadow pleading for his mercy but still standing strong and proud brought memories. \- "Do you know what is most important thing in battle? Its what we fight for..." - sigh pushed trough the thickness of silence. - "Long time ago, I saw a young boy crying over dead bird. Later, now a man, that person and me spent years over mead enjoyed smiling faces of people passing by. We were happy. Do you know about whom I am talking about?" \- "Sir, Prince has made his position clear in front of the court. He will not be wed." \- "I know him more than you can ever dream of!" - a smile broke trough in echoes of the room. - "kindness of his soul has no limits! He cares more for his people than he does for himself!" \- "I know sir, but.. " \- "How can you know? How can you understand his pain?!" - dark eyes flashed across the lighting. -"when demons came, he and i rushed towards to fight them. For every child, parent and cattle! That is why i fought for! Not for glory! Not for name! And definitely not for that pompous glorified goat header! Do you hear me?!!" \- "I do sir." \- "So how can you ask me why I resist? A delicate and clumsy man, whom I love, let me go for benefit of the people! How can I not resist? How can I not loathe the sacrifice he had made!" Shame, agony, rage and anger boiled trough his veins pulsing together with thunder. This wedding would bring peace, would conjoin the people and government, will do so much good, yet it feels so wrong. A pair of blue eyes stared back at him, with focus and determination. Unable to remain imposing due to sympathy for the old man, who only tried to do what is right, figure stepped away - taking his burdening shadow with him. \- "Well..." - baby blue eyes sparkled - "go get my stupid son then." A figure now in light, covered by royal colors with an familiar blue eyes laughing with the corners stood alone and directed. It pierced trough the vail of silence as a fresh hot knife, as king showed himself. Smiling, reminiscing about two dumb kids who used to chase each other over court yard. \- "You two, however dear to me, are sometimes most ignorant and stupid people on this planet. Go! And seek your happiness, people will rejoice! Leave goat herder to me. "
	[WP] “Is that a….” The nuke explodes harmlessly against the alien starships shields. “Child’s toy? Yes,” the tired alien said. They were part of a group that helped the more…dumb races of the universe develop and evolve. But this race of “humans” would soon prove rather…difficult to educate.	Like stars, explosions dotted the sky above the Human homeworld. Each one the culmination of centuries worth of scientific advancement. Yet as each one faded, payload delivered with extreme prejudice, the alien vessels continued their descent. Aboard the largest of these vessels sat a man. A ruler, a conqueror, an enlightener. He’s been called many things by many peoples, but the Humans know him simply as Mors. Death. “They’re firing fusion weaponry, sir.” Came the voice of an officer. “Children’s toys. Continue our course.” He commanded. “They intend to eacape our lessons, to drive us away, but they will learn.” Further and further the ships descended until they rested mere miles above the planet. For a moment the world had calmed, as the vessels hovered and weapons ceased their fire. Then a crackling filled the air and upon every screen, every monitor, every device Morz began to speak. “Your civilization is primitive. You still squabble among yourselves, while larger threats mount against you. I’ve come to you today not for glory or enslavement. I’ve come to teach you a lesson all must learn. Know that I do not take joy in the coming conflict, that although it will hurt now you will thank me one day.” On the ground below Mors’ ship, the city of Tokyo gazed. It began with a hum, an energy filling the air. Louder and louder it grew, all the while frenzied citizens below attempted to flee. It would be in vain. A blinding light. Searing heat. Nothing. The city of Tokyo had been leveled. Thirty-seven million Japanese citizens were gone. And then, they left. Just like that. And Humanity was left to pick up the pieces. Where could they go from here? What were they to do? Mors came to teach them of harsh reality and in doing so slaughtered millions. So Humans did what they do best, they survived. Once more their fleet descended upon a world, its people fighting futilely against the advanced invaders. They stopped, mere miles above the surface. The screens filled with his face, Mors, as he delivered his speech. Arrogant and prideful, he truly believed what he preached. A hum filled the air beneath his ship. Louder and louder it grew, while citizens below attempted to flee. It would be in vain. A blinding light. Searing pain. Nothing. The flagship was gone. In it’s place was a new vessel, just as large but lighter in tone. It’s sleek curves a stark contrast to the hard edges of its counterpart. The rest of Mors’ fleet scattered. Humanity had defeated it’s greatest enemy. An enemy that taught them how large the universe is, and how small they really were. An enemy that instilled within them a sense of duty. To honor the lives taken in the Tokyo Annihilation, and to protect other from sharing such grisly fate.	We wrapped up the meeting on the fancy deck of the alien ship with our version of formality in pressed suits, powdered makeup, and human servants, their group carrying ancestors’ tentacles dry-pressed to golden clarity, shellacked, held aloft. Both species had a similar formality around eye contact and antagonism. Jasmette was being rather slow. Bitch. She had her job, like I had mine. Not a fun job, but it’s the human race and all, and we had a dinner to serve as cover and a bomb to set off. The formal group were doing their thing, we were supposed to get as deep as possible, pretend to be caterers. Her dumb ass looked me in the eye, shook her head, and walked back to the main group. Coward. I kept going. Not like I made it far. Odd gangways with ferns and little fairy lights on trees. Then I was lost. I figured it was the loss of planet gravity, getting used to ship gravity, totally messed up my sense of place. This ship was really unnerving, it felt like a real place. Ferns seemed to look at you, trees didn’t move in any wind, but still moved. I had the bomb, Jasmette was just supposed to mind me. Tell me when to stop or turn. I could set it off without her. I kept going, and started thinking about her head shake. I sat down hard against a tree root, carefully managing my chest- and back-strapped bomb as I settled. I looked at a fern for a while. It tilted a little towards me. That bitch might be right. After a rest in that odd, beautiful fern-covered canyon, I went back. I didn’t tell the aliens about the suicide nuke I’d walked into their home and then walked out. We’d tried so many times to hit them from the outside. I don’t know if I was scared to die, or if I didn’t want to bring death to that pretty place. But I went back, unstrapped the pack, and started scrubbing people dishes. And listening to the conversation. I think, if anything changes after today, I’m going to listen and think more.
	[WP] “Is that a….” The nuke explodes harmlessly against the alien starships shields. “Child’s toy? Yes,” the tired alien said. They were part of a group that helped the more…dumb races of the universe develop and evolve. But this race of “humans” would soon prove rather…difficult to educate.	"OK... Let's try this one more time... You are used to three dimensions, and in those three VERY SPECIFIC dimensions, yes life has a start and an end. Things could be damaged and entropy destroyed those things over time, but the vast majority of life does not actually exist in those dimensions. Your species was a part of a... rather unethical experiment in what life would look like in those dimensions, but the culprit has been stopped and sent to exist in a set of dimensions that isolate him from our existence. We have brought you to the dimensions the rest of us exist in to try and acclimate you to.. " " NUKE IT AGAIN! LAUNCH THEM ALL" the human screamed again ¥¢© sighed. This was the third "world leader" they'd pulled into real time to explain the situation, and each one had pulled out the same kids toys that ¿~¶ had rigged their dimension sets power source as. Heck he'd not even attached a ÷¥¢ which meant that there was a speed limit in these poor beings universe. Then he put just a single seeded planet in the entire set. ¥¢© couldn't imagine feeling that isolated and alone. It was no wonder these beings were so messed up. Barely existing for more than a couple of § and then not even getting to exist long enough to even °#@. Her group had been tipped off by an anonymous lead that ¿~¶ was conducting a new experiment even after he'd had all of his resources stripped away. How he'd even been able to rig this up with this handful of junk was beyond her. Her and her group had now begun the process of seeing if any of these beings could be integrated into real time. So far random selection had shown that most of them would reject this information as a hallucination, or end up sent to treatment when trying to explain to the other beings what was happening. Thus the attempt to pull in the being's selected leaders. That turned out to be much worse. Something about the limited time of existence seemed to lead to these beings picking only some of the worst of them to be in charge. ¥¢© made up her mind. "OK I'm just gonna have to go in myself. Give me the ¬¬~¿ and I'll see if I can talk some sense into them." ... Two £× later ¥¢© emerged from the ¬¬¿ weeping. "Just leave it be. Let them exist until they wipe themselves out. I set up a way for those that heard me to get into a quarantine zone where we can try to recondition them, but having been in there.." she shuddered. "I'm going to need a very strong drink and a 🔷🟫🟪 before I can calm down enough.The isolation we put ¿~¶ is too good for him...	We wrapped up the meeting on the fancy deck of the alien ship with our version of formality in pressed suits, powdered makeup, and human servants, their group carrying ancestors’ tentacles dry-pressed to golden clarity, shellacked, held aloft. Both species had a similar formality around eye contact and antagonism. Jasmette was being rather slow. Bitch. She had her job, like I had mine. Not a fun job, but it’s the human race and all, and we had a dinner to serve as cover and a bomb to set off. The formal group were doing their thing, we were supposed to get as deep as possible, pretend to be caterers. Her dumb ass looked me in the eye, shook her head, and walked back to the main group. Coward. I kept going. Not like I made it far. Odd gangways with ferns and little fairy lights on trees. Then I was lost. I figured it was the loss of planet gravity, getting used to ship gravity, totally messed up my sense of place. This ship was really unnerving, it felt like a real place. Ferns seemed to look at you, trees didn’t move in any wind, but still moved. I had the bomb, Jasmette was just supposed to mind me. Tell me when to stop or turn. I could set it off without her. I kept going, and started thinking about her head shake. I sat down hard against a tree root, carefully managing my chest- and back-strapped bomb as I settled. I looked at a fern for a while. It tilted a little towards me. That bitch might be right. After a rest in that odd, beautiful fern-covered canyon, I went back. I didn’t tell the aliens about the suicide nuke I’d walked into their home and then walked out. We’d tried so many times to hit them from the outside. I don’t know if I was scared to die, or if I didn’t want to bring death to that pretty place. But I went back, unstrapped the pack, and started scrubbing people dishes. And listening to the conversation. I think, if anything changes after today, I’m going to listen and think more.
	[WP] “Is that a….” The nuke explodes harmlessly against the alien starships shields. “Child’s toy? Yes,” the tired alien said. They were part of a group that helped the more…dumb races of the universe develop and evolve. But this race of “humans” would soon prove rather…difficult to educate.	Through the shields, the bombs were little flashes in the night. Occasionally the shields sparked blue and the dissipating energies blotted out the stars. In those times Siala gripped the armrests of her chair a little tighter, glancing over at Maitresse for support. Nothing moved except her eyes. Maitresse was a creature carved from ice. Pale skin peeked out from the edges of a black uniform, her dark hair was knotted and piled upon her head. She held a death wand loosely in her right hand, its end faintly hazing the space in front of her. When she looked at Siala, the girl thought her eyes were brighter than all the bombs combined. “Why are you afraid?” Maitresse said. “They’re only toys, child. Your own tantrums were far worse.” Siala ducked her head. “Yes, Maitresse. It’s just that…” “Speak up, girl.” “It’s just that I haven’t seen a bomb in quite a while. I haven’t been a child in a long time.” “Is that so?” Maitresse said. Her eyes turned the shocking blue of her laughter, like stepping suddenly into ice water. Siala bowed deeply. “Look outside Siala, what do you see?” Siala saw warships, an entire fleet ranging from one side of the viewscreen to another. They were bright chevrons in an ocean of night, each one picked out by the computer systems and outlined in subtle hues as befitted their class. A playful green for the nimble corvettes and blastboats that scoured their shields, pink for the frigates and gold for the cruisers— the ice blue of Maitresse’s eyes for the carriers. Siala saw them vomiting missiles and starfighters, each outlined in their colors until it seemed they were being assaulted by a company of rainbows. Siala thought that when she went to sleep that night she would dream about what she saw, dream that the starfighters coalesced into great arcing formations and spiraled around their little ship, tightening and tightening until they trailed rainbow skirts all the way home. “I see war,” Siala said. “War. Child, pray that you never see a real war. Try again.” Siala pursed her lips. She stared out again, resisting the urge to filter the information through her console. Her Maitresse was old-fashioned, she still believed in the power of intuition. “I see…” Siala said haltingly. “Maitresse, I’m afraid this will sound…” “Childish?” “You knew?” Maitresse nodded. She twirled the death wand absently between her fingers, leaning back into her command chair as the shields went blue. The same blue as Maitresse’s laughter, as the human carriers. The shields bathed the bridge in it, until all the officers seemed like statues carved of ice, standing at attention by their stations so that Siala and her Maitresse might chat as the world burned. “It’s like the comics I used to read,” Siala said. “Like Iska, she was my favorite.” Maitresse’s smile was yellow, the deep, iridescent yellow of their home sun. “She was mine too when I was young.” Siala took a deep breath. “There was one issue where Iska found a planet where the colonies had failed. There were all sorts of native species there— and oh it was so improbable, three of them were even sentient! When the colony failed the natives got into the playpens, ransacked the daycares. They got into the armories too, but they couldn’t figure out how to use any of our real weapons. “When Iska found them, the natives tried to hide the bombs. They gave her good food and strong drinks, and they wove her the most beautiful dress I’d ever seen. I made a copy once, wove it out of Terrari silk for my sixteenth birthday.” The brilliant yellow once again. “You must have looked very beautiful,” Maitresse said. “Thank you,” Siala said. Maitresse leaned forward. The death wand tapped a steady beat against her nose, obscuring her eyes, her hair. “Now Siala, how did Iska find out about the bombs?” “One of the native children showed her,” Siala said. “Iska befriended a boy she saved from a Terak Beast, and in return, he offered to give her the real tour of his home. He’d only been in trouble with the beast because he’d been out in the forest to bring his father the lunch pail he forgot. His father worked in the bunker where they kept the bombs, you see.” Maitresse nodded. The death wand tapped against her cheek now, obscuring all of her head above the predatory line of her lips and fangs. “Then these natives,” Maitresse said, “they were intelligent enough to know that they should hide their toys from us.” “Yes, Maitresse.” “Interesting. Tell me, how did it all end?” Siala’s eyes widened. “Why Maitresse, if you ever read Iska then you know.” The death wand was at her chin now, and Maitresse was lost in the gloom. “I want you to say it.” “It was Iska,” Siala whispered, “they all died in the end.” “And to think, that was a race intelligent enough hide their toys." Maitresse set the death wand down. Her eyes were icy blue. The world was icy blue. The crew were cold and distant statues, and everywhere Siala looked she saw only Maitresse’s eyes. “Thank you, Siala. You may fire when ready.” That night she dreamed about the rainbows. The starfighters coalesced, spiraling around Maitresse’s little ship like a gorgeous rainbow skirt. But the skirt got tighter, and tighter, and tighter, until Siala realized she couldn’t breathe. She sucked down heaving breaths and there was nothing but the cold of space. She felt her lungs freeze, felt something bubbling up from inside, tearing its way out into the world. It was a laugh. An ice-blue laugh, so raw it was shaped by the lips and throat and not the eyes. So loud it could drown out the screams. So foreign that it could only be Maitresse. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you!	We wrapped up the meeting on the fancy deck of the alien ship with our version of formality in pressed suits, powdered makeup, and human servants, their group carrying ancestors’ tentacles dry-pressed to golden clarity, shellacked, held aloft. Both species had a similar formality around eye contact and antagonism. Jasmette was being rather slow. Bitch. She had her job, like I had mine. Not a fun job, but it’s the human race and all, and we had a dinner to serve as cover and a bomb to set off. The formal group were doing their thing, we were supposed to get as deep as possible, pretend to be caterers. Her dumb ass looked me in the eye, shook her head, and walked back to the main group. Coward. I kept going. Not like I made it far. Odd gangways with ferns and little fairy lights on trees. Then I was lost. I figured it was the loss of planet gravity, getting used to ship gravity, totally messed up my sense of place. This ship was really unnerving, it felt like a real place. Ferns seemed to look at you, trees didn’t move in any wind, but still moved. I had the bomb, Jasmette was just supposed to mind me. Tell me when to stop or turn. I could set it off without her. I kept going, and started thinking about her head shake. I sat down hard against a tree root, carefully managing my chest- and back-strapped bomb as I settled. I looked at a fern for a while. It tilted a little towards me. That bitch might be right. After a rest in that odd, beautiful fern-covered canyon, I went back. I didn’t tell the aliens about the suicide nuke I’d walked into their home and then walked out. We’d tried so many times to hit them from the outside. I don’t know if I was scared to die, or if I didn’t want to bring death to that pretty place. But I went back, unstrapped the pack, and started scrubbing people dishes. And listening to the conversation. I think, if anything changes after today, I’m going to listen and think more.
	[WP] “Is that a….” The nuke explodes harmlessly against the alien starships shields. “Child’s toy? Yes,” the tired alien said. They were part of a group that helped the more…dumb races of the universe develop and evolve. But this race of “humans” would soon prove rather…difficult to educate.	"OK... Let's try this one more time... You are used to three dimensions, and in those three VERY SPECIFIC dimensions, yes life has a start and an end. Things could be damaged and entropy destroyed those things over time, but the vast majority of life does not actually exist in those dimensions. Your species was a part of a... rather unethical experiment in what life would look like in those dimensions, but the culprit has been stopped and sent to exist in a set of dimensions that isolate him from our existence. We have brought you to the dimensions the rest of us exist in to try and acclimate you to.. " " NUKE IT AGAIN! LAUNCH THEM ALL" the human screamed again ¥¢© sighed. This was the third "world leader" they'd pulled into real time to explain the situation, and each one had pulled out the same kids toys that ¿~¶ had rigged their dimension sets power source as. Heck he'd not even attached a ÷¥¢ which meant that there was a speed limit in these poor beings universe. Then he put just a single seeded planet in the entire set. ¥¢© couldn't imagine feeling that isolated and alone. It was no wonder these beings were so messed up. Barely existing for more than a couple of § and then not even getting to exist long enough to even °#@. Her group had been tipped off by an anonymous lead that ¿~¶ was conducting a new experiment even after he'd had all of his resources stripped away. How he'd even been able to rig this up with this handful of junk was beyond her. Her and her group had now begun the process of seeing if any of these beings could be integrated into real time. So far random selection had shown that most of them would reject this information as a hallucination, or end up sent to treatment when trying to explain to the other beings what was happening. Thus the attempt to pull in the being's selected leaders. That turned out to be much worse. Something about the limited time of existence seemed to lead to these beings picking only some of the worst of them to be in charge. ¥¢© made up her mind. "OK I'm just gonna have to go in myself. Give me the ¬¬~¿ and I'll see if I can talk some sense into them." ... Two £× later ¥¢© emerged from the ¬¬¿ weeping. "Just leave it be. Let them exist until they wipe themselves out. I set up a way for those that heard me to get into a quarantine zone where we can try to recondition them, but having been in there.." she shuddered. "I'm going to need a very strong drink and a 🔷🟫🟪 before I can calm down enough.The isolation we put ¿~¶ is too good for him...	Like stars, explosions dotted the sky above the Human homeworld. Each one the culmination of centuries worth of scientific advancement. Yet as each one faded, payload delivered with extreme prejudice, the alien vessels continued their descent. Aboard the largest of these vessels sat a man. A ruler, a conqueror, an enlightener. He’s been called many things by many peoples, but the Humans know him simply as Mors. Death. “They’re firing fusion weaponry, sir.” Came the voice of an officer. “Children’s toys. Continue our course.” He commanded. “They intend to eacape our lessons, to drive us away, but they will learn.” Further and further the ships descended until they rested mere miles above the planet. For a moment the world had calmed, as the vessels hovered and weapons ceased their fire. Then a crackling filled the air and upon every screen, every monitor, every device Morz began to speak. “Your civilization is primitive. You still squabble among yourselves, while larger threats mount against you. I’ve come to you today not for glory or enslavement. I’ve come to teach you a lesson all must learn. Know that I do not take joy in the coming conflict, that although it will hurt now you will thank me one day.” On the ground below Mors’ ship, the city of Tokyo gazed. It began with a hum, an energy filling the air. Louder and louder it grew, all the while frenzied citizens below attempted to flee. It would be in vain. A blinding light. Searing heat. Nothing. The city of Tokyo had been leveled. Thirty-seven million Japanese citizens were gone. And then, they left. Just like that. And Humanity was left to pick up the pieces. Where could they go from here? What were they to do? Mors came to teach them of harsh reality and in doing so slaughtered millions. So Humans did what they do best, they survived. Once more their fleet descended upon a world, its people fighting futilely against the advanced invaders. They stopped, mere miles above the surface. The screens filled with his face, Mors, as he delivered his speech. Arrogant and prideful, he truly believed what he preached. A hum filled the air beneath his ship. Louder and louder it grew, while citizens below attempted to flee. It would be in vain. A blinding light. Searing pain. Nothing. The flagship was gone. In it’s place was a new vessel, just as large but lighter in tone. It’s sleek curves a stark contrast to the hard edges of its counterpart. The rest of Mors’ fleet scattered. Humanity had defeated it’s greatest enemy. An enemy that taught them how large the universe is, and how small they really were. An enemy that instilled within them a sense of duty. To honor the lives taken in the Tokyo Annihilation, and to protect other from sharing such grisly fate.
	[WP] A man who has amnesia asks a warlock to help him remember his past, but the spell goes awry and now the man can see everything that has ever happened in the entire universe at once, able to recall everything with perfect accuracy.	"I know you're wondering why I called you here" The Warlock began. "I just wanted to discuss some complications with the spell. Please, do have some tea." he gestured whilst reaching to drink his own. "Complications?" Marcus said with a grin, "complications are bad things Doc, this is a blessing. I can take any degree, get any job, do anything. You do not understand what you've done for me and I am so grateful". The Warlock nervously chuckles. "Marcus, first of all, I'm not a doctor, I'm a Warlock. A being bestowed with an immense level of power and control. Secondly, it is you who does not seem to understand. I have given you something that no one should ever possess. I evidently used a flawed text in the making of the potion and the dosa-" "Actually, your dosages were all correct, you just misunderstood that, with time, one of the ingredients becomes increasingly more powerful and potent." Marcus interrupted. "How could you know that?" The Warlock said as a small look of fear creeped into his face. "Simple really. See the thing about magic texts, they aren't all that secret. The modern era has encouraged of resource sharing that no one could have ever anticipated. All those secret little books and sacred texts are now immortalised online, collected by believers and promoted by fools who think 'it's just so cool to think about what it would be like to do magic, y'know'. Ugh, children. It's simple Doc, sorry not Doc. Lock? Yeah. Anyway, it's simple Lock, with my now infinite wisdom, I realised that I am constantly at danger of the power I have being manipulated or threatened. So I read everything I could, didn't take that long given the way I can digest information now. So I speed-read everything I can find, figured how this blessing occurred and reassured myself to have contingencies." Marcus' face was now much more stoic than it had been previously. The face of a man who since being imbued with the power of knowledge now realised how important he was or at least how important he believed to be. "No contingency can help you Marcus, unfortunately no level of skim-reading can teach you magic either. Your attempt to be imposing is nothing but a true display of how childish you really are. Had you been more thorough you'd have likely seen a name across some of those texts. My name. Nu Zayth Telorak. Master Warlock for the ages. Now, it is with a heavy heart that I do this but I am reversing the effects of the po-" The Warlock froze. Eyes still moving, frantically so, sweat beading but all else of his body was frozen still. Marcus smiles. "I did see your name Lock, saw it a lot. Hell of a number you did on a lot of people. I figure getting rid of you the way you did every other magic user would be almost heroic. I admit though, my intentions are very selfish. If you're wondering how I bested you in magic, I didn't. Times change Lock, science changes and develops and eventually, without you realising, it can do almost magical things; paralysis, for example." Marcus begins to walk over to The Warlock brandishing a syringe. "You are right, power can make fools of men and whether you like it or not, you are a man like me. The difference is, you made me smarter. You feel it? In the back of your head, that question, that nagging thought 'what did I get wrong in the potion?!'. You. You got you wrong. Hilarious that a man with such pretentious ego wouldn't ever consider that the absorption of other magical beings to strengthen himself would also have adverse on his magical blood. A small drip for the potion would have been all that was needed, if you were a standard, safe, run of the mill Warlock in training. Your blood now though, WOO! Hell of a caffeine kick. &#x200B; I need more of it. &#x200B; See, I figured I can synthesize the exact same thing. All these potions, they aren't magic. It's Chemistry. Science unknown to the masses but hidden to you few people in cloaks. I'm going to change that. Synthesize and distribute, not massively but enough to start making some real change. That change starts with you." &#x200B; Marcus plunges the syringe into The Warlock's neck. &#x200B; "You'll be unconscious soon enough, whispered into a sleep which you will never wake from. I can't really allow you to live because; well, you've already tried to stop me and I need a certain quantity of blood from you to keep this going. Like I said though, the change does start with you. I named it after you to forever act as an acknowledgement of the source and the unfortunate hubris that led to your downfall. &#x200B; Nu Zayth Telorak seemed a bit of a mouthful though. I'm thinking something shorter, snappier, scientific. So thank you Nu Zayth Telorak for allowing the birth of something truly great..." &#x200B; The Warlock's body is released from it's paralytic state. He gasps for air. His face flushed red and a monstrous cry leaps out from his voice. So much life in the briefest of moments, followed by the collapse of his entire body. Marcus grins at the man who bestowed him everything and sees his future laying brightly ahead. &#x200B; "...NZT."	“I do not know who I am or my past. Please with the little information I have gathered from feelings and others I believe you can help me. Please I’ll give you any physical possession I own of your choice.” I stood there in the little cabin as the warlock sat there thinking for a moment. Then he went over to a mirror and tapped it twice while speaking a word in a demonic language that magically erased its self from my memory. “Sure. My patron is actually a really chill dude, I just need to ask.” And then he starts clearing out the room to make space for the ritual. The Warlock starts drawing on the ground with red chalk. I wanted to ask what he was doing but I decided to not disturb him as the slightest mistake may cause anything from destroying the patron to causing an explosion. And I don’t know how his patron will react if the spell fails. I have no Idea how I know this but it just makes sense. “Okay lay down I just need a drop of your blood and anything you hold dear to you. However it must come from your life before you lost your memory. As in anything a pendant you woke up with, a toy, pr even the clothes on your back. Do not worry you’ll get it back however this is how the ritual works.” “That makes sense. But I don’t think I really have anything. OH WAIT! I have this little rock I found in my pocket when I awoke. It has a little face and I call him Jimbony.” “This will work excellently. Now if you brace yourself this small dagger prick will only hurt a bit.” I winced as the tip of the dagger dug into my skin and a drop of blood came out. Then the Warlock swiped a bit up and put it on the red circle filled with intricate patterns. The entire thing quickly turned a very dark red, as opposed to its previous bright red. Then Jimbony was placed in a small circle right above my head. I then closed my eyes and listened to the Warlock do his thing. “By the power of Prismos the ruler of the mirror realm. Reflect the past into the present. Grant the memory of this man to his head use his blood to find the story of his flesh and his trinket to find his journey. Give this man back his life story and end his torment without death.” I sat there and felt the knowledge enter my head slowly from just before I woke up in the small village where my journey began. Then to my adventuring party from when I was young. My time at the academy of adventuring. Then my time as a mercenary upset that no matter how strong I got or how hard I worked I would never get anything more dangerous then clear out low level monsters in the area. I then remembered my family and the place I am from. My mother father and older brother who was always better than me. I remembered every fall, scrape, cut, stab, heal, kill, and detail of every day I was ever alive including my own birth something I new I never knew before. But my concern kept growing as the time before my birth was played out. I saw my families’s lives go backwards in the same fashion as mine and every generation the number of people I followed doubled. Eventually humans looked hairy and they barely used fire. They slowly walked more and more on all fours. The monsters around were also different. There were some beasts that would never survive today and at one point there were giant bugs and bug type monsters. It kept going farther and father as my knowledge at one point started growing forward in time rather then the regular backward. I saw every family line ever of every human. Royalty, peasants, nobility, even underground bandit families. I saw people of all natures some struggling with themselves and others loving people that they thought was wrong. I saw all arguments ever from both viewpoints. And eventually my backwards knowledge branched again and again to most of the Demi-human races and eventually down to a creature so incomprehensibly small it would take trillions just to make a statue out of them. Eventually I found the first were my knowledge proceeded down every branch of life ever the first monsters were the same as these things their magic stones that they had however were smaller then even that of micro worm monster. I saw dragons, demon kings, even the creation of entire civilizations. All of history of every life form monsters included. But then all of living history caught up to where I was now. Then it shot back to the first life form. A strand of chemicals bound up into a little ball as magic surrounded it and formed the first beasts these beasts were exactly the same but with more. Things like mineral horns formed and some even had elemental properties. But I saw something new the creation of our planet, the sun, even the creation of the greater universe. I saw life out in the universe. Some planets with and some without magic. Of course in reverse but I understood everything in the correct way it should be. Reverse is just how I describe the order in witch I will learn of an event I will learn the last moment then the moment before that snd so on. However eventually the universe was infinitely bright, dense, and big, everything had come from a singular point that is the same size as the universe. I then watched it slowly fade into existence as if it came from nowhere yet I knew where it was from and the and were is the future of the last universe. This universe will last forever just the pieces that make up ours will copy themselves into the next one using strings smaller then the smallest things. That will trail off and disappear to re coil themselves were they need to be. These strings are infinitely long it may even be one long string being pulled along time and space leaving and re entering existence as we know it. I then awoke. “So how was it?” The warlock asked. “What sort of life did you live?” I didn’t know what I watched but I gave the answers he wanted “I was a mercenary who went to an adventuring academy to become an adventurer.” “Ooh. Did you slay any massive beasts? Any dungeons crawled?” “Yeah all that stuff.” “That’s GREAT!! I can’t believe it worked. It just goes to show how great Prismos is. Also regarding your payment I’ll take 20 gold and two silver as well as a tome of knowledge if you got one. Also I took the liberty of magically coping and binding your memories so if you ever forget something it will instantly come back to you the moment it does. However remembering something and thinking about a memory are two different things so your mind won’t just be full of everything you have ever done only what you need will come out.” “That’s great. Also is there a chance you showed me all of history? I remember seeing humans and Demi-humans but they were closer to an animal. I watched them change over time into what we have today. I saw dragons and demon kings, every conversation ever. All the lives of everything ever. Then the forst life and the dirst monsters. Which were just balls of chemicals and minerals. With the monsters having horns of minerals and elemental based energy. Their magic stones were small then that of a micro monster worm. In fact they were smaller then those worms all together! The I saw the creation of the universe but I can’t really explain it in a way I understand.” “What? I thought the spell would only show you your past not all of them.. well lets see you prove it. What was my first gift on my tenth birthday.” “A spell book that had a bunch of starter spells and a bound basic demon to supply the power. It was shitty with pour power conversion rates and the demon was weak in the first place so you couldn’t use it much per day with a long recharge period. But it was protected from holy magic being a kids toy and all” The warlock looked inquisitively. “Your right. In fact Prismos is that same demon as I got older I did a little research on my own and learned to speak basic demonic. I made a temporary pact he gives me energy for spells and a large portion of the power I gain from hunting monsters goes to him. Eventually he decided to become a reflection demon and taught me specialized water and light magic so he could help with the bigger fights. And there are more reflection demons but very few lowest demons like Prismos that started as a children’s toy even last long enough due to the child moving on to even get stronger. Now Prismos is the strongest.” As I left the building I remembered a yet untouched dungeon and told the Warlock to come with me for their payment and bring a hand mirror. “Where are we going?” He asked “we are going to anew dungeon” it’s filled with gold and treasure it’s home to a Warlock litch so your light magic may work as a weak version of holy magic since it stems from the same place. And you can use create water yes? Well if you can use the spell “create water add element holy, spell creation create holy water” you can use that on the undead and we will plunder everything out from there you half will be your payment.” “Will there be a tome pf knowledge?” “ Even better. Specialized knowledge that will teach you a very constricted set of knowledge but with a lot more efficiency. And there is a library full of them along with some normal ones but the litch already maxed out it’s skills since the undead don’t grow. However they are still very powerful so don’t get cocky.”
	[WP] We have made first contact and luckily the aliens already have universal translation tech. "Greetings Humans" says the ambassador, "we call ourselves elves, wait, no we don't. how do you already have a name for us?"	"Now engaging retrograde thrusters" stated Collins into the commlink. I noted the reducing angular momentum immediately by the airier, less weighty feeling of my arm movements as I checked the engine rates on my interface panel. The display of the entire octagonal ship showed, with each thruster on external arms that protruded from each corner. "Easy now" I said to Collins, "Last thing we want is for the Elves to perceive our actions in anyway aggressively." "I don't think that's something we need to be concerned about, Harris. After all, they've been sending us messages for years." "She's just being cautious Collins, we don't have the slightest inkling of what they're like in person after all" interjected McConnell, as she prepared for the adaptable ship docking procedure. Performing deftly even under the lowering g-forces. "Hmph, well that depends on who you ask" "Drug induced hallucinations do not count as first contact Collins" I stated flatly. Collins smirked as he tempered the thruster outputs with the respective control lever, pausing for a second, and then stopping the outputs entirely. He scratched his patchy stubble as he turned to the computer, setting whatever micro-adjustments necessary to minimise angular velocity. “Yeah, I suppose, but the fact that the signal resolves into an image of a fractal with co-ordinates hidden in the numbers of vertices… It lends a certain credence to hallucinogens that’s all I’m saying.” “Coincidence isn’t evidence Collins, we’re researchers foremost here” I reminded him “not conspiracy theorists.” “Aw come on, that’s even why we call them Elves in the first place!” “Docking procedure initiating from airlock D adjacent to the mess hall” McConnell said, before this immature conversation could continue further. I unbuckled the restraints keeping me in the seat and began to float in the typical manner of a low g environment. Then I began to push my way towards the ladder that led to the main hallway. I glanced back towards Collins as he, and McConnell, also unbuckled their respective restraints. Collins maintaining that stupid grin and McConnell rolling her eyes. We waited in the mess hall looking through the glass portholes beside the airlock as the expanding joining fluid created a solid connection between our airlock door and the rather foreign spacecraft’s entryway. Before the onboard computer could mark the procedure as completed the alien craft’s entryway was already open, filling the connecting tunnel with a gaseous fluid with an ever so slight tinge of hazel green. The small pale-skinned creatures then walked into the tunnel, in a jittery non-rhythmic motion, but walking nonetheless despite the lack of gravitational forces present. They were bipeds, and they had two arms, and appeared to be garbed in some form of tight spacesuit akin to our polyurethane undersuits, but not of any immediately apparent material. This however is where the similarities ended. Their faces featured two eyes but spaced far enough to give them a wider field of vision than us and they had no apparent equivalent organ to our human nose. Yet they did have a mouth. However, it appeared that their mouth was an aquamarine toned permeable membrane. Possibly for filter feeding? I thought to myself. The leading Elf planted a purple and silver device on the glass of the airlock exterior, before their membranous mouth appeared to flash a series of fractals in black pigment on the light blue-green background. The machine whirred against the door. On each of our suits the commlink alighted as the ship’s computer displayed message after message detailing the unauthorized access of millions of on board files, from old audio logs to crew manifests, the quantities of freeze-dried meals to the mission’s flight plan. “Let’s hope that’s not something to worry about” McConnell remarked as she gripped onto the edge of one of the mess hall’s tables. “Not like we can stop them having looked now is it?” I replied. “The most advanced encryption technology we have, busted in a matter of milliseconds” “Well, it is down to whether they can understand what they’ve decrypted really anyway…” I trailed off as the purple and silver device on the door stopped whirring and the now four creatures in the tunnel looked to one another each flashing fractal symbols on their mouth membranes at an incredible rate. “I’m telling you both; these honestly aren’t far from the ‘drug induced hallucinations’” Collins said, in a clear bid to bring some levity to the tense situation. “Do you think the fractals are their only method of communication?” “That’s not exactly clear right now but it seems tha-“ I was cut off as the machine on the door began to produce a sound. Initially it droned on until finally finding the right tempo and it became clear that the machine was producing words! Understandable, human, language! “Do not. Be. Alarmed.” The machine spewed out the words each time following a symbol displayed on the mouth of the foremost Elf. “Our method. Of. Communication. Is. Being translated. By. The ambassador device” it continued. “This is insane” Collins said startled. “Universal translation technology…” McConnell remarked in awe. A second elf stepped forward and flashed several more rapid fractal symbols on its membrane before the machine translated. “Greetings Humans” said the ambassador. “We call ourselves elves.” The second elf stepped back in what could only be described as a surprised motion. Perhaps surprised that the machine had produced a sound at all for the final word in its sentence. Many sharper fractals displaying on its mouth now as it continued. “Wait, no we don’t. How do you already have a name for us?”	\[Poem\] "How do you already have a name for us?" Geeble Gobble, Geeble Gobble. "When we say, 'How do you already have a name for us?', what we mean is, 'We call ourselves elves, and amongst your 6,500 spoken languages, how is it possible that one of them has a word which sounds just like our name, 'elves'? Me stupid alien, me no understand probability." Geeble Gobble, Geeble Gobble. "When we say, 'How do you already have a name for us?', what we mean is, 'How is your species of intelligent creatures able to make name sound for us, based on wordy descriptions that appear in your rectangle blocks of print wordy inscriptions?'" Geeble Gobble, Geeble Gobble. "We aliens leave now, need to find other species that isn't smarter than us already." Geeble Gobble, Geeble Gobble.

Subsets and Splits

No community queries yet

The top public SQL queries from the community will appear here once available.