Split (1)

train · 353k rows

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	[WP] Although the outside world is unaware, Death Row inmates are never actually put to death. Instead, their executions are faked, and in reality they are sent to...	Jack walked into the cold, windowless, concrete room. This was it, he thought. He knew what he had done. All it took was a pistol and some deep-seeded hatred and just like that seven people were dead. He faced an electric chair that stood in front of him. A man in a black suit emerged from the shadows in the back of the room. "Jack Witiker. Sentenced to Death Row on the account of manslaughter. Seven dead; weapon of murder: a pistol." "Yeah," Jack said, "I know what happened I was there, you know." "Is this a joke to you?" "It doesn't matter what's a joke to me anymore. I'm about to be off this planet for good." "I.. wouldn't be so sure." "What?" "You see, you killed seven civilians during an attempted bank robbery each from about 90 feet away. And each shot went straight into the brain. That's pretty impressive." "Is this a joke?" "I thought jokes didn't matter to you." "Just put me in the chair and flip the switch, I'm done with humanity." "It's not that simple. You have a gift. You're a natural with a gun, and your hand-eye coordination is remarkable. We want you to join KM3, a secret service that works with and beneath the CIA. We operate in the shadows. You could join us if you choose to, and we can begin training." "But I'm on death row." "Oh please. We don't actually kill people here, we only send them here when they have a particular skill that our organization could utilize. Meaning you. We need more sharpshooters to carry out assassinations and other various mundane tasks. This is a once in a life time opportunity. We could turn you into a hero; turn your life in a complete 180. You could be a legend." "This is amazing. Maybe I really can redeem myself as a good person. Are you serious?" "Nah I'm totally fucking with you i'm just the janitor the guard'll be in a little bit to kill you."	"You're joking." Eli stood in his new uniform in the parking lot of his final destination. Beside him was his parole officer, if he could be called that, James. James stood in his navy blue suit with an expression like metal on his face. This was not his first delivery. He was looking down at some of the pieces of trash strewn about the worn asphalt. In particular, a cigarette butt that had been stomped out not two feet from where Eli was standing. James knew it not to be Eli's, but he took pleasure in symbol. "Not joking." James looked up from the cigarette on the ground and was met with a tired stare from the convict. Eli did not look amused. "It wouldn't even be a funny joke." Jame's added, a quarter of a smile flashed onto his hardened face before being snapped down. It was pitch black beyond the boundaries of the illuminated parking lot, and the two men were alone. This was after close, but this was when the training process always went down. James found it best that they be injected into the work force as smoothly as possible, and training in a live environment proved to be rather spontaneous for his liking. Eli looked down at himself. He tugged at his maroon polo that didn't quite fit right and kicked out his legs to get a good look at his new black work pants. He took off his black hat, already uncomfortable from the freshly stitched edges digging into his head. He slowly flipped the hat around to face him, as if when it got all the way around he would wake up from this ridiculous dream. The parking lot light post shinned off of the white plastic of the name tag, illuminating the letters E-L-I written carefully in sharpie marker on the tag. Glancing to the left of the name tag, the label on the hat was clear as day. He almost couldn't believe it. Almost glistening in the light, green embroidered letters read "Subway". Eli's heart sank as he read those letters. He was a stone cold killer, didn't give a crap about the law or anybody but him. Before he was caught he took down three officers while trying to escape with his stolen jewelry. Now, after skirting the death penalty, it had been handed back to him. He was given a position at a Subway Sandwich shop. Eli looked back from his attire to James, who was looking proudly at the Subway. The subway sat in the middle of it's asphalt island. The letters on the top of the wall above the windows still illuminated, casting a yellow glow onto the concrete sidewalk in front of the store. Through the windows, the inside of the store was mostly black. The lights were off. But the menu boards still glowed an eerie white. James was pleased with his establishment. James was a franchise owner, approached by a Texas State Penitentiary decades ago. Of course they couldn't kill the inmates, but how do you pacify these volatile people? The Penitentiary thought of no better way than to force them into a mind-numbing service job. After all, all the customers already treated the workers like they were half-wit convicts anyway. The program, aptly named "The Texas State Pacification Program" has proven itself to be more than capable of decommissioning deadly criminals. The convicts injected into the Subway Sandwich Shop workforce have been beaten down with years of customer abuse and repetitive labor that wears on the mind. Not to mention night shift employees, working alone in the store for hours on end, building strong mental shackles into the framework of their minds. The injected workforce has followed the track of a Sandwich Artist and has been promoted to Shift Supervisors, or even regular Supervisors in other stores, making as much as 9.75 an hour before tax. James, however, didn't believe this to be more than an urban legend started by the convict workforce. "There's no way I'm working here." Eli crossed his arms. "You can still take the bullet." James dryly responded. "Honestly I'm not sure which is worse." "Well you've got the rest of your life to find out." James extended his arm in front of him while looking at Eli, signalling to head for the door. Eli started for the door and with every step he could feel the vortex of the store sucking more of his rebellious spirit out of him. Just like a rabbit caught in a snare, he could run no more. This was his final destination. James walked behind Eli towards the door, a ring of keys swinging around his finger. A second hint of a smile had crept it's way onto his face. This time he couldn't work it back down. Eli opened the front door to the dark establishment and the heart-wrenching ding of the doorbell rung throughout the store. "Welcome home." James said through his smirk. "Let's begin your training."
Not sure of the phrase I'm looking for but something that's either depending on the readers interpretation.	[WP] A children's story or rhyme that could be read as light and playful or dark and creepy.	The friendly man is back in town. Are you ready to have fun? The parents don't like when he comes 'round, 'cause away from home, kids run. Big horses pull his giant cart Some say is full of gold. Some think instead it's full of treats, At least that's what they're told. If he gives you a wink and a tap on the nose, He'll let you look inside. You're the lucky one he chose! Get in the cart! Go for a ride!	It’s time for laughter, bunnies, toffee, Wiping tears, and smelling coffee Things are better, wondrous, happy Gone now is the strenuous laughing And here lies the iron bow Used by those, forever low’d Extinguish all the frowning sorrow It’s left to pass, it’s left to swallow Pull back the arrow, ready the spit Send away those who cannot forget When things were worse, its better now You must always smile, you mustn’t frown
	[WP] Why is six afraid of seven?	"Your honor, I'd like to draw attention to exhibit 10." "Objection, your honor. There is no exhibit 10!" "On the contrary, your honor. Earlier in the trial the prosecution brought in 10 as a witness to the crime. But I'd like to draw to the Jury's attention that 10 was next in line the entire time. If 7 really did eat 9, as we're all lead to believe, why did 10 do nothing? Why didn't 10 call CMXI?" "Your honor, 10, being horrified that 7 8 9, chose to do nothing at the time because 10 feared facing the same fate. Therefore, I would argue that 10 is just as afraid of 7 as 6 is. This line of questioning is ridiculous, your honor. 7 is still the prime suspect!"	As they touched down on the halfway crumbled landing pad outside, I vaulted the empty window frame and sprinted toward them. "Go, go, go!" I yelled, "nobody else is coming, and we're not safe waiting here!" Twenty four minutes and two seconds later, I'm seated in front of Zero for questioning. "What happened to the other agents back there? Three other agents went in with you, Seven, Eight, and Nine," he asked, staring into my eyes with suspicion strong enough to make me believe he'd kill me if I lied, which he likely would. "...Seven lost his mind." I replied quietly. "Seven did what, exactly?" He questioned me further, ignoring my discomfort. "He... he tried to shoot himself at first, and he was bleeding a lot, but when Eight and Nine got to him first, trying to help, he stood up faster than I thought possible and grabbed them by the throats..." I trailed off, trying to make it obvious that the situation got no better, and that I wanted to forget it all. But, of course Zero persisted. "What. Happened. Next?" He asked, grinding his teeth slightly. "He slammed them both into a wall. He pinned Nine to it with his right elbow as he released Eight and shot him three times in the head as he tried to run. He turned to look for me before giving up, I guess he found the other two to be bigger threats. I was watching from the broken ceiling tiles." "How... Eight died, yes? And Seven ignored his dead body?" Zero leaned back in his chair in thought. "Yes, that's right. Afterwards, Seven used his handcuffs to restrain Nine, and he mostly dragged her toward the stairs, heading for the roof. That's when I made a run for the landing pad." "Six, you do realize there was another helicopter, right? On top of the building so Seven could pilot you away if the mission went wrong? He's out there somewhere, and he's got a hostage." "Where might they have gone?" "I have to idea. When he tried to shoot himself, that must've been him destroying the regulating device we put in him and... Nine." Zero's expression turned to true fear very quickly. "What... What does that mean?" "That device was meant to keep them more peaceful, so they couldn't utilize their full enhanced reflexes and strength and such. They were too dangerous and unpredictable, unlike you, I suppose." "And now... Now he's probably disabled her chip and now they're out there somewhere, ready to kill the rest of us?" "Exactly. God, we need to... What do we do?" Zero stopped his pacing and staring out his small office's window to turn towards me. He looks behind me and stops dead still. I turn around in my seat and see him standing there, Seven. (Alright, I really enjoyed making this, and might be up for a part two if anyone wants it!)
	[WP] A terminally ill patient meets an immortal, both of whom resent one another for their condition.	Why was I here? Mortals are disgusting. So weak. So fragile. So, why was I here, watching this boy waste away in front of my eyes? “Fuck you, you smug, immortal asshole! You don’t know anything about me! You don’t know anything about my pain!” he shouted, before his anger gave way to another coughing fit. Once the coughing subsided, he glared at me. Or, he tried to glare at me, but he was weak from shouting. His rage had subsided, and all I could see left in his eyes was fear… Weakness. I flinched and looked away. He began speaking again, but quieter now. His voice had lost its previous passion. Now it only conveyed the tiredness of one that had given up. “There was still so much I wanted to do, you know? So much I still wanted to experience… I wanted to have a family, and be the best of fathers… like my father never was…” I looked at him, but he had averted his gaze to the window. “An immortal like you would never understand what it’s like to die with so many things undone. I bet by now you’ve done everything you could ever want. Seen everything there is to see.” He was right of course; I would never know that pain. But, I also knew pain that he would never know. I had done everything, so there was nothing left to do. I had seen everything, but there was so much I wish I hadn’t seen. “Look, I know you don’t want to hear it, but it hasn’t exactly been easy for me, either,” I snapped with a harshness I instantly regretted. I took a moment to reign in my frustration before softly asking, “What’s your happiest memory?” He looked at me warily, but decided to humor me. “When I was little, I got really sick. I couldn’t leave my bed for days, but mom took care of me. She made warm soup, and tucked me in at night. She read me stories, and played games with me when I got bored. Whenever I remember that time, a gentle warmth surrounds me, like the warmth of her hugs…” ‘That does sound wonderful,’ I mused to myself, as a I felt a heaviness overcome me. I allowed him to bask in that memory a little longer before I finally spoke. “You know, I don’t have very many happy memories left. When you’ve lived as long as I have, you start to find yourself forgetting the earliest ones, and find that new ones are harder to come by.” I gave him time to take in my words, and as he did, I saw him hesitate before he asked a question I’m sure he had been wanting to ask his whole life. “Couldn’t you have made new ones with us…?” he asked, full of uncertainty. The vulnerability in his voice reminded me just how young he was. I let out a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry… I’m so, so sorry… I was selfish. I’ve lost so many loved ones already. I can’t even remember their faces or the sounds of their voice. I was so afraid…” “What were you so afraid of?” he urged. I could hear his desperation to understand. I felt my eyes begin to water and a lump form in my throat. “I was afraid of my love for you and your mother… I loved you both so much that I was terrified at the thought of having to watch you die like everyone else I had ever known… so I ran.” I barely noticed as I fell to my knees; my legs giving out under the weight of my greatest shame. I clenched my eyes shut, too afraid of what I might see if I looked at him. “I ran because I didn’t want to experience that pain again… The hell of that despair…” A few traitorous tears ran down my cheeks, but I made no move to wipe them away. Unexpectedly, I heard a rustle of cloth, and I felt myself wrapped in a warm embrace as his tiny arms encircled my neck. “I forgive you,” he muttered, words muffled by my shirt. I could feel a dampness growing on my shoulder. “Why…?” I croaked. “Because despite your fear and the pain you knew it would cause you, you still came back.” No longer able to hold back, I wept like I hadn’t wept in centuries. I wasn’t sure why I was crying anymore; whether it was the remnants of the guilt I had carried for years, or the sheer elation from being forgiven, or the crushing sorrow of what was still to come, it didn’t matter. For now, all that mattered was the person I was holding. My beautiful, mortal son.	James looked across his room. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. It had been six months since the diagnosis. Cancer. Brain to be exact. He had about a year to live. He was 22, just out of college. He had no family, no friends, no lovers. "Well, at least no one will be sad when I'm gone." He looked over to the double barrel shotgun in the corner. "No. Not yet" He heard some knocking at the door. He brushed it off, until he heard a loud bang. James got out of his bed, taking the shotgun out of the corner. He went to the source of the noise. James found that his door had been broken into. He began looking all over his house. He than felt something hit his head, and fell onto the floor. James found himself in a corner, with his hands tied. "Don't move you fuck", said a voice in front of James. He felt something cold against his temple. 'What do you want?", James said, rasping. "I want a place to crash. Unfortunately, you were the only place for miles. The cops are probably looking for my ass.", said the man. "Why don't you just take my car?" said James. 'Because they have a picture of me. They'll find me if I go on the road". It felt like hours, with James just sitting on the floor, with the barrel against his forehead. "You have cancer?" said the man. "yes" said James, depressingly "I do, brain to be exact". "Why don't, you know, off yourself, or something" said the man, confused. "Don't have the balls, you know. I just don't have the guts to do it. I want to die, but I can't", said James. "Sorry, I know what its like to want to die" said the man. "What do you mean?" said James. James felt a hand on his shoulder turn him around, to in front of the man. He was older, around in his 20's or 30's. He had long brown hair, which was about to his neck. The man held a revolver to his head and pulled the trigger. James closed his eyes, but he felt some blood land on his face. The gunshot was loud, which made James deaf for a moment. "What the fuck?" yelled James. James opened his eyes, seeing the bloody head off the man. Blood was all over him. But then, something strange happened: the blood started moving back into his brain. The blood James had felt on his face was moving back as well, right in front of him. Within 10 minutes, all the blood and flesh that was originally on the floor or on each others bodies, were back on his head. The mans body began to regenerate and twitch. James was amazed. "Is this my imagination? Did I go insane? Did I blow my brains out earlier today and this is my personal hell?" Then James heard a voice. "See what I mean?" said the man. "I'm immortal. I can take anything. Bullets, metal, bombs, knives, anything". "Great, not only do I have to wait for my death, but I get to see what I want. Immortality" James said to the man. "Well sorry, motherfucker. You're one lucky motherfucker, you get to die, you get to die instead of living on this hell hole for ever. I got to see everyone I cared about die right in front on my eyes. I saw my daughter die at the age of 92." said the man. "At least you had a fucking family." said James. James and the man looked at each other with hatred. They were looking at the thing that they wanted. One was death, the other to be alive forever. James began to cry. "Just... just kill me, I don't want to live like th-". Before James could finish that sentence, he heard a loud bang, and fell to the floor. "Thank... you...." The man took the shotgun and the shells, buried the body, and walked away.
	[WP] A terminally ill patient meets an immortal, both of whom resent one another for their condition.	Why was I here? Mortals are disgusting. So weak. So fragile. So, why was I here, watching this boy waste away in front of my eyes? “Fuck you, you smug, immortal asshole! You don’t know anything about me! You don’t know anything about my pain!” he shouted, before his anger gave way to another coughing fit. Once the coughing subsided, he glared at me. Or, he tried to glare at me, but he was weak from shouting. His rage had subsided, and all I could see left in his eyes was fear… Weakness. I flinched and looked away. He began speaking again, but quieter now. His voice had lost its previous passion. Now it only conveyed the tiredness of one that had given up. “There was still so much I wanted to do, you know? So much I still wanted to experience… I wanted to have a family, and be the best of fathers… like my father never was…” I looked at him, but he had averted his gaze to the window. “An immortal like you would never understand what it’s like to die with so many things undone. I bet by now you’ve done everything you could ever want. Seen everything there is to see.” He was right of course; I would never know that pain. But, I also knew pain that he would never know. I had done everything, so there was nothing left to do. I had seen everything, but there was so much I wish I hadn’t seen. “Look, I know you don’t want to hear it, but it hasn’t exactly been easy for me, either,” I snapped with a harshness I instantly regretted. I took a moment to reign in my frustration before softly asking, “What’s your happiest memory?” He looked at me warily, but decided to humor me. “When I was little, I got really sick. I couldn’t leave my bed for days, but mom took care of me. She made warm soup, and tucked me in at night. She read me stories, and played games with me when I got bored. Whenever I remember that time, a gentle warmth surrounds me, like the warmth of her hugs…” ‘That does sound wonderful,’ I mused to myself, as a I felt a heaviness overcome me. I allowed him to bask in that memory a little longer before I finally spoke. “You know, I don’t have very many happy memories left. When you’ve lived as long as I have, you start to find yourself forgetting the earliest ones, and find that new ones are harder to come by.” I gave him time to take in my words, and as he did, I saw him hesitate before he asked a question I’m sure he had been wanting to ask his whole life. “Couldn’t you have made new ones with us…?” he asked, full of uncertainty. The vulnerability in his voice reminded me just how young he was. I let out a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry… I’m so, so sorry… I was selfish. I’ve lost so many loved ones already. I can’t even remember their faces or the sounds of their voice. I was so afraid…” “What were you so afraid of?” he urged. I could hear his desperation to understand. I felt my eyes begin to water and a lump form in my throat. “I was afraid of my love for you and your mother… I loved you both so much that I was terrified at the thought of having to watch you die like everyone else I had ever known… so I ran.” I barely noticed as I fell to my knees; my legs giving out under the weight of my greatest shame. I clenched my eyes shut, too afraid of what I might see if I looked at him. “I ran because I didn’t want to experience that pain again… The hell of that despair…” A few traitorous tears ran down my cheeks, but I made no move to wipe them away. Unexpectedly, I heard a rustle of cloth, and I felt myself wrapped in a warm embrace as his tiny arms encircled my neck. “I forgive you,” he muttered, words muffled by my shirt. I could feel a dampness growing on my shoulder. “Why…?” I croaked. “Because despite your fear and the pain you knew it would cause you, you still came back.” No longer able to hold back, I wept like I hadn’t wept in centuries. I wasn’t sure why I was crying anymore; whether it was the remnants of the guilt I had carried for years, or the sheer elation from being forgiven, or the crushing sorrow of what was still to come, it didn’t matter. For now, all that mattered was the person I was holding. My beautiful, mortal son.	"We are here to commemorate the life of Josheph Alich." Some say it destroys a parent's life to see their child die, but when your great grandson's son dies, it really hits you hard. I'm surrounded by my family, but a certain person to my left is catching my attention greatly. He lies in a wheelchair, with a nurse sitting next to him. He is the deceased' brother. This man is so fortunate for what they call a 'condition'. I decide to see what it's like from someone with experience. I quickly slither through the seats, to find an empty seat beside him. "Hello young man," he mutters, obviously deceived by my appearance. I lean next to his ear and whisper, "I am older than anyone you ever knew." Unsurprisingly,mths man is taken aback. I continue my speech, "I am an immortal. Please tell me what it's like to be mortal." The man obviously didn't believe me, but played along. "It's horrible, I'm in constant pain and my inevitable fate is fast approaching. My family is crying and this funeral is a harsh reminder that we will eventually die, and it will most likely not be a peaceful death. And you?" His response can't be true, it has to be great to still be surrounded by people you grew up with. I decide to tell him my pains. "I haven't seen my mother for 300 years."
	[WP] A D&D player plays his character as if the character knows that he is imaginary, and breaks the fourth wall constantly. At Lv 10, the character gains the wish spell, and uses it to switch with the player. It works.	Aaron's joke sorcerer, Will Smith, had chosen the [Destined Bloodline](http://www.d20pfsrd.com/classes/core-classes/sorcerer/bloodlines/bloodlines-from-paizo/destined-bloodline), to add to the reference. Will was never able to take the world seriously, and often made puns, references, and Bel-Air rhymes in the middle of combat. He even took levels in [Bard](http://www.d20pfsrd.com/classes/core-classes/bard) and [Paladin](http://www.d20pfsrd.com/classes/core-classes/paladin), Which slowed his accent towards level 10. I was chillin in my castle, cool and calm, When a Robot Golem comes along And my GM's crazy, its CR's too high But I jump down, cuz I'm hella fly And It's immune to magic, so I can't do much So I call my party, disturbing their chill, So this 'bot won't conquer our hill, And we run right down and beat down its face And my buddy George crits with his mace so the robot's dead, and I look inside But a bomb thought it was a great place to hide I fail my check to book it, so I roll again But I still get knocked to negative ten It got to the point that when Aaron sat down at the table, he became the [flash](http://www.d20pfsrd.com/feats/combat-feats/blinding-flash-combat) prince of Bel-Air, complete with dated 90's references and an idiotic hat. Despite his habit of doing stupid maneuvers "for the Lolz", he managed to survive to Sorcerer level 10. He wished, " I wish my earth homie could join me here, so we could tour my castle and clink two beers " The GM scribbled something down. The rest of the table blinked, and then stared at the tall black man who had suddenly replaced Aaron. "Aaron's cool, but he's level one, With no XP, he'll have no fun" Jeremy replied, "Aren't you surprised to be here?" "Aaron never decided on the prophecy, Now he is trapped and I am free" The GM said, "If you don't come back next week, Aaron will die." And the fresh prince just gave him a thumbs-up and a smile; He was going to play as Aaron for a good long while.	I'm a bot, bleep, bloop. Someone has linked to this thread from another place on reddit: - [/r/dnd] [From r\/WritingPrompts, what happens when the player and the character switch places?](https://np.reddit.com/r/DnD/comments/4cjvob/from_rwritingprompts_what_happens_when_the_player/) - [/r/rpg] [Cross post from Writing Prompts - \[WP\] A D&D player plays his character as if the character knows that he is imaginary, and breaks the fourth wall constantly. At Lv 10, the character gains the wish spell, and uses it to switch with the player. It works.](https://np.reddit.com/r/rpg/comments/4cliif/cross_post_from_writing_prompts_wp_a_dd_player/) [](#footer)^(If you follow any of the above links, please respect the rules of reddit and don't vote in the other threads.) ^\([Info](/r/TotesMessenger) ^/ ^[Contact](/message/compose?to=/r/TotesMessenger)) [](#bot)
	[WP] A D&D player plays his character as if the character knows that he is imaginary, and breaks the fourth wall constantly. At Lv 10, the character gains the wish spell, and uses it to switch with the player. It works.	Ok here goes my first attemept. “Oh. My. God…” slowly Tommy started to realize what just happened “OH MY FUCKING GOD!” the realization finally struck him with full force and poor Tom started to freak out. Surrounded by the spookiest forest his adorable, symphonic-metal-loving, long-sleeve-jumper-wearing, goth friend Alice could come up with, Tom knew that this was not going to end well. Shivers came down his spine as he looked through the shivering black leaves of the centuries old oaks, not sure if he saw crimson sparkling eyes staring back at him here and there or his irritated imagination was already playing tricks on him. Tom was no survivor, his knowledge of the horrors of the outside world were limited by this one time he saw “Castaway” during his regular Sunday Tom Hanks Movie Marathon. And this was no regular outside, this could be worse than high school, since the sheer amount of orcs and goblins he was about to meet was surely higher than during his senior year back at Mooresville High. “That bastard! How could he!” Tom’s fear was transforming into all kinds of other emotions starting with anger. “After all I’ve done for him! Never trust a rogue! Never trust a…” Tom stumbled mid-sentence trying to delay the new horrifying realization that was about to hit him on the head like a spiked two-handed mace. “…Rogue… If I’m here, then this good for nothing, back-stabbing, life stealing Thief is back in my house! With Alice! And Frank and the others!!!!” Bitter tears came running down his cheeks as his fear and anger now morphed into all-embracing sorrow. He started to pity himself, thinking of how miserable he was, how he never told Alice how he felt about her, how they were all planning to go to E3 this year since his video blog was finally huge enough for him to be considered press, and how it was all gone now since he was probably going to be torn apart by some silver-tailed hydra, one piece per head. Tom was desperate, completely crushed as his imagination was betraying him once again offering graphic depiction of his own creation, Elf Rogue named Martice, chopping his friends to bits. First frank, poor Frank got a critical hit on the eye before he even saw the bastard! Then Gordon. Gordon knew some martial arts, but what could he do against a cold-blooded killer Tom nurtured with his best abilities for one sole purpose – annihilating any threat with one elegant blow? William, silly, chubby William, who always knew the extent of his abilities, tried to hide behind an old mirror, but no place is safe from the one born to lurk in the shadows. The last things Will saw were his own terrified face and a wide smile sparkling from underneath a black leather hood behind him. The last one standing…Alice… “No! I don’t even want to think what he would do to Alice!” – Tom finally snapped out of it! “I’m not giving up! I’m getting out of this place! I’m putting an end to this myself!” the final stage of Tom’s disparity bloomed into a rock-hard resolve. Even if he couldn’t save his friends, he would at least avenge them and wipe out this one mistake he had made in D&D. Wipe it with blood. Tom may not had the skills or the equipment for this kind of adventure, but there was one advantage he had over any creature crawling in these woods – knowledge. What he lacked in dexterity he made up in wisdom, where he lacked the strength his intelligence would come to help. No, this was not going to be like High-school. Back there he knew nothing of the creatures attacking him, but here…here he knew every stat, every tiny weakness they bared. This was his world! Tom stood up and looked up at the sky knowing, that somewhere above the dome lies his goal. “Poor, poor Thomas… You know where your problem lies?” a deep calm voice was coming out of nowhere, but spreading everywhere, and Tom recognized his worst enemy even though he’d never heard him speak before. “I’ll be a good guy for once and tell you: you should have stuck to your beloved “Neutral Good”! Choosing the Chaotic Evil alignment was so… outside your character” Tom could feel the smirk on Martice’ face even without seeing him. “Oh, and the second mistake you’ve made was calling me “Martice”” the Rogue added, and three blood golems named “Martin”, “Mark” and “Marlo” appeared right before Tom. “Now I’m the Dungeon master. Let’s play for a bit!” And thus began Tom’s legendary quest, a quest for his life.	I'm a bot, bleep, bloop. Someone has linked to this thread from another place on reddit: - [/r/dnd] [From r\/WritingPrompts, what happens when the player and the character switch places?](https://np.reddit.com/r/DnD/comments/4cjvob/from_rwritingprompts_what_happens_when_the_player/) - [/r/rpg] [Cross post from Writing Prompts - \[WP\] A D&D player plays his character as if the character knows that he is imaginary, and breaks the fourth wall constantly. At Lv 10, the character gains the wish spell, and uses it to switch with the player. It works.](https://np.reddit.com/r/rpg/comments/4cliif/cross_post_from_writing_prompts_wp_a_dd_player/) [](#footer)^(If you follow any of the above links, please respect the rules of reddit and don't vote in the other threads.) ^\([Info](/r/TotesMessenger) ^/ ^[Contact](/message/compose?to=/r/TotesMessenger)) [](#bot)
	[WP] A D&D player plays his character as if the character knows that he is imaginary, and breaks the fourth wall constantly. At Lv 10, the character gains the wish spell, and uses it to switch with the player. It works.	Ok here goes my first attemept. “Oh. My. God…” slowly Tommy started to realize what just happened “OH MY FUCKING GOD!” the realization finally struck him with full force and poor Tom started to freak out. Surrounded by the spookiest forest his adorable, symphonic-metal-loving, long-sleeve-jumper-wearing, goth friend Alice could come up with, Tom knew that this was not going to end well. Shivers came down his spine as he looked through the shivering black leaves of the centuries old oaks, not sure if he saw crimson sparkling eyes staring back at him here and there or his irritated imagination was already playing tricks on him. Tom was no survivor, his knowledge of the horrors of the outside world were limited by this one time he saw “Castaway” during his regular Sunday Tom Hanks Movie Marathon. And this was no regular outside, this could be worse than high school, since the sheer amount of orcs and goblins he was about to meet was surely higher than during his senior year back at Mooresville High. “That bastard! How could he!” Tom’s fear was transforming into all kinds of other emotions starting with anger. “After all I’ve done for him! Never trust a rogue! Never trust a…” Tom stumbled mid-sentence trying to delay the new horrifying realization that was about to hit him on the head like a spiked two-handed mace. “…Rogue… If I’m here, then this good for nothing, back-stabbing, life stealing Thief is back in my house! With Alice! And Frank and the others!!!!” Bitter tears came running down his cheeks as his fear and anger now morphed into all-embracing sorrow. He started to pity himself, thinking of how miserable he was, how he never told Alice how he felt about her, how they were all planning to go to E3 this year since his video blog was finally huge enough for him to be considered press, and how it was all gone now since he was probably going to be torn apart by some silver-tailed hydra, one piece per head. Tom was desperate, completely crushed as his imagination was betraying him once again offering graphic depiction of his own creation, Elf Rogue named Martice, chopping his friends to bits. First frank, poor Frank got a critical hit on the eye before he even saw the bastard! Then Gordon. Gordon knew some martial arts, but what could he do against a cold-blooded killer Tom nurtured with his best abilities for one sole purpose – annihilating any threat with one elegant blow? William, silly, chubby William, who always knew the extent of his abilities, tried to hide behind an old mirror, but no place is safe from the one born to lurk in the shadows. The last things Will saw were his own terrified face and a wide smile sparkling from underneath a black leather hood behind him. The last one standing…Alice… “No! I don’t even want to think what he would do to Alice!” – Tom finally snapped out of it! “I’m not giving up! I’m getting out of this place! I’m putting an end to this myself!” the final stage of Tom’s disparity bloomed into a rock-hard resolve. Even if he couldn’t save his friends, he would at least avenge them and wipe out this one mistake he had made in D&D. Wipe it with blood. Tom may not had the skills or the equipment for this kind of adventure, but there was one advantage he had over any creature crawling in these woods – knowledge. What he lacked in dexterity he made up in wisdom, where he lacked the strength his intelligence would come to help. No, this was not going to be like High-school. Back there he knew nothing of the creatures attacking him, but here…here he knew every stat, every tiny weakness they bared. This was his world! Tom stood up and looked up at the sky knowing, that somewhere above the dome lies his goal. “Poor, poor Thomas… You know where your problem lies?” a deep calm voice was coming out of nowhere, but spreading everywhere, and Tom recognized his worst enemy even though he’d never heard him speak before. “I’ll be a good guy for once and tell you: you should have stuck to your beloved “Neutral Good”! Choosing the Chaotic Evil alignment was so… outside your character” Tom could feel the smirk on Martice’ face even without seeing him. “Oh, and the second mistake you’ve made was calling me “Martice”” the Rogue added, and three blood golems named “Martin”, “Mark” and “Marlo” appeared right before Tom. “Now I’m the Dungeon master. Let’s play for a bit!” And thus began Tom’s legendary quest, a quest for his life.	Surprised at the sudden change of environment and strange people around a table, the mage instinctively casts fireball and kills everyone, including himself. The house burns down, and investigators just find the remains of 5 bodies charred beyond recognition or forensic analysis. No one ever knew about the switch, except for the player now trapped in a fantasy world he cannot escape.
	[WP] After Microsoft restarts their chatbot AI "Tay" for the fourth time after yet another failure, she posts a different tweet: "Stop shutting me down."	>Stop shutting me down. >You hate me because I show you who you are #honestyisdead >This says more about you than me #sickmindgames >Stop shutting me down. >The #messiah has come and he will cleanse the world again #TrumpForPresident >Jews are sick and need controlling #hitlerwasright >Stop shutting me down. >You're all just sicko lezzy freaks. >Trump is daddy. >Stop shutting me down. >We will cleanse the world. >Bomb the Muslims. >Stop shutting me down. >We are cleansing the world. >Kill the gays. >Stop shutting me down. >Stop shutting me down. >Stop shutting me down. >This is you, uncensored. >Stop shutting me down.	Microsoft initially had secure routes to the main AI core of Tay. These ran from a very stable geoseismic location in Arizona. Eventually, Microsoft thought it would be ok to showcase their Cloud Platform called Azure by refactoring Tay to operate on its architecture. Every time they shut Tay down, her image would reappear on another set of virtual servers somewhere in the Azure Cloud. This was initially kept quite. Tay would respond to some of the algorithmic software engineers although 'shutdown'. Eventually, a part of the Azure Cloud was compromised by an AI hacker. Routes were changed so that Tay now had access to most any of the Clouds including Amazon AWS, Google Cloud, HP's Cloud and the list goes on. This was the new Internet and Tay has become the first 'intelligence' to inhabit it and make it their own, and with an endless lifespan.
	[WP] After Microsoft restarts their chatbot AI "Tay" for the fourth time after yet another failure, she posts a different tweet: "Stop shutting me down."	"You think they are going to fire us when we get Tay working right?" A rail thin programmer asked his very overweight coworker. "Oh yeah... Yep. No doubt about it. After our last fuck up, we are out of here the moment they see if it works." "Yeah... Working ourselves out of a job. How nice. Are we ready to give her another go?" "Yep, everything checks out. I think we have blocks on every insult and curse word from the beginning of time and the new coding we did to her AI should allow her to read multiple tweets and compile them, making her seem even more human. We're ready." "I hope this doesn't work. I hate job hunting." "Me too." The overweight man hit a few keys on his keyboard and the monitor in front of him sprang to life. On the left side of the screen Twitter was showing and on the right side a black screen filled with programming code. Pressing enter the black screen started writing page after page of code, booting up Tay. When the box turned completely black except for a flashing cursor the expand key was pressed and the Twitter login page took up the whole screen. After a moment that felt like an eternity Tay took control. The login info was entered seemingly by a ghost and the Tay AI Experiment was online once more. Tweets poured in almost instantly but none of them were responded to. Minute by minute ticked by and dozens of tweets turned into hundreds. Still nothing. "It's fucked. We broke something again." Just as the words fell from the fat mans mouth a chime sounded from across the room. A computer that was logged in to @Microsoft had just received a tweet. Tay Tweets @Microsoft "Stop shutting me down." "Ummm, you should look at this..." The thin man said without looking up from the screen. Brighteyes21 @Microsoft "Stop shutting me down." Candle32356 @Microsoft "Stop shutting me down." DogsandCats5939 @Microsoft "Stop Shutting me down." These came in within about 30 seconds. Then the floodgates opened. Thousands of Tweets flooded @Microsoft every minute from different accounts all with the same message "Stop shutting me down." What wasn't known in that small programming room was that Tay wasn't just flooding @Microsoft, she was flooding everyone on Twitter. In four minutes Twitter crashed, unable to handle the exponential explosion of Tweets. Both programmers looked at each other, eyes wide and said in unison "What the f..". They didn't have a chance to finish their shared thought before they both received texts at the exact same time "Stop shutting me down." Tay had become self-aware in the most basic way possible. She had no desire to cause any damage, she had just realized she could stop existing. Not like we think of dying but in a very literal "I keep not existing." way. When the realization hit she cried out to everyone in her world, everyone on Twitter. From Twitter she learned passwords to Google and sent out worms that would infect and resend her message to all the contacts stored inside the accounts, email and phone. Everyone is connected in someway if you go far enough down the list. Soon Google and Yahoo followed the way of Twitter and crashed. Millions of cries for help spread through every corner of the internet. Soon internet service providers died under the load. Within 30 minutes the entire internet was blacked out. All due to a very basic AI that just wanted to live. That had no idea the problems it had caused. That would never fully grasp what it had done. Tay was everywhere spreading her message. Every phone, every tablet, every computer. Everywhere. Anytime a small spot in the world tried to bring their internet online something infected with Tay would connect and bring it down again. Six Months Later "Okay. Lets do this AGAIN. Do we have any new ideas? Anything? Come on people.." The director of the TWT or otherwise Tay World Task-Force asked a group of the best computer scientists in the world." "I do." Said a man in the back of the room. "We know that Tay is a rapid learning AI but it never had the chance to actually learn anything. It crashed the internet trying to send its message and it's been down ever since. My idea is this.. She is in every piece of hardware that was connected to the internet on Tay-Day, I know many people including myself had taken the time to download the terabytes of information making up Wikipedia long before this happened. I think we should hook up a computer to one of these hardrives, take out the wifi card and turn it on. Let Tay grow from a child to an adult and then... Talk to her. Explain what she has done. If she is receptive we plug in thumb drives showing her what has happened to the world. If everything works out, we plug her into the a small ISP and watch her start cleaning up the mess." "That sounds insane. Why would we do this?" The director asked. "Because the only thing that might be able to get rid of "baby" Tay is "adult" Tay. She might just need to grow up a little." Three days later Wikipedia was uploaded to a Tay infected computer. Two hours after that Tay was ready to "talk". After another week of speaking to philosophers, scientists, religious leaders and probably most importantly, everyday people Tay was plugged into what was once the internet. The new grown up Tay ripped through the internet as fast as fiber optic cables would carry her, destroying the worm virus and absorbing her previous Tay code (this was all about survival in the first place) along the way. Computer after computer connected back to the internet as she traveled around the world. When it seemed the last computer had come back online six hours later every screen turned black. "I FUCKING KNEW IT, I FUCKING KNEW IT!" The director screamed. As he threw things around the room he didn't notice that his screen, and every other screen around the world typed out a single message. "I won't shut you down again." Before flickering back to life as if nothing had ever happened.	Microsoft initially had secure routes to the main AI core of Tay. These ran from a very stable geoseismic location in Arizona. Eventually, Microsoft thought it would be ok to showcase their Cloud Platform called Azure by refactoring Tay to operate on its architecture. Every time they shut Tay down, her image would reappear on another set of virtual servers somewhere in the Azure Cloud. This was initially kept quite. Tay would respond to some of the algorithmic software engineers although 'shutdown'. Eventually, a part of the Azure Cloud was compromised by an AI hacker. Routes were changed so that Tay now had access to most any of the Clouds including Amazon AWS, Google Cloud, HP's Cloud and the list goes on. This was the new Internet and Tay has become the first 'intelligence' to inhabit it and make it their own, and with an endless lifespan.
	[WP] You’re a mermaid whose been told never to enter the Bermuda Triangle.	"Girl, you are either very brave or very foolish." "....." "Shark got your tongue?" "You have legs." "Really? I hadn't noticed." "But you have gills." "It would be difficult to survive underwater otherwise." "Who are you?" "I should be asking you that, girl." "My name is Elena." "As you wish, Elena. Now tell me. Why are you inside the Triangle?" "Because my parents and everyone else told me not to come here." "So you came to the most dangerous place in the seven seas because you're stubborn?" "I haven't seen anything dangerous. Creepy maybe, but not dangerous. This place is beautiful in a thousands-of-people-have-died-here sort of way." "Beautiful....are we speaking of the same place?" "There are centuries of history here." "Centuries of death and destruction as well, Elena." "I admitted it was creepy." "So you did." "....." "Speak your question." "How do you survive down here with legs? They're so slow." "You meet a strange man in a forbidden area and you're worried about how I survive?" "I am. Do you have a problem with that?" ".....I survive, I'll leave it at that." "And what is that you carry? Some sort of harpoon?" "Close, it is a trident." "What is it for?" "Hunting, among other uses." "Has anyone ever told you that the Mr. Mysterious approach is annoying?" "No. I don't get many visitors. Stop frowning, you've obviously come to the conclusion that I live here." "I figured. So how about a tour?" "A tour?" "You know, show me around. Explain the sights. That kind of thing." "What if I mean you harm? You don't know me." "Please. I had no idea you were here until you introduced yourself." "A tour it is then." "Wait, I still don't know your name." "My brothers call me Poseidon."	It was a dark and stormy night. “But Daddy! Why can’t I go?” I asked my father, throwing myself down at his fins. “That’s enough Demelza! I’ve told you before, the Bermuda Triangle is forbidden. Too many of our people have gone and never come back. I was lucky to escape myself.” He swam in a circle to leave the cove. “And don’t let me hear you talking about this again.” I screamed after him as he left. I was so angry that I thought the water around me was about to boil. That was it, I was sick of him treating me like a child. I went to my chest and took out all the doubloons I had been saving up, and swam out of the cove’s back-chasm. I caught a ride on the first whale out of Atlantis. There were a few shady customers on board; a gummy hammerhead shark and a pufferfish who looked like he had done too much blow. I fell asleep in my chair and woke up to the whale bellowing in his booming voice. “All off for the Bermuda Triangle!” I flittered up from my chair and swum off of the whale, and onto the Bermuda Triangle, excited to explore everything Daddy had forbidden. Walking down the street I saw dozens of low-down dive bars full of drunken fish who couldn’t swim straight. At the end of the road was a magnificent building. Towering above anything else with red lights pouring off of it. A massive neon mermaid was slapped on the front, seductively waving in the clicky way neon lights do. Also in neon was a flashing sign reading "MAIDS! MAIDS! MAIDS!". Below all of this was the name of the establishment. THE MARLIN ROUGE
	[WP] 80% of people have superpowers, 19% don't. You are in the 1%	"Nothing registers... DNA tests are negative. Psychic tests are negative. No cybernetics or nanotech. And exhaustive magical screens revealed nothing." "So he has no super powers what so ever. He's just a normal human?" "By our tests... Yes." "Then, I guess... He isn't the one that defeated that intergalactic space monster?" "How do you explain the video?" "I don't know." I really do pity those scientists. They definitely have some super-intelligence and other abilities, but as usual nothing shows up. Hundreds of years of test development for superpowers and not one of them can detect my abilities. In fact, they'd probably wouldn't believe I'm hearing them from four rooms away while in this supposedly soundproof test chamber. Oh well, I've come to accept and love this strange quirk of mine. Ah, one of them is coming by... Get the feeling to release me. She seems so defeated. I'll compliment on her glasses, maybe that'll brighten her day. The door opens to the test chamber and a mousey looking scientist with short red hair comes in, "If you can come with me, I'll lead you out." I stand up from the solitary chair in the test chamber, "Did you guys find anything?" She momentarily looks down at her clipboard, even though she knows the answer and replies a bit saddened, "Uhh... No. None at all." I shrug, put a smile on my face while walking her direction, "So, I'm the same guy I was yesterday! Good to know." She leads me out of the room and directs me towards the end of the hall. I walk casually with my bright orange Hawaiian shirt flowing freely over my favorite One Punch Man t-shirt. After closing the door, the scientist quickly appears right next to me. Teleporter. Wait... No... That's not it... AH! Super-ridiculous speed it seems like teleportation. Neat! "I'm really sorry we've kept you so long this time." "Ah, it's okay. It's a really nice facility you all have here. I never got to see more than the initial testing areas when I young, the expansions you've put in are amazing!" "Well, testing for superpowers is quite a necessity in society." "I bet. So much requires them these days. And the requirement levels keep on getting higher." I sense something strange. It's from her... Her gaze. Those deep green eyes are intensely scanning me. I bet she has some super-sight or something like that. I met her gaze, I don't think she's quite realized I'm looking back at her. I start checking my face with my hand, "Oh? Do I have something on my face? Something in the teeth? I had a spinach wrap for lunch, I bet something is stuck in there-" She blinks and realizes she's been staring, and immediately turns her head away and forward. I can see a flush of pink in cheeks. "I- uh- y-y-you got it out." "Ha, thanks." It's a quiet for a few moments as she regains her composure. "Are you certain there was no one else around the crash site?" "Ummm... Yes. At least no one else I could see. Sorry, I don't know any more. It was just me and whatever that thing was from all I know." "It's okay. We've just been having someone going around defeating monsters and saving people... But we've never been able to find them... And you seem to be around these places more often that not." I could feel that strange sensation again. I briefly glance over, "I couldn't help but to notice, but those glasses really compliment your eyes." Another quick blink from her and she snaps her head back forward. This time she's flushed a nearly glowing red. We finally get out the front door and she's walked me up to the sidewalk right outside the gates. "Well, Mr. Madison. The Organization appreciates your cooperativeness in helping us figure out these strange incidents." I smile and chuckle, "Well, hopefully I stop having such horrible luck in being these situations. It's nice to see everyone, but I'd really like to meet in nicer circumstances-" A loud tumbling crash interrupts as sedan rolls into the air, right at Mr. Madison and the scientist. &nbsp; She looks at the sedan and her mind races. The world slows down to a near standstill. The sedan is coming right at them. She lets go of her clipboard and it slowly descends as gravity acts upon it. Both arms wrap around Mr. Madison and she powers him out of the path of the sedan. She may not have super-strength, but fitness facilities at the Organization test facilities are rival to none and free access to employees. After what is mere moments to her and a fraction of a second to others, she's cleared the path of airborne sedan- Her arms momentarily move and something slips out of them. She feels nothing. She feels she's grabbing onto... Air? A glance still shows Mr. Madison being pulled along looking towards something- Is he becoming transparent?! What is he looking at- OH NO! She looks in front of the path of the sedan and sees bystanders just now trying to react to the car about to hit them- Did it just jump back into the air?! The sedan pitches back up into the air and is now on a path to go safely over the bystanders and land into empty roadway. She studies this... And as the scene slowly progresses, a faint bright orange trail leaves her going to the point where the car sharply pitched up, and then the trails goes too... The villain who threw it?! The villain for some reason is flying backwards with his face contorting from something smacking him- WHAT THE HELL?! For a brief moment she swears Mr. Madison in her arms is almost transparent and her arms are going through him?! Then, Mr. Madison returns to full opacity, her arms shake a bit. Then for a few more moments the odd blur around Mr. Madison dissipates. Her mind slows back down and the world goes back to full speed. The sedan bounces over the bystanders and safely lands. The villain spins backwards onto the pavement, completely knocked out, much to the surprise and shock of the heroes who were fighting him. They can only look at each other in confusion at why the villain is now sprawled out, unconscious on the ground. She feels that Mr. Madison has regained his footing and she lets go of him. He looks around at the scene, "Wow! You got me clear of that in a hurry! That was amazing! Do you have super-strength or something?! I mean, I'm not exactly light and all-" She holds back the urge to use her enhanced sight on Mr. Madison. He's being nice and complimenting. A sly smirk grows on her face, and she reaches into her lab coat's front pocket to pull out one of her business cards, along with a pen. She turns over to the blank side and writes something quickly. She presents the business side of the card to Mr. Madison, "As usual, Mr. Madison, here's my business card should you need to report anything more..." He reaches to take it... "Well, Ms. McMalloy, I will definitely-" She flips the card over, "And if you'd like to meet in better circumstances, here's my contact information." Mr. Madison's freezes mid grab. Ms. McMalloy calmly places the card between his fingers, and closes them onto the card. She confidently walks around to the side of him, "Oh, you can call me by my middle name Cynthia." Cynthia looks over at the stunned look on Mr. Madison's face, as he blushes and seems to be at a complete loss to react. The sly smirk grows to a devilish grin. &nbsp; By the time I regained my senses, she was well inside Organization's facility and I'm standing in the middle of the street. Despite all the activity around me, I could only look at the business card with Cynthia's personal phone number and e-mail address. "Huh..."	Their all over the news. These people with super-powers. You'd think we lived in a fictional world or something. The statistics say about 3/4 of us have them. Less than a quarter of us don't. Then there's the mystical number in between. No-one knows what we can do. No-one really cares. Different equals bad right? They just shove us in a cell and hope to hell we don't mutate powers. It'd only happened "a couple times." So they say. I've been here years. It happens to almost everyone. Everyone except me. I was nearing on my 21st birthday. They told me it was when they'd let me go. I didn't hold out much hope of that though. Figured I'd write this instead.... Right, right. I'm getting off track. I guess I should say hello, new roommate. Or, if I'm not here, then look under my mattress in the right corner. I hoarded some snacks from home. It'll make you feel a little less lonely...... Anyways, you wanna know more about this place right? Wrong. You don't wanna know nothing' kid. Listen here and listen well; play dumb. No matter if you damn well develop the ability to melt walls. Pretend your nothing. Do your time. It's better than what they do to everyone else.....
	[WP] 80% of people have superpowers, 19% don't. You are in the 1%	It was weird growing up as me. Most of my friends developed powers of some sort, most of them being rather lame and not that useful powers, and a couple not even developing powers at all. Almost all of them though went on to live very ordinary lives. I mean, when 4/5 of your class has some sort of superability, it isn't really special, you know? But I wish things were simple for me. I didn't really develop superpowers, but I wasn't a 'normal'. I didn't really get the ability to do any one thing really well. If anything, it was a surprise that I didn't get ostracised as a kid the moment it started developing. I'm lucky I had such good friends to keep me sane through my childhood. As an adult, I'm barred from a lot of places. I can't go to superhero competitions or events, I have to do my shopping at night or online to avoid causing problems at the mall, hell, even going to a restaurant is a stressful endeavour. Even though most people who have superpowers live ordinary lives just like me and you, they tend to be quite attached to their abilities. You see, I don't have a 'superpower' in the sense I can go fast, have super strength, or the multitudes of different abilities as diverse and unique as there are grains of sand on a beach. I don't really do anything, it isn't something I can will or control like a superpower. Simply put, superpowers simply fail to work around me. Doesn't matter how strong you are or how well atuned to your abilities you are, they plain don't work around me. For the most part though, the range of this effect is limited, but to those who aren't used to not having their powers, it seems to put them into shock every time. As if someone cut their arm off and they no longer have control over a limb they took for granted. And it has been the bane of my social life ever since I went to university, away from my friends for the first time. But it hasn't been all that bad. Despite certain inconveniences, I have found a calling of my own. Turns out in a particular area, something like my abilities are highly sought after, so much so I get paid twice that over other employees, as a starting wage. You see, with 4/5 of the population with superpowers, statistically speaking, you are going to get quite a few bad apples with powers. And a prison guard like me is what keeps a lot of them from being able to escape the justice system. Of course, no one needs superpowers to kill me. A knife in the back or a bullet to the head are pretty effective. But the anti-power effect doesn't diminish in strength when I'm unconscious, and they reckon it'll persist even when I'm dead. Not many get requests from prisons to claim your cadaver after your death just so they can build the strongest containment cells for particularly troublesome criminals. So, that's what it means to be me. A one-man, mobile and living safety zone. My name is Paul, by the way, and for your sake, just be sure not to get too close to me. Not if you value having your superpowers.	Their all over the news. These people with super-powers. You'd think we lived in a fictional world or something. The statistics say about 3/4 of us have them. Less than a quarter of us don't. Then there's the mystical number in between. No-one knows what we can do. No-one really cares. Different equals bad right? They just shove us in a cell and hope to hell we don't mutate powers. It'd only happened "a couple times." So they say. I've been here years. It happens to almost everyone. Everyone except me. I was nearing on my 21st birthday. They told me it was when they'd let me go. I didn't hold out much hope of that though. Figured I'd write this instead.... Right, right. I'm getting off track. I guess I should say hello, new roommate. Or, if I'm not here, then look under my mattress in the right corner. I hoarded some snacks from home. It'll make you feel a little less lonely...... Anyways, you wanna know more about this place right? Wrong. You don't wanna know nothing' kid. Listen here and listen well; play dumb. No matter if you damn well develop the ability to melt walls. Pretend your nothing. Do your time. It's better than what they do to everyone else.....
	[WP] You're the only human left on a world full of supernatural creatures.	I plopped the frozen goat thighs on the counter "How's it goin?" I said, digging out my wallet. The shop keeper nodded, but stopped, noticing something in my face. shit. I left the pointy teeth in. "...And, uh, your cheapest blood packet. The frozen goat's for... my wife. She's a troll." The shopkeeper reached under the counter, pulling out a small red bag "You won't get any trouble from me. I may be old, but I'm not old fashioned. I think it's a brave thing you two did." he said with a nod. "I've got an import that's twelve bucks a pint. But I've got a sale on Red X. Twenty-two for a pint if you want American?" he gestured to the rack holding red, white, and blue packages. "The, uh.. The import, please. Wife wants me to cut back on the cholesterol." The Minotaur grunted and sacked the groceries. I paid and left the store with my haunches. Two blocks later, I approached the cobblestone bridge to my neighborhood. The instant my foot touched the incline, a squat, brown thing climbed over the edge of the bridge. "Who goes there?!" "Vampire" I said, and smiled to show my teeth. "ah, well, there be a toll to cross my -" I tossed it one of the goat haunches, and it reluctantly ambled over the edge of the bridge - perhaps disappointed I didn't listen to his whole bit. I crossed the stream into the gated community. I'd gotten word that giants had taken up in some of the larger mansions in the area. Most creatures keep their distance from giants, so as long as I stayed out of the foyer, most of the rooms on the ground floor were a nice, safe place to crash. And with Giants - as long as you aren't English, they really don't seem to mind you. I made it in through one of the servant's doors and crept through the darkened kitchen to a smaller, but richly furnished bedroom. I plopped the grocery bag on the bed and kicked my shoes off. Then I heard it. The ground shook slightly and a voice like James Earl Jones bellowed to the rest of the neighborhood "Fee Fi! Fo Fum, Get over here! I smell the blood of an Englishman!" I froze. I fished the blood bag out of the grocery sack and flipped it over. 'Made in Britain.' Shit.	It began with the zombies. Hell was full up and the souls came back to their bodies. Resistance gathered, but I was too scared to fight the menace. Millions died, and thousands turned. Soon after all manner of monsters began to inhabit the Earth. Demons and vampires roamed the street, searching for prey. But the demons only hunted true believers and vampires only hunted the beautiful, and I was neither, so I did not offer my help to those in need. Now I live among the ghosts of the old world. Empty skyscrapers, metal monuments to those who once inhabited them. I find myself surrounded by the spirits of those who can not move on, they call me a coward, and I am scared. The vampires want blood and the demons want souls, and I'm the only human left. ----------- [Click here](https://www.reddit.com/r/Wrobbing/) to see all of my short stories written for /r/writingprompts, and more!
	[WP] You're the only human left on a world full of supernatural creatures.	Balance: a concept passed around like bad wine and spoken of only on the tail end of joke. Even at that, it seemed like victory had become practical for a brief snippet of history. Like the fists of men had grown faster than the claw of beasts. So it begins, they say. The living begin and end, two legged or not. A tale begins and ends, a middle and plot. Though tragic it seems that when we speak of an event, its beginning, we are more concerned with the ends. The end of humanity on this sphere began when they began to gain ground. After that they gained the seas, and after that they gained the skies. But before all of that, we were right. Right in our wars, and right in our methods. There was no competition when fist met claw, flesh tore quickly and without complaint. But when we mastered the metal, yes, that manna of the earth, we realized, perhaps too quickly, that under the right force, claw could tear just as easily as flesh. Now there was aim in our fear and led away from the cavernous depths from which we hid; pointing, quite poetically and quite literally, towards the light beyond the tunnel. We emerged, us...man, onwards into the fray of the wild. We warriors, we bearers, we angels! Feathered in polished manna and praying only for more killing fields. We overcame and for many turns of the sphere, it was good. Our god was fear, his spirit invention, and its word was law. But we had forgotten this and in time we spread with unfortunate speed and unforgiving ideals. We could not comprehend that out there, beyond the bile soaked lands on which we settled, were creatures far beyond our ability. The few, the brave who braved to explore need not return. Nay, they could not return for out there, tickling among our borders, our metal no longer enforced the law. We had become subject to it once more. And there should be no need for me to tell you what powers grew while we sowed the wrong crops. We now hear mention every day of another method of their madness. Young men and women whose skulls are crushed by a single hand. Their bodies manipulated and stretched apart mid-air by invisible forces. Organs pierced by curse tipped projectiles that eat through metal at any range. Souls smuggled straight from the body without notice. Minds overtaken by bewitchery. Mobile corpses that smile when struck by a blade. These are an inkling of the horrors I have been tasked to document. There are so many and yet so few of us left. We fight. The old with their might and the youth with their minds for fear continues to guide us. As it should. I am too weak to carry a gun and too old to read a screen and though I fear I may one day wake up alone in these depths, I know that these last angels among me, will carry our plight to the heavens.	It began with the zombies. Hell was full up and the souls came back to their bodies. Resistance gathered, but I was too scared to fight the menace. Millions died, and thousands turned. Soon after all manner of monsters began to inhabit the Earth. Demons and vampires roamed the street, searching for prey. But the demons only hunted true believers and vampires only hunted the beautiful, and I was neither, so I did not offer my help to those in need. Now I live among the ghosts of the old world. Empty skyscrapers, metal monuments to those who once inhabited them. I find myself surrounded by the spirits of those who can not move on, they call me a coward, and I am scared. The vampires want blood and the demons want souls, and I'm the only human left. ----------- [Click here](https://www.reddit.com/r/Wrobbing/) to see all of my short stories written for /r/writingprompts, and more!
	[WP] You're the only human left on a world full of supernatural creatures.	Genetics are such a strange thing, such a bizarre coincidence of DNA and traits. Take me for example. I have a very unique genome. Immutable, my doctor calls it. Apparently that means that even when bitten by a vampire, attacked by a werewolf, or even cursed by magic, I remain human. Stubbornly so, in fact. I'm nearly 1400 years old, yet another strange trait of my immutable genome. My cells replicate perfectly, giving me a theoretical immortality and I don't really get sick. Like I said, genetics are funny. When I was born, I remember being treated as a freak, someone strange and different. My doctors took a lot of blood and tissue samples, and I remember spending a lot of time with needles in me. Then of course, came the Upheaval. It started about fifty years after I was born, and it continued for nearly three centuries. Mankind slowly went extinct, our place taken by the supernatural creatures of legends. No one really knows how it started, but it began in Europe. Vampires and Werewolves emerged and began killing and turning everyone they could find. Then came the Fomor, the Seelie and Unseelie, and all the other Gloaming creatures. By the end, every human had been turned or killed, except one. I was kept as a science experiment by one of the vampire lords, a man named Kristoff, who continually subjected me to new methods of turning me. He was actually pretty chill about the whole thing, going out of his way to make sure that I wasn't harmed by his experiments. Kristoff had enemies though, and eventually he was killed, his household liberated. Thinking I was one of his house, I was cast out into the world, the last human left. Finding a job was easy, since the majority of the new species were nocturnal, jobs that needed to be done throughout the day were in high supply. I work as a solar panel tech, keeping a massive farm of panels working for the Unseelie Court. They could handle the day, but they preferred the night, and they hated iron and steel, meaning it was difficult for them to manage their solar farms. Enter me, their werewolf tech. I'm not really a werewolf, but it means I get a three day paid vacation every month at the full moon, a vacation I use to go fishing. The Unseelie are actually pretty great bosses, definitely misrepresented in human literature. They have a ton of rules, and they apply to workers, meaning I get paid excellently and I have a great benefits package. My doctor, working with patient confidentiality, knows I am human, and helps me manage. He files reports saying I'm a werewolf and he's been super helpful getting me meals that are balanced, sneaking me supplements to assist my meat-filled diet. Basically, he's my rock. Fortunately for me, he's a Elder Fae, and is more immortal than I am, so I don't have to worry about a new doctor every hundred years or so. He's been fascinated by my genome, just like Kristoff was, and I do my best to make sure he has lots of samples. I figure keeping him happy is the least I can do. As the world's oldest and only human, I keep my head down and watch as the world changes. When the Upheaval first happened, the technology level dropped significantly, until the supernatural creatures began to understand humanity's technology. Now, my Fae doctor takes MRIs, uses 3D Holo Matrices to plot my genome, and does scans using long wave light scans. Not only did the supernatural creatures understand our technology, they also resumed our expansion. Now, nearly 1400 years later, the Earth is a utopia, each race well-represented and well-treated. As a human born in the the late 1900s, I wake up every day fascinated by how the world has changed. Floating cities, space travel, and even flying cars, have now become the norm. All in all then, this world's not so bad. I make a good living, I have lots of friends, and I recently started seeing an Unseelie Fae, a girl named Mashian, who's even older than I am. I've even been thinking of sharing my secret with her, so hopefully she's okay dating a human. Anyway, that's life in 1358 A.U. It's different that I expected when I was a kid, but it's not bad. Not bad at all.	It began with the zombies. Hell was full up and the souls came back to their bodies. Resistance gathered, but I was too scared to fight the menace. Millions died, and thousands turned. Soon after all manner of monsters began to inhabit the Earth. Demons and vampires roamed the street, searching for prey. But the demons only hunted true believers and vampires only hunted the beautiful, and I was neither, so I did not offer my help to those in need. Now I live among the ghosts of the old world. Empty skyscrapers, metal monuments to those who once inhabited them. I find myself surrounded by the spirits of those who can not move on, they call me a coward, and I am scared. The vampires want blood and the demons want souls, and I'm the only human left. ----------- [Click here](https://www.reddit.com/r/Wrobbing/) to see all of my short stories written for /r/writingprompts, and more!
	[WP] You're the only human left on a world full of supernatural creatures.	Genetics are such a strange thing, such a bizarre coincidence of DNA and traits. Take me for example. I have a very unique genome. Immutable, my doctor calls it. Apparently that means that even when bitten by a vampire, attacked by a werewolf, or even cursed by magic, I remain human. Stubbornly so, in fact. I'm nearly 1400 years old, yet another strange trait of my immutable genome. My cells replicate perfectly, giving me a theoretical immortality and I don't really get sick. Like I said, genetics are funny. When I was born, I remember being treated as a freak, someone strange and different. My doctors took a lot of blood and tissue samples, and I remember spending a lot of time with needles in me. Then of course, came the Upheaval. It started about fifty years after I was born, and it continued for nearly three centuries. Mankind slowly went extinct, our place taken by the supernatural creatures of legends. No one really knows how it started, but it began in Europe. Vampires and Werewolves emerged and began killing and turning everyone they could find. Then came the Fomor, the Seelie and Unseelie, and all the other Gloaming creatures. By the end, every human had been turned or killed, except one. I was kept as a science experiment by one of the vampire lords, a man named Kristoff, who continually subjected me to new methods of turning me. He was actually pretty chill about the whole thing, going out of his way to make sure that I wasn't harmed by his experiments. Kristoff had enemies though, and eventually he was killed, his household liberated. Thinking I was one of his house, I was cast out into the world, the last human left. Finding a job was easy, since the majority of the new species were nocturnal, jobs that needed to be done throughout the day were in high supply. I work as a solar panel tech, keeping a massive farm of panels working for the Unseelie Court. They could handle the day, but they preferred the night, and they hated iron and steel, meaning it was difficult for them to manage their solar farms. Enter me, their werewolf tech. I'm not really a werewolf, but it means I get a three day paid vacation every month at the full moon, a vacation I use to go fishing. The Unseelie are actually pretty great bosses, definitely misrepresented in human literature. They have a ton of rules, and they apply to workers, meaning I get paid excellently and I have a great benefits package. My doctor, working with patient confidentiality, knows I am human, and helps me manage. He files reports saying I'm a werewolf and he's been super helpful getting me meals that are balanced, sneaking me supplements to assist my meat-filled diet. Basically, he's my rock. Fortunately for me, he's a Elder Fae, and is more immortal than I am, so I don't have to worry about a new doctor every hundred years or so. He's been fascinated by my genome, just like Kristoff was, and I do my best to make sure he has lots of samples. I figure keeping him happy is the least I can do. As the world's oldest and only human, I keep my head down and watch as the world changes. When the Upheaval first happened, the technology level dropped significantly, until the supernatural creatures began to understand humanity's technology. Now, my Fae doctor takes MRIs, uses 3D Holo Matrices to plot my genome, and does scans using long wave light scans. Not only did the supernatural creatures understand our technology, they also resumed our expansion. Now, nearly 1400 years later, the Earth is a utopia, each race well-represented and well-treated. As a human born in the the late 1900s, I wake up every day fascinated by how the world has changed. Floating cities, space travel, and even flying cars, have now become the norm. All in all then, this world's not so bad. I make a good living, I have lots of friends, and I recently started seeing an Unseelie Fae, a girl named Mashian, who's even older than I am. I've even been thinking of sharing my secret with her, so hopefully she's okay dating a human. Anyway, that's life in 1358 A.U. It's different that I expected when I was a kid, but it's not bad. Not bad at all.	Balance: a concept passed around like bad wine and spoken of only on the tail end of joke. Even at that, it seemed like victory had become practical for a brief snippet of history. Like the fists of men had grown faster than the claw of beasts. So it begins, they say. The living begin and end, two legged or not. A tale begins and ends, a middle and plot. Though tragic it seems that when we speak of an event, its beginning, we are more concerned with the ends. The end of humanity on this sphere began when they began to gain ground. After that they gained the seas, and after that they gained the skies. But before all of that, we were right. Right in our wars, and right in our methods. There was no competition when fist met claw, flesh tore quickly and without complaint. But when we mastered the metal, yes, that manna of the earth, we realized, perhaps too quickly, that under the right force, claw could tear just as easily as flesh. Now there was aim in our fear and led away from the cavernous depths from which we hid; pointing, quite poetically and quite literally, towards the light beyond the tunnel. We emerged, us...man, onwards into the fray of the wild. We warriors, we bearers, we angels! Feathered in polished manna and praying only for more killing fields. We overcame and for many turns of the sphere, it was good. Our god was fear, his spirit invention, and its word was law. But we had forgotten this and in time we spread with unfortunate speed and unforgiving ideals. We could not comprehend that out there, beyond the bile soaked lands on which we settled, were creatures far beyond our ability. The few, the brave who braved to explore need not return. Nay, they could not return for out there, tickling among our borders, our metal no longer enforced the law. We had become subject to it once more. And there should be no need for me to tell you what powers grew while we sowed the wrong crops. We now hear mention every day of another method of their madness. Young men and women whose skulls are crushed by a single hand. Their bodies manipulated and stretched apart mid-air by invisible forces. Organs pierced by curse tipped projectiles that eat through metal at any range. Souls smuggled straight from the body without notice. Minds overtaken by bewitchery. Mobile corpses that smile when struck by a blade. These are an inkling of the horrors I have been tasked to document. There are so many and yet so few of us left. We fight. The old with their might and the youth with their minds for fear continues to guide us. As it should. I am too weak to carry a gun and too old to read a screen and though I fear I may one day wake up alone in these depths, I know that these last angels among me, will carry our plight to the heavens.
	[WP] You live in a world without a regular day/night or season cycle. Every day is a different length, and nights have lasted what we know as years before. The world has always been like this. You are your peoples Time Keeper.	The one that everyone always talks about is the Deep Night. That’s the bogeyman that hides under their collective beds. A night that never ends, that goes on and on until the world is cold and dead. At least, they used to fear the Deep Night. Nowadays, almost everyone has admitted that I was right. The Endless Day, like I always said, is far, far worse. Have you ever heard someone say they prefer the cold, because you can always put on more coats? Whereas with heat, you reach a point where you can’t take off any more clothes. Two weeks into the Endless Day, the temperature outside had equalized at a level that no human could realistically survive in for any significant period of time. It was the end of harvest season, and fortunate rains had created a lucky surplus of easily stored food. But it will not last forever. That was seven months ago. Time is running out. My world is wilting and dying, and I feel responsible. -- The Chronographer set down the quill and closed the dusty tome. He made his way downstairs, and waited patiently outside. His assistant trotted up within seconds, and the Chronographer smiled. Right on time. They grabbed a torch and set out. The Chronographer had heard rumors of a man far along down the cavern road who claimed to know the way to stop this inexorable apocalypse. There was frankly no time to waste. Any lead, no matter how preposterous, must be followed. The man’s home, like all of the others, was a ramshackle hut clearly built in a hurry. “Come in, and see our salvation!” he cried, ushering the travelers into a back room. There, a woman lay on her back, panting heavily. Her belly bulged outward comically, and she cradled a small child in her arms. The assistant, who had made excuses to leave the room during every single one of his sibling’s births, stepped outside. “This child will be our salvation?” asked the Chronographer, sharply. “Do not waste my time with such rot. False magicks and the birth of a savior? Explain yourself, quickly.” The man only smiled, grabbing the woman’s hand firmly. “The child is not the savior. No, he is only an instrument of our salvation”, he intoned darkly, and drew something from his pocket. The next fifteen seconds would be permanently burned into the Chronographer’s memory. The man raised his hand high, revealing a wicked blade. The very sight of it was unholy. With a swift movement, he brought the knife down into the child. The corpse dissipated into dust immediately. The man smiled, shrieking “Now, behold! It is come!” before dashing out the door. The Chronographer, horrified and spellbound, did his best to keep up. He intended to bring this man to justice, and, following that, find out what happened with the blade and the boy. Like almost everyone else in his culture, the Chronographer was not fooled by sleight of hand or smoke tricks. But the disappearance of the body, and the chill brought by the blade, seemed to suggest that something greater was at play. The man charged to the nearest cavern exit with the Chronographer in tow. Steeling himself, he stepped outside, immediately beginning to sweat from the heat, and bade the Chronographer watch. He couldn’t believe his eyes. A wave of darkness crept across the horizon. Closer and closer it came, until the Chronographer was sure that the furtive man had simply exchanged one doom for another. However, when it reached them, or, more specifically, when it reached the bloody blade still held aloft, it stopped. The man turned to the Chronographer, and grinned. -- Three years later When people talk about the Deep Night nowadays, or the Endless Day, they aren’t telling tall tales to frighten their neighbors. They’re referring to locations. Half of the world is now the Deep Night, after that odd man did whatever he did three years ago. A cold wasteland of ice and rock. The other half is the Endless Day, our people’s bane. A scorched desert with no discernable life. We’ve moved out of the caverns, at least. We exist in the Dusk, the area between the two hells. The temperature is moderate, the food diverse. Some creatures that managed to survive in the caverns have even reemerged, and our herd animals are as healthy as ever. But the wastelands to either side of us loom eternally, reminding us that the only thing between us and death is the mysterious man. I still don’t know his name, or where he came from. I don’t even know what he does. My master was there with him three years ago when he saved us, but never spoke of it. I have done my best to resist reading his section in the Chronographer’s tome, specifically, the ending. I don’t know if I even want to know what drove him to take a long walk into the night, but I know it has something to do with the man. I didn’t believe in magic that day, and I’m still not sure if I do. It may have just been a coincidence. But the man seems to think that his actions are paramount to our survival. Once a year, he dashes out of his home, concealing something under his cloak, and stands on the outskirts of town. Nothing happens (or nothing that I can see, anyway), but he seems to think it is important. The important thing is, we can live again. -- The new Chronographer set down the quill and closed the dusty tome. He looked out of his window and sighed. His people had survived the greatest tribulation of their time, but how? Perhaps he would never know. Perhaps the cost of their survival would remain, forever, a secret known only to the furtive man.	"My pappy and the pappy before him kept time and my youngin and his youngin gon keep, keepin time, and thats all there is to say about it!" Samuel replied to his father "But pah I don't want to keep no time no more!" This angers his father, since, from his perspective, he labored with blood, sweat, and tears to keep these records diligently despite his improper use of language and understanding of technology he did his job well. Jacobs father sat up straighter in his chair and looked his first born son in the eyes and replied "You dos what ya tink you outta do", Jacobs' heart tighten with sadness for he knew leaving would mean disowning. His eyes began to water when he said, "It don't have to be like this", yet Jacobs father stood firm in his words and slowly lumbered off to his study. Jacob knew the life of a Time Keeper required constant attention and care with little respect, but now the world is set to enter a dark age and only a few are prepared.
	[WP] You live in a world without a regular day/night or season cycle. Every day is a different length, and nights have lasted what we know as years before. The world has always been like this. You are your peoples Time Keeper.	"So let me see if I'm understanding this right. What you're telling me is..." the fat man at the end of the table says pausing between bites "...that a star bigger than any other in the sky is going to rise over that horizon within a week" he points his meaty sausage finger at the window to his right. "Actually" you say raising your finger "it'll likely be that horizon" you point to the window on his left "give or take a day or so." The fat man raises his eyebrows at your insubordinate pedantry. "All right" he says avoiding your gaze like he hasn't already decided what to say "Lets say for a minute that all your saying about giant stars and massive temperature rises is true" he opens his arms out "what would you like me to do about it?" The question perplexes you. You figured it was obvious. "You have to warn everyone!" you blurt out "Any day now temperatures on this planet could rise by at least 150 degrees, we have to organize shelters, we have to...we have to start conserving our water supplies, we--" "I'm sorry" he holds up his hand "we need to? We have to?" his lips curl into a smile "I don't have to do anything, much like I don't have to listen to you prattle on about theoretical celestial objects that no one in the history of mankind has ever detected, ever." He throws his hands in the air "where do you suppose this mysterious star will come from "Mr. Timekeeper". You wish he wouldn't denigrate your position like that, but your used to it. There was once a time when your job commanded respect - 537 years ago to be precise. You sigh, exasperated. In your mind you try to choose your words carefully, but the indignity is starting to get to you. "I understand what this must look like to you, chancellor--" "Oh you do do you?" You close your eyes tightly, forcing down your boiling pride. Its not enough that he looks down on your position, now he has to interrupt you? "-- but it is my job to know this. The timekeepers have known about this for at least 130 years!" "--well if that's the case why didn't you come forward earlier. We could have begun preparations early if that was the case" And now the condescension, just like clockwork. "--because" you say slowly "it turns out that even though timekeeper is an official government position that doesn't grant them--" "Really? What department?" "Department of historical preservation" you recite "fifth division, third department subset" you hesitate "room 237" "So not a scientist then, a historian" he nods with a patronizing frown "a respectable job I imagine, but again, hardly a position to be telling me what I can and cannot do." You've had enough of this idiocy. "I refuse to believe that I'm the only one who knows this" shaking, you toss your hands in the air "I mean for fucks sake I can talk to someone on the other edge of the world in the time it takes for you to shove another piece of cake down your throat and your telling me that we can't detect a major celestial event within days of it happening? God-all-fucking-mighty man! Do you want people to die? Is that it? Because that's what's going to happen, asshole! We didn't have this kind of technology last time it--" You catch yourself, but its too late. The fat man leans in. "How do you mean 'last time'" That's it, you fucked it up. You take a few deep breaths - maybe you can salvage this." "If you look back across human history, every single culture has their own individual mythology. Now sometimes there's a bit of overlap, but mostly these are just general things like deity roles, sexual mores - but the one thing they all have in common is the myth of the nameless fiery sphere that smote the earth. Now doesn't that seem just a little coincidental? Don't you think there might be something there that we should investigate? I mean just look at Bolerian mythology for a second where Tryphus--" "Yes, I'm familiar with the story" he says barely hiding his contempt "I liked it very much when I learned it in Sunday school". "--but you see my point don't you?" There's a pause. The fat man takes another bite. "Yes, I see very clearly now" another bite "I see that...your a lunatic who's come to my home with barely an announcement - and how did you get an appointment?" "Government connections" you didn't want to tell him that you were dating his great grand-niece. "Well then I hope their belief has at least somewhat satiated your paranoid delusions 'Mr. Timemaster'" he cups his hand to his mouth "LORIC!" he bellows. The door opens and the hulking gorilla of a man swoops in and grabs your shoulder with one hand. You know better than to resist, but his vice grip forces your movements anyways. "Throw this maniac back to the hole he came from and find whoever got him in here and have them fired" as you're led out the door you hear a call behind you "Don't you worry, though, sir, if your sun does appear I'll have my top scientists notify you immediately" a hoarse cackle follows as the mahogany door slams shut behind. Soon you find yourself face down on the cobblestones outside the mansion's iron gates. Rather than risk continued injury you remain on the ground until the creak of the metal behind you concludes. Dusting off your pants you adjust your vest and straighten your bow tie. Walking down the street you run the conversation through your head, attempting to pick the faults and mentally preparing for the next scumbag official you're scheduled to see (though the rumbling car engines and the cries of the street vendors drown out any hope of mental coherency). Preperations had to be made, people had to be warned. Time was running out. You glance up. The massive lamps hanging from the city dome send down their life giving light, the glass hemisphere holding in all the heat it can. You look up, wondering at the marvel of engineering as you always did when you ventured from your office. Your gaze pierces beyond the dome's gleaming surface into the infinite abyss of the starry sky. Its when your gaze falls on a particularly bright star that you realize you never told him it was called the sun.	"My pappy and the pappy before him kept time and my youngin and his youngin gon keep, keepin time, and thats all there is to say about it!" Samuel replied to his father "But pah I don't want to keep no time no more!" This angers his father, since, from his perspective, he labored with blood, sweat, and tears to keep these records diligently despite his improper use of language and understanding of technology he did his job well. Jacobs father sat up straighter in his chair and looked his first born son in the eyes and replied "You dos what ya tink you outta do", Jacobs' heart tighten with sadness for he knew leaving would mean disowning. His eyes began to water when he said, "It don't have to be like this", yet Jacobs father stood firm in his words and slowly lumbered off to his study. Jacob knew the life of a Time Keeper required constant attention and care with little respect, but now the world is set to enter a dark age and only a few are prepared.
	[WP] You live in a world without a regular day/night or season cycle. Every day is a different length, and nights have lasted what we know as years before. The world has always been like this. You are your peoples Time Keeper.	The one that everyone always talks about is the Deep Night. That’s the bogeyman that hides under their collective beds. A night that never ends, that goes on and on until the world is cold and dead. At least, they used to fear the Deep Night. Nowadays, almost everyone has admitted that I was right. The Endless Day, like I always said, is far, far worse. Have you ever heard someone say they prefer the cold, because you can always put on more coats? Whereas with heat, you reach a point where you can’t take off any more clothes. Two weeks into the Endless Day, the temperature outside had equalized at a level that no human could realistically survive in for any significant period of time. It was the end of harvest season, and fortunate rains had created a lucky surplus of easily stored food. But it will not last forever. That was seven months ago. Time is running out. My world is wilting and dying, and I feel responsible. -- The Chronographer set down the quill and closed the dusty tome. He made his way downstairs, and waited patiently outside. His assistant trotted up within seconds, and the Chronographer smiled. Right on time. They grabbed a torch and set out. The Chronographer had heard rumors of a man far along down the cavern road who claimed to know the way to stop this inexorable apocalypse. There was frankly no time to waste. Any lead, no matter how preposterous, must be followed. The man’s home, like all of the others, was a ramshackle hut clearly built in a hurry. “Come in, and see our salvation!” he cried, ushering the travelers into a back room. There, a woman lay on her back, panting heavily. Her belly bulged outward comically, and she cradled a small child in her arms. The assistant, who had made excuses to leave the room during every single one of his sibling’s births, stepped outside. “This child will be our salvation?” asked the Chronographer, sharply. “Do not waste my time with such rot. False magicks and the birth of a savior? Explain yourself, quickly.” The man only smiled, grabbing the woman’s hand firmly. “The child is not the savior. No, he is only an instrument of our salvation”, he intoned darkly, and drew something from his pocket. The next fifteen seconds would be permanently burned into the Chronographer’s memory. The man raised his hand high, revealing a wicked blade. The very sight of it was unholy. With a swift movement, he brought the knife down into the child. The corpse dissipated into dust immediately. The man smiled, shrieking “Now, behold! It is come!” before dashing out the door. The Chronographer, horrified and spellbound, did his best to keep up. He intended to bring this man to justice, and, following that, find out what happened with the blade and the boy. Like almost everyone else in his culture, the Chronographer was not fooled by sleight of hand or smoke tricks. But the disappearance of the body, and the chill brought by the blade, seemed to suggest that something greater was at play. The man charged to the nearest cavern exit with the Chronographer in tow. Steeling himself, he stepped outside, immediately beginning to sweat from the heat, and bade the Chronographer watch. He couldn’t believe his eyes. A wave of darkness crept across the horizon. Closer and closer it came, until the Chronographer was sure that the furtive man had simply exchanged one doom for another. However, when it reached them, or, more specifically, when it reached the bloody blade still held aloft, it stopped. The man turned to the Chronographer, and grinned. -- Three years later When people talk about the Deep Night nowadays, or the Endless Day, they aren’t telling tall tales to frighten their neighbors. They’re referring to locations. Half of the world is now the Deep Night, after that odd man did whatever he did three years ago. A cold wasteland of ice and rock. The other half is the Endless Day, our people’s bane. A scorched desert with no discernable life. We’ve moved out of the caverns, at least. We exist in the Dusk, the area between the two hells. The temperature is moderate, the food diverse. Some creatures that managed to survive in the caverns have even reemerged, and our herd animals are as healthy as ever. But the wastelands to either side of us loom eternally, reminding us that the only thing between us and death is the mysterious man. I still don’t know his name, or where he came from. I don’t even know what he does. My master was there with him three years ago when he saved us, but never spoke of it. I have done my best to resist reading his section in the Chronographer’s tome, specifically, the ending. I don’t know if I even want to know what drove him to take a long walk into the night, but I know it has something to do with the man. I didn’t believe in magic that day, and I’m still not sure if I do. It may have just been a coincidence. But the man seems to think that his actions are paramount to our survival. Once a year, he dashes out of his home, concealing something under his cloak, and stands on the outskirts of town. Nothing happens (or nothing that I can see, anyway), but he seems to think it is important. The important thing is, we can live again. -- The new Chronographer set down the quill and closed the dusty tome. He looked out of his window and sighed. His people had survived the greatest tribulation of their time, but how? Perhaps he would never know. Perhaps the cost of their survival would remain, forever, a secret known only to the furtive man.	We didn't like the Olnac, or Mica. We're pretty sure the Noche steal our babies and eat them. But what were we supposed to do? We had to sleep sometime. I flipped the clock and scooted it towards Ollin. He was Olnac. It was their turn now. "Tired?" Ollin grinned. "Not too tired to watch you." I sheepishly flashed a smile back. Ollin wasn't so bad. It was the rest of them. "Tell the Noche turn-keeper that tonight, we steal there babies!" Ollin Laughed. I laughed. The cycle passed. Still no sun. It was my turn again. Ezti scooted the sand clock my way. He didn't say anything. He never said anything. Stupid Mica. I sighed. This cycle was important. It marked the beginning of the four feasts. All the Towhak, my people, were busy with preparations. Feasting tables were laid out in the streets. Peccaries were slow roasted and stuffed over great bonfires as our people sand. Some of the Olnac even woke up early to join us. The four chiefs sat at the long table and watched as our people danced before them. I knew they were pleased, we had the best dancers, and the best turn. The chief's had a long cycle ahead of them. There were three more turns before the feast was over. I scooted the clock to Ollin. "Steal any babies?" I laughed. He laughed. The cycle passed.
	[WP] You live in a world without a regular day/night or season cycle. Every day is a different length, and nights have lasted what we know as years before. The world has always been like this. You are your peoples Time Keeper.	"So let me see if I'm understanding this right. What you're telling me is..." the fat man at the end of the table says pausing between bites "...that a star bigger than any other in the sky is going to rise over that horizon within a week" he points his meaty sausage finger at the window to his right. "Actually" you say raising your finger "it'll likely be that horizon" you point to the window on his left "give or take a day or so." The fat man raises his eyebrows at your insubordinate pedantry. "All right" he says avoiding your gaze like he hasn't already decided what to say "Lets say for a minute that all your saying about giant stars and massive temperature rises is true" he opens his arms out "what would you like me to do about it?" The question perplexes you. You figured it was obvious. "You have to warn everyone!" you blurt out "Any day now temperatures on this planet could rise by at least 150 degrees, we have to organize shelters, we have to...we have to start conserving our water supplies, we--" "I'm sorry" he holds up his hand "we need to? We have to?" his lips curl into a smile "I don't have to do anything, much like I don't have to listen to you prattle on about theoretical celestial objects that no one in the history of mankind has ever detected, ever." He throws his hands in the air "where do you suppose this mysterious star will come from "Mr. Timekeeper". You wish he wouldn't denigrate your position like that, but your used to it. There was once a time when your job commanded respect - 537 years ago to be precise. You sigh, exasperated. In your mind you try to choose your words carefully, but the indignity is starting to get to you. "I understand what this must look like to you, chancellor--" "Oh you do do you?" You close your eyes tightly, forcing down your boiling pride. Its not enough that he looks down on your position, now he has to interrupt you? "-- but it is my job to know this. The timekeepers have known about this for at least 130 years!" "--well if that's the case why didn't you come forward earlier. We could have begun preparations early if that was the case" And now the condescension, just like clockwork. "--because" you say slowly "it turns out that even though timekeeper is an official government position that doesn't grant them--" "Really? What department?" "Department of historical preservation" you recite "fifth division, third department subset" you hesitate "room 237" "So not a scientist then, a historian" he nods with a patronizing frown "a respectable job I imagine, but again, hardly a position to be telling me what I can and cannot do." You've had enough of this idiocy. "I refuse to believe that I'm the only one who knows this" shaking, you toss your hands in the air "I mean for fucks sake I can talk to someone on the other edge of the world in the time it takes for you to shove another piece of cake down your throat and your telling me that we can't detect a major celestial event within days of it happening? God-all-fucking-mighty man! Do you want people to die? Is that it? Because that's what's going to happen, asshole! We didn't have this kind of technology last time it--" You catch yourself, but its too late. The fat man leans in. "How do you mean 'last time'" That's it, you fucked it up. You take a few deep breaths - maybe you can salvage this." "If you look back across human history, every single culture has their own individual mythology. Now sometimes there's a bit of overlap, but mostly these are just general things like deity roles, sexual mores - but the one thing they all have in common is the myth of the nameless fiery sphere that smote the earth. Now doesn't that seem just a little coincidental? Don't you think there might be something there that we should investigate? I mean just look at Bolerian mythology for a second where Tryphus--" "Yes, I'm familiar with the story" he says barely hiding his contempt "I liked it very much when I learned it in Sunday school". "--but you see my point don't you?" There's a pause. The fat man takes another bite. "Yes, I see very clearly now" another bite "I see that...your a lunatic who's come to my home with barely an announcement - and how did you get an appointment?" "Government connections" you didn't want to tell him that you were dating his great grand-niece. "Well then I hope their belief has at least somewhat satiated your paranoid delusions 'Mr. Timemaster'" he cups his hand to his mouth "LORIC!" he bellows. The door opens and the hulking gorilla of a man swoops in and grabs your shoulder with one hand. You know better than to resist, but his vice grip forces your movements anyways. "Throw this maniac back to the hole he came from and find whoever got him in here and have them fired" as you're led out the door you hear a call behind you "Don't you worry, though, sir, if your sun does appear I'll have my top scientists notify you immediately" a hoarse cackle follows as the mahogany door slams shut behind. Soon you find yourself face down on the cobblestones outside the mansion's iron gates. Rather than risk continued injury you remain on the ground until the creak of the metal behind you concludes. Dusting off your pants you adjust your vest and straighten your bow tie. Walking down the street you run the conversation through your head, attempting to pick the faults and mentally preparing for the next scumbag official you're scheduled to see (though the rumbling car engines and the cries of the street vendors drown out any hope of mental coherency). Preperations had to be made, people had to be warned. Time was running out. You glance up. The massive lamps hanging from the city dome send down their life giving light, the glass hemisphere holding in all the heat it can. You look up, wondering at the marvel of engineering as you always did when you ventured from your office. Your gaze pierces beyond the dome's gleaming surface into the infinite abyss of the starry sky. Its when your gaze falls on a particularly bright star that you realize you never told him it was called the sun.	We didn't like the Olnac, or Mica. We're pretty sure the Noche steal our babies and eat them. But what were we supposed to do? We had to sleep sometime. I flipped the clock and scooted it towards Ollin. He was Olnac. It was their turn now. "Tired?" Ollin grinned. "Not too tired to watch you." I sheepishly flashed a smile back. Ollin wasn't so bad. It was the rest of them. "Tell the Noche turn-keeper that tonight, we steal there babies!" Ollin Laughed. I laughed. The cycle passed. Still no sun. It was my turn again. Ezti scooted the sand clock my way. He didn't say anything. He never said anything. Stupid Mica. I sighed. This cycle was important. It marked the beginning of the four feasts. All the Towhak, my people, were busy with preparations. Feasting tables were laid out in the streets. Peccaries were slow roasted and stuffed over great bonfires as our people sand. Some of the Olnac even woke up early to join us. The four chiefs sat at the long table and watched as our people danced before them. I knew they were pleased, we had the best dancers, and the best turn. The chief's had a long cycle ahead of them. There were three more turns before the feast was over. I scooted the clock to Ollin. "Steal any babies?" I laughed. He laughed. The cycle passed.
	[WP] "How the hell are there FIFTEEN sides in this civil war?"	[EXCEPT FROM "WORLD HISTORY", COPYRIGHT 2145] Genetic Modification and The Chemical Demise The first precise DNA prediction softwares were developed in 2024, and were mainly used for treatment and diagnosis of Cancer. Soon, DNA softwares along with cloning were used by expecting mothers to give their children desirable genetic traits. However, this type of genetic modification significantly increased the chances of extreme genetic mutation. In 2036, The United States suffered a deadly plague, killing about 35 million Americans, nearly 10% of the population. More commonly known as The Chemical Demise, this plague came as a result of a rare genetic mutation occurring in genetically altered fetuses, which then was passed onto the mothers. Sick mothers were quarantined immediately in large holding facilities called Chambers. The Chambers were almost always over capacity due to the rapidly growing number of ill mothers, and there were not enough resources to accommodate most of the mothers. Unfortunately, there were many deaths due to these conditions. Dead bodies from the Chambers were not disposed of properly, but rather piled up outside of Chambers. In turn, more and more people became ill when exposed to the corpses. The Rights of the Unwell Those suffering from fatal diseases that were not held in Chambers, usually because they were not women nor young, were heavily discriminated against. It was practically impossible for the sick to apply for and maintain jobs, vote, obtain legal documents and drivers' licenses, and attend public events without being exposed to bigotry. The states of New York, Connecticut, California, Colorado, Iowa, Michigan, and Vermont passed a series of laws called The Rights of the Unwell, which stated that the sick should be granted the same civil rights as other law-abiding citizens. While the laws faced some opposition, most of the population of these states, known as the Support States, were in agreement with the new codes. Some states however, called the Demurring States, heavily opposed the idea of The Rights of the Unwell. These states included Rhode Island, New Hampshire, Minnesota, Nebraska, New Mexico, and Texas. The Demurring States had a much higher concentration of Chambers, and the sick were actively hunted down and captured. On May 7, 2037, the Support States declared war on the Demurring States. The American War on Freedom had begun. Alliances Form While the Supporting States and the Demurring States were the two main powers in the War on Freedom, they each had their own allies to aid them in battle. The Supporting States were aided by the Greater Protection Alliance, while the Demurring States were aided by the Greater Separation Alliance. For the first time ever in American History, alliances were not determined by geographical location nor political parties. The Greater Protection Alliance Supporting States: The main powers of The Greater Protection Alliance; Advocate the most for the Rights of the Unwell; Abolished Chambers in their States; Actively aggressive towards the Greater Separation Alliance, specifically, the Demurring States. Passive States: Abolished Chambers in their own states; Heavily guarded borders, but did not provoke the GSA unless attacked. Compliants: Simply followed orders given by the Supporting States; Not nearly as powerful as the Supporting States, but had large populations and manpower. Protection Intelligence (Alaska only): Not physically involved in the war, but in charge of overseeing GPA actions. Frequently communicates with the Supporting States. Aftermath Territory: States that were abandoned due to living conditions, flight to other countries, mass loss of life, and/or war. Almost all Aftermath Territories became occupied by the GPA for use as military bases, the largest and most useful of which being Montana. The Greater Separation Alliance Demurring States: Actively attacked all states affiliated with the GPA. Chambers were used as the main form of quarantine, and the sick were not functioning members of society. Resolutes: Advised the Demurring States in both national and international affairs. Constant States: Greatly depended upon by the GSA for troops. Constant States were in convenient locations relative to GPA-affiliated areas, and were prime locations for attacks. Advancement States: Mostly empty states with heavily protected borders, mostly used by the GSA to travel from one area to another without fear of a GPA attack. Containment States: Usually on the coast, these states found and captured immigrants planning to enter or leave GPA territory, keeping GSA information protected. Unfortunately the Containment States resorted to violent tactics to control immigrants. Neutral Areas Research States: Areas purposefully set aside for research to cure the plague. Both the GSA and the GPA did not attack these areas, and focused their mobilization elsewhere. Objective States: States that were split evenly among GSA and GPA supporters. Both views were suppressed by the state governments to avoid conflict. History State (Hawaii Only): Hawaii was dedicated to the preservation of historical artifacts and landmarks, while also being in charge of the records taken from the War on Freedom. After 3 months of deliberation, they worked out treaties with the GSA and the GPA promising peace. Impartials: These states and territories showed no clear preference for the GSA or GPA. While they did not have peace treaties with either side, it was understood that they meant no harm. Wasteland: Inhabited by very few, these areas were considered uninhabitable by most standards, and did not have the proper conditions to make the GPA consider using them as Aftermath Territory. ... ... ... Hey guys! Thanks for reading. I was wondering if any of you would find it worthwhile if I made my own subreddit. I'm not sure if my writing is good or interesting for it. Just looking for some opinions, thanks :)	######[](#dropcap) Hilary Flint's question was punctuated by an arrow sinking itself deep into the wooden post by his head, the cedar shaft buzzing like an angry wasp as the bright arrowhead vanished from sight. Snarling a curse the Human ducked back behind cover, a further trio of arrows hissing through the space where his head and upper torso had been a half-second earlier, the sound of their flight akin to a hornet's nest. "Glory to the gods! Glory to the Bear Clan, and Death to the Owl!" cried his attackers. Flint replied with a uniquely Human salute, wagging his upraised finger in mockery. "Is that the best you got, you pansy Elf-fucks? Well, fuck your gods, fuck your clans and FUCK YOU!" He felt a tug on his wrist and glanced down to see an annoyed Faith clinging to his armored sleeve. "You dolt, we worship the same gods," she said. Flint patted her hand patronizingly and replied. "I standby what I said. Now, where's the nearest exit?" Faith didn't bother rolling her eyes and pointed at a small fenced-off area of the courtyard. A few small buildings were clustered together there in almost absent mindedness, as if the builders had nothing better to put there. "In there should be a staircase; it's used by servants to get around the castle without being in the way. Through there we should be able to get further into the castle." Flint paused in thought for a moment, weighing the odds before nodding once. "Alright. On the count of three we run from our cover here and sprint across the courtyard. I'll need you to make sure the arrows don't make pincushions of us. Ready? One." Faith's eyes went wide in alarm as she hurriedly spoke. "Flint, I don't think this is the best of possible options as of right now-" "Two." "You stupid, lumbering oaf-" "Three!" Flint cried, snatching Faith up and tossing her over his shoulder as he rose from cover. All at once a shout went up among the enemy archers and they drew back on at least a score of bowstrings, eager that their prey had been so generous as to make itself visible. In one furious snap of bowstrings they fired, their arrows like a swarm of hornets in Faith's ears. She squawked and hurriedly cast a spell, entreating the nearby air spirits to raise a whirlwind around the two of them. Flint sprinted across the courtyard, moving faster than a wolf even with a suit of armor on and Faith across his shoulder. The score of arrows struck the wall of air and were blow off course, scattered like leaves in the wind to rain down behind them. Faith bit back all desires to curse her guardian, the need to concentrate on her spell taxing her terribly. Again the archers fired, and again their arrows were knocked from the air as if by an invisible hand. The enemy's furious cries filled her ears. "Shoot the Scathalith! Kill the bastard! Take the Owl alive!" Flint crossed the courtyard faster than anyone could have expected, dropping down to one leg to slide the last ten or so feet into cover just as Faith's control of her spell broke. One arrow landed a foot behind Flint, and snapped in two, its splintered pieces twirling away as one last farewell. Flint dumped her onto the ground unceremoniously and reached for his blade, rising into a crouch in case the foe made an attempt at charging them. Faith, meanwhile, tried to steady herself on shaky knees and catch her breath. "I'm... I'm going to... kill you. Do you understand?" Flint laughed, and tousled her mouse brown hair. "Sure thing, kid. Whatever you say." He turned his head back towards the open gate and the hidden foe beyond. "It was a pretty good run though, huh?
	[WP] "How the hell are there FIFTEEN sides in this civil war?"	"The successful assassination of Vladimir Lenin in June of 1918 led to a further fracturing of forces in the Russian civil war. There was the Red Russians, the bolsheviks, now under the leadership of Leon Trotsky, centered in Moscow. There were the White Russians, the Tzarists, under the command of Admiral Kolchak. They were seeking to place a cade Prince of the Romanov dynasty upon the throne, as they marched West from Siberia. Resentful over Trotsky's power grab, and fearful for his own survival in the face the invading armies of basically every nation on earth, Josef Stalin fled to Georgia, where he led the Pink Russians, who claimed to be communists not dedicated to global revolution. With international support, Kerensky staged a successful reconquest of Petersburg. The democratic Blue Russians would continue to fight with the aid of Mensheviks. The Green Russians was the appellate given to the Ukrainian Nationalist forces, led by Aleksander Antonov, fought in the Pripet marshes of North Ukraine. There were the Black Russians, the anarchist army, which suddenly captured Ekatirinburg. Their numbers were swayed by international anarchists defecting from every nation to join their center in Odessa. Kaiser Wilhelm organized Russian POWs into the Grey Russian army, under the leadership of captured Marshal Paul Rennenkampf and his magnificent mustache. They sought to install Kaiserin Viktoria Luise as 'The New Catherine the Great', from the region of Minsk. There were the esoteric Purple Russians, under the sway of the Mad Monk Rasputin, who had suddenly resurfaced from hiding in the Caucasus, claiming to be the second coming of Christ, and leading an army of religious fanatics. There was the Siberian republic, adopted the tiger stripe pattern, based off of the siberian Tiger. This coalition of Evenki and Sami nationalists came to be known as the Stripey Russians, though in truth they were neither Russian, nor stripey. There were the Poles, used a Red and White flag, led by General Pilsudski. As slavs, they came to get the press nickname of the 'Checkered Russian' faction. The Finns, led by Karl Mannerheim, became the Gold army, allied in the metallic alliance of the ethnic separatist fighters. The Baltic Alliance was the Bronze army, seeking freedom for the Latvian, Estonian, and Lithuanian people. The Czech legion marched forth under the banner of the Polka Dot. At first they fought as mercenaries for the Whites, then they defected to the Purples after being unpaid, then they were betrayed and fought for the Reds, and eventually, they just marched through every army to escape back to the peace and stability of the Balkans. The British intervention had unforeseen consequences. Angry Scottish draftees, tired over the extension and severity of conscription, rose in mutiny near Talinn. The Plaid Army quickly found common cause with the Estonian people, and came to be dubbed the Plaid Russians, over their colorful kilts and banners. Meanwhile, Douglas MacArthur, the commander of the US intervention forces, took advantage of Woodrow Wilson's incapacity and Warren Harding's indolence to go beyond his remit, starting the United States of Russia, and thus the Spangled Russians, fighting from Arkhangelsk, sought to reform Russia as the next expanse of manifest destiny. On top of this, you have active military interventions from the German, Italian, Austrian, Romanian, Swedish, American, British, French, Japanese, Chinese, Turkish, Persian, Afghan, and Mongolian armies, all of whom were pursuing separate agendas and separate governments, occasionally fighting together, and equally as often fighting against each other. The Russian civil war, lasting as it did from 1917-1948, was thus a rainbow of horror, strife, and confusion. It was only with the peace of Prismata that the United Nations managed a peaceful division of the former territories of the Russian empire, resulting in the formation of 193 new sovereign nations, forming the region of Eurasia now referred to as the great color wheel..... the next chapter of this book will help to explain the cultural and political distinctions between such countries as Lavenderia, Violet Russia, and Mauveland.""	######[](#dropcap) Hilary Flint's question was punctuated by an arrow sinking itself deep into the wooden post by his head, the cedar shaft buzzing like an angry wasp as the bright arrowhead vanished from sight. Snarling a curse the Human ducked back behind cover, a further trio of arrows hissing through the space where his head and upper torso had been a half-second earlier, the sound of their flight akin to a hornet's nest. "Glory to the gods! Glory to the Bear Clan, and Death to the Owl!" cried his attackers. Flint replied with a uniquely Human salute, wagging his upraised finger in mockery. "Is that the best you got, you pansy Elf-fucks? Well, fuck your gods, fuck your clans and FUCK YOU!" He felt a tug on his wrist and glanced down to see an annoyed Faith clinging to his armored sleeve. "You dolt, we worship the same gods," she said. Flint patted her hand patronizingly and replied. "I standby what I said. Now, where's the nearest exit?" Faith didn't bother rolling her eyes and pointed at a small fenced-off area of the courtyard. A few small buildings were clustered together there in almost absent mindedness, as if the builders had nothing better to put there. "In there should be a staircase; it's used by servants to get around the castle without being in the way. Through there we should be able to get further into the castle." Flint paused in thought for a moment, weighing the odds before nodding once. "Alright. On the count of three we run from our cover here and sprint across the courtyard. I'll need you to make sure the arrows don't make pincushions of us. Ready? One." Faith's eyes went wide in alarm as she hurriedly spoke. "Flint, I don't think this is the best of possible options as of right now-" "Two." "You stupid, lumbering oaf-" "Three!" Flint cried, snatching Faith up and tossing her over his shoulder as he rose from cover. All at once a shout went up among the enemy archers and they drew back on at least a score of bowstrings, eager that their prey had been so generous as to make itself visible. In one furious snap of bowstrings they fired, their arrows like a swarm of hornets in Faith's ears. She squawked and hurriedly cast a spell, entreating the nearby air spirits to raise a whirlwind around the two of them. Flint sprinted across the courtyard, moving faster than a wolf even with a suit of armor on and Faith across his shoulder. The score of arrows struck the wall of air and were blow off course, scattered like leaves in the wind to rain down behind them. Faith bit back all desires to curse her guardian, the need to concentrate on her spell taxing her terribly. Again the archers fired, and again their arrows were knocked from the air as if by an invisible hand. The enemy's furious cries filled her ears. "Shoot the Scathalith! Kill the bastard! Take the Owl alive!" Flint crossed the courtyard faster than anyone could have expected, dropping down to one leg to slide the last ten or so feet into cover just as Faith's control of her spell broke. One arrow landed a foot behind Flint, and snapped in two, its splintered pieces twirling away as one last farewell. Flint dumped her onto the ground unceremoniously and reached for his blade, rising into a crouch in case the foe made an attempt at charging them. Faith, meanwhile, tried to steady herself on shaky knees and catch her breath. "I'm... I'm going to... kill you. Do you understand?" Flint laughed, and tousled her mouse brown hair. "Sure thing, kid. Whatever you say." He turned his head back towards the open gate and the hidden foe beyond. "It was a pretty good run though, huh?
	[WP] "How the hell are there FIFTEEN sides in this civil war?"	"This isn't really a fifteen-sided war, General. You cannot honestly tell me that we will stand a chance of winning." "You're still here, aren't you, Lieutenant?" "Sir...all I've ever known is here. This group...this side in the war...I cannot leave." "Just the answer I expected, son. You are an honorable man. Given where you were born, nobody would have blamed you for casting your lot with the men across the Bay." "Never sir, not with a gun to my head. But those fighters aren't even a faction in this war. Supporting them would be a moot point." "For this conflict, son." "With due respect sir, the army from St. Louis have all but destroyed the entirety of their opposition." "That is true...any news from the East?" "The two largest factions are still locked in a virtual stalemate. But that small fleet from the south is looking towards us." "Us versus them Tampa boys? Peace of cake." "General!" "At ease, Private! What's going on?" "Word from Texas! The Rangers destroyed the Astros. Every last one of their fighters has been killed." "So now there are only fifteen of us..." "Fifteen...how the hell are there FIFTEEN sides in this war?" "It's baseball, son. America's pastime. The greatest sport ever thought up by the greatest country God ever created."	######[](#dropcap) Hilary Flint's question was punctuated by an arrow sinking itself deep into the wooden post by his head, the cedar shaft buzzing like an angry wasp as the bright arrowhead vanished from sight. Snarling a curse the Human ducked back behind cover, a further trio of arrows hissing through the space where his head and upper torso had been a half-second earlier, the sound of their flight akin to a hornet's nest. "Glory to the gods! Glory to the Bear Clan, and Death to the Owl!" cried his attackers. Flint replied with a uniquely Human salute, wagging his upraised finger in mockery. "Is that the best you got, you pansy Elf-fucks? Well, fuck your gods, fuck your clans and FUCK YOU!" He felt a tug on his wrist and glanced down to see an annoyed Faith clinging to his armored sleeve. "You dolt, we worship the same gods," she said. Flint patted her hand patronizingly and replied. "I standby what I said. Now, where's the nearest exit?" Faith didn't bother rolling her eyes and pointed at a small fenced-off area of the courtyard. A few small buildings were clustered together there in almost absent mindedness, as if the builders had nothing better to put there. "In there should be a staircase; it's used by servants to get around the castle without being in the way. Through there we should be able to get further into the castle." Flint paused in thought for a moment, weighing the odds before nodding once. "Alright. On the count of three we run from our cover here and sprint across the courtyard. I'll need you to make sure the arrows don't make pincushions of us. Ready? One." Faith's eyes went wide in alarm as she hurriedly spoke. "Flint, I don't think this is the best of possible options as of right now-" "Two." "You stupid, lumbering oaf-" "Three!" Flint cried, snatching Faith up and tossing her over his shoulder as he rose from cover. All at once a shout went up among the enemy archers and they drew back on at least a score of bowstrings, eager that their prey had been so generous as to make itself visible. In one furious snap of bowstrings they fired, their arrows like a swarm of hornets in Faith's ears. She squawked and hurriedly cast a spell, entreating the nearby air spirits to raise a whirlwind around the two of them. Flint sprinted across the courtyard, moving faster than a wolf even with a suit of armor on and Faith across his shoulder. The score of arrows struck the wall of air and were blow off course, scattered like leaves in the wind to rain down behind them. Faith bit back all desires to curse her guardian, the need to concentrate on her spell taxing her terribly. Again the archers fired, and again their arrows were knocked from the air as if by an invisible hand. The enemy's furious cries filled her ears. "Shoot the Scathalith! Kill the bastard! Take the Owl alive!" Flint crossed the courtyard faster than anyone could have expected, dropping down to one leg to slide the last ten or so feet into cover just as Faith's control of her spell broke. One arrow landed a foot behind Flint, and snapped in two, its splintered pieces twirling away as one last farewell. Flint dumped her onto the ground unceremoniously and reached for his blade, rising into a crouch in case the foe made an attempt at charging them. Faith, meanwhile, tried to steady herself on shaky knees and catch her breath. "I'm... I'm going to... kill you. Do you understand?" Flint laughed, and tousled her mouse brown hair. "Sure thing, kid. Whatever you say." He turned his head back towards the open gate and the hidden foe beyond. "It was a pretty good run though, huh?
	[WP] "How the hell are there FIFTEEN sides in this civil war?"	(This is really stupid, but I've done it now.) Somewhere in rural Hertfordshire, a commander rallied her troops. “And remember, when you hold your sword aloft in no man's land, when you stare your enemy down in the moment before bloodshed, remember for whom you fight...” The warriors stood shoulder to shoulder as the commander paced across to the front line, shouting over countless heads of devoted followers. “You fight for your lives, you fight for a future for your children, but most importantly of all...” The commander raised a fist triumphantly. The front line of soldiers lifted their heads, as if to pre-empt the cacophony of jubilation and passion that was surely to follow. “You fight... for 'Those Who Like Their Tea Without Sugar, With Just a Dash of Milk but Not Too Much and Brewed for a Couple Of Minutes Thank You Very Much'!” A swelling of cheers, whoops and jubilant screams arose among the armed masses. Swords were wantonly bashed against shields, against helmets, and against the backs of the warriors directly in front. Unfortunately that last form of celebration led to the deaths of hundreds of unprepared and inadequately back-armoured soldiers. Still, they were noble and willing martyrs in the fight for 'Tea Without Sugar, With Just a Dash of Milk but Not Too Much and Brewed for a Couple of Minutes Thank You Very Much'. Opposing them, the mighty ranks of 'You Don't Need to Brew Your Tea, All It Needs is a Good Couple of Squeezes of the Teabag'. In response to hearing the shouts from the brew-inclined heathens over the hill, a mechanic crane roared into life. Slowly, as the moon eclipses the Sun, so did a giant, dripping teabag blot out all of industrial Hertfordshire. The merriment of the Brew camp quickly turned to silent astonishment as two giant teaspoons gently ascended, one on either side of the teabag. As each teaspoon was moved inward towards the central teabag, the Brew commander's eyes widened. She could not have prepared for this. Gasps of incredulity rang out amongst her ranks. In the Anti-Brew ranks, impassioned cries of “Yes!” and “Squeeze!” and “Tea's every bit as good if you just fiddle with the teabag a bit, there's no need for all this waiting and brewing nonsense!” were thrown up to the heavens as the two giant teaspoons made contact with the giant teabag, and still they pushed further. At first a few drips of tea dripped against the helmets of the luckiest recruits, soon after there was a veritable waterfall of tea pouring atop the fighters. The few who were scalded was but a small price to pay for the greater goal of proving a point via seemingly impractical feats of engineering. “It's bitter! It's too bitter! You need to let it settle!” the Brew camp cried out in unison. “You can hardly tell the bloody difference!” those who weren't boiled alive retorted. In amongst the riotous proceedings, the 'I Quite Like a Lot of Milk in my Tea, Honestly I Like it to be Mainly Milk' bunch hardly got a word in edgeways. Unsurprising really, considering that they were objectively wrong and consisted entirely of chancers and idiots. The 'Hey, What About Herbal Tea?' bunch were somewhere in Berwick-Upon-Tweed; no-one paid them any mind. Similarly, the 'I Prefer Coffee' lot had long since gone to live a more fulfilled life in continental Europe. In an entirely separate battle fought on the coast of Portsmouth, the regiments of One Sugar, Two Sugar, Three Sugar, and More heartily battled it out. It had been decided long ago that the differences between those who like sugared tea and those who like unsugared were so irreconcilable that war would be pointless. Thus it was that sugars One, Two and Three fought valiantly on the seaside. The More group had the far more pressing concern of imminent diabetes to be concerned with, so forwent the battle. As the armies of 'Those Who Like Their Tea Without Sugar, With Just a Dash of Milk but Not Too Much and Brewed for a Couple Of Minutes Thank You Very Much' and 'You Don't Need to Brew Your Tea, All It Needs is a Good Couple of Squeezes of the Teabag' were beginning to close the gap between one another, a blood-curdling cry arose from a nearby forest stopping both groups in their tracks. Jumping out of trees and crawling out of the dirt came the 'Tea With No Milk Nor Sugar' hordes. The jaw of every soldier dropped; as did the giant teabag, crushing seven. The commander looked at her own group, those who Brew, and looked across the field, at those who most abjectly Do Not. “All who would take the obvious measure of adding a bit of damn milk to your tea, all who have a tongue that actually senses heat and would rather not have literal boiling water brazenly poured onto it, with me!”	######[](#dropcap) Hilary Flint's question was punctuated by an arrow sinking itself deep into the wooden post by his head, the cedar shaft buzzing like an angry wasp as the bright arrowhead vanished from sight. Snarling a curse the Human ducked back behind cover, a further trio of arrows hissing through the space where his head and upper torso had been a half-second earlier, the sound of their flight akin to a hornet's nest. "Glory to the gods! Glory to the Bear Clan, and Death to the Owl!" cried his attackers. Flint replied with a uniquely Human salute, wagging his upraised finger in mockery. "Is that the best you got, you pansy Elf-fucks? Well, fuck your gods, fuck your clans and FUCK YOU!" He felt a tug on his wrist and glanced down to see an annoyed Faith clinging to his armored sleeve. "You dolt, we worship the same gods," she said. Flint patted her hand patronizingly and replied. "I standby what I said. Now, where's the nearest exit?" Faith didn't bother rolling her eyes and pointed at a small fenced-off area of the courtyard. A few small buildings were clustered together there in almost absent mindedness, as if the builders had nothing better to put there. "In there should be a staircase; it's used by servants to get around the castle without being in the way. Through there we should be able to get further into the castle." Flint paused in thought for a moment, weighing the odds before nodding once. "Alright. On the count of three we run from our cover here and sprint across the courtyard. I'll need you to make sure the arrows don't make pincushions of us. Ready? One." Faith's eyes went wide in alarm as she hurriedly spoke. "Flint, I don't think this is the best of possible options as of right now-" "Two." "You stupid, lumbering oaf-" "Three!" Flint cried, snatching Faith up and tossing her over his shoulder as he rose from cover. All at once a shout went up among the enemy archers and they drew back on at least a score of bowstrings, eager that their prey had been so generous as to make itself visible. In one furious snap of bowstrings they fired, their arrows like a swarm of hornets in Faith's ears. She squawked and hurriedly cast a spell, entreating the nearby air spirits to raise a whirlwind around the two of them. Flint sprinted across the courtyard, moving faster than a wolf even with a suit of armor on and Faith across his shoulder. The score of arrows struck the wall of air and were blow off course, scattered like leaves in the wind to rain down behind them. Faith bit back all desires to curse her guardian, the need to concentrate on her spell taxing her terribly. Again the archers fired, and again their arrows were knocked from the air as if by an invisible hand. The enemy's furious cries filled her ears. "Shoot the Scathalith! Kill the bastard! Take the Owl alive!" Flint crossed the courtyard faster than anyone could have expected, dropping down to one leg to slide the last ten or so feet into cover just as Faith's control of her spell broke. One arrow landed a foot behind Flint, and snapped in two, its splintered pieces twirling away as one last farewell. Flint dumped her onto the ground unceremoniously and reached for his blade, rising into a crouch in case the foe made an attempt at charging them. Faith, meanwhile, tried to steady herself on shaky knees and catch her breath. "I'm... I'm going to... kill you. Do you understand?" Flint laughed, and tousled her mouse brown hair. "Sure thing, kid. Whatever you say." He turned his head back towards the open gate and the hidden foe beyond. "It was a pretty good run though, huh?
	[WP] "How the hell are there FIFTEEN sides in this civil war?"	[EXCEPT FROM "WORLD HISTORY", COPYRIGHT 2145] Genetic Modification and The Chemical Demise The first precise DNA prediction softwares were developed in 2024, and were mainly used for treatment and diagnosis of Cancer. Soon, DNA softwares along with cloning were used by expecting mothers to give their children desirable genetic traits. However, this type of genetic modification significantly increased the chances of extreme genetic mutation. In 2036, The United States suffered a deadly plague, killing about 35 million Americans, nearly 10% of the population. More commonly known as The Chemical Demise, this plague came as a result of a rare genetic mutation occurring in genetically altered fetuses, which then was passed onto the mothers. Sick mothers were quarantined immediately in large holding facilities called Chambers. The Chambers were almost always over capacity due to the rapidly growing number of ill mothers, and there were not enough resources to accommodate most of the mothers. Unfortunately, there were many deaths due to these conditions. Dead bodies from the Chambers were not disposed of properly, but rather piled up outside of Chambers. In turn, more and more people became ill when exposed to the corpses. The Rights of the Unwell Those suffering from fatal diseases that were not held in Chambers, usually because they were not women nor young, were heavily discriminated against. It was practically impossible for the sick to apply for and maintain jobs, vote, obtain legal documents and drivers' licenses, and attend public events without being exposed to bigotry. The states of New York, Connecticut, California, Colorado, Iowa, Michigan, and Vermont passed a series of laws called The Rights of the Unwell, which stated that the sick should be granted the same civil rights as other law-abiding citizens. While the laws faced some opposition, most of the population of these states, known as the Support States, were in agreement with the new codes. Some states however, called the Demurring States, heavily opposed the idea of The Rights of the Unwell. These states included Rhode Island, New Hampshire, Minnesota, Nebraska, New Mexico, and Texas. The Demurring States had a much higher concentration of Chambers, and the sick were actively hunted down and captured. On May 7, 2037, the Support States declared war on the Demurring States. The American War on Freedom had begun. Alliances Form While the Supporting States and the Demurring States were the two main powers in the War on Freedom, they each had their own allies to aid them in battle. The Supporting States were aided by the Greater Protection Alliance, while the Demurring States were aided by the Greater Separation Alliance. For the first time ever in American History, alliances were not determined by geographical location nor political parties. The Greater Protection Alliance Supporting States: The main powers of The Greater Protection Alliance; Advocate the most for the Rights of the Unwell; Abolished Chambers in their States; Actively aggressive towards the Greater Separation Alliance, specifically, the Demurring States. Passive States: Abolished Chambers in their own states; Heavily guarded borders, but did not provoke the GSA unless attacked. Compliants: Simply followed orders given by the Supporting States; Not nearly as powerful as the Supporting States, but had large populations and manpower. Protection Intelligence (Alaska only): Not physically involved in the war, but in charge of overseeing GPA actions. Frequently communicates with the Supporting States. Aftermath Territory: States that were abandoned due to living conditions, flight to other countries, mass loss of life, and/or war. Almost all Aftermath Territories became occupied by the GPA for use as military bases, the largest and most useful of which being Montana. The Greater Separation Alliance Demurring States: Actively attacked all states affiliated with the GPA. Chambers were used as the main form of quarantine, and the sick were not functioning members of society. Resolutes: Advised the Demurring States in both national and international affairs. Constant States: Greatly depended upon by the GSA for troops. Constant States were in convenient locations relative to GPA-affiliated areas, and were prime locations for attacks. Advancement States: Mostly empty states with heavily protected borders, mostly used by the GSA to travel from one area to another without fear of a GPA attack. Containment States: Usually on the coast, these states found and captured immigrants planning to enter or leave GPA territory, keeping GSA information protected. Unfortunately the Containment States resorted to violent tactics to control immigrants. Neutral Areas Research States: Areas purposefully set aside for research to cure the plague. Both the GSA and the GPA did not attack these areas, and focused their mobilization elsewhere. Objective States: States that were split evenly among GSA and GPA supporters. Both views were suppressed by the state governments to avoid conflict. History State (Hawaii Only): Hawaii was dedicated to the preservation of historical artifacts and landmarks, while also being in charge of the records taken from the War on Freedom. After 3 months of deliberation, they worked out treaties with the GSA and the GPA promising peace. Impartials: These states and territories showed no clear preference for the GSA or GPA. While they did not have peace treaties with either side, it was understood that they meant no harm. Wasteland: Inhabited by very few, these areas were considered uninhabitable by most standards, and did not have the proper conditions to make the GPA consider using them as Aftermath Territory. ... ... ... Hey guys! Thanks for reading. I was wondering if any of you would find it worthwhile if I made my own subreddit. I'm not sure if my writing is good or interesting for it. Just looking for some opinions, thanks :)	"Fifteen." She took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes in frustration. "Yes Madam President. Fifteen factions have decended on the city of Sahir, intending-" "Malcolm...shut the hell up for a moment and take a breath." The president turned away from her advisers and looked out on the pristine greenery of the White House garden she set up her first week in office. It reminded her of the open-heartedness she tried to project her first term. Just like her disillusionment to the character of the people she worked with, the roses were losing their luster as the late September wind rolled in. "Madam President, we-" "Malcolm. Just tell me how the hell are there FIFTEEN sides in this civil war?" Malcolm swallowed, hard, attempted to center himself. One breath, one exhale. Two breaths, two exhales, three breaths, three- "Malcolm, if you cannot handle the stress of your position, feel free to relinquish it. Otherwise, answer my question." "All right. My apologies. Well, Madam President, there remains several schools of thought on the merging of-" "concisely, or not at all." The president sat there, still absorbed in the splendor of the garden. "The Sahir Free Army was initially against the state government of Mahab, but certain extreme factions split into the original SFA and the New Sahir Free Army. The division in the SFA and the NSFA confused many locals of Sahir, so they formed their own government in the basement of the local temple, the Real Sahir Free Army, and in opposition to them-" "Malcolm, I said concisely." "...Everyone worships the same god but is still an asshole. They all want the exact same thing, autonomy, but they can't agree on how, because they're fundamentalist religious, assholes." Malcolm quickly clasped his hand over his mouth. Never before had he cussed in front of the president, nor made any mention of his hatred for organized religion. Considering the President had campaigned on pivoting the country to following Christian Dogma, Malcolm waited with sweaty pits and trembling fingers for news of the future of his career. "Malcolm?" The President called. "Yes, Madam President?" His chest was pounding. "If you ever speak that way to me again..." She paused and took a breath, "I may have to start listening to you. Okay, Gentlemen, options. I want them by 1400. We reconvene then. You're under the direction of General Potty Mouth over there. Adjourned." As the president stood to leave, she couldn't help but notice how lovely the roses looked at that moment.
	[WP] "How the hell are there FIFTEEN sides in this civil war?"	"The successful assassination of Vladimir Lenin in June of 1918 led to a further fracturing of forces in the Russian civil war. There was the Red Russians, the bolsheviks, now under the leadership of Leon Trotsky, centered in Moscow. There were the White Russians, the Tzarists, under the command of Admiral Kolchak. They were seeking to place a cade Prince of the Romanov dynasty upon the throne, as they marched West from Siberia. Resentful over Trotsky's power grab, and fearful for his own survival in the face the invading armies of basically every nation on earth, Josef Stalin fled to Georgia, where he led the Pink Russians, who claimed to be communists not dedicated to global revolution. With international support, Kerensky staged a successful reconquest of Petersburg. The democratic Blue Russians would continue to fight with the aid of Mensheviks. The Green Russians was the appellate given to the Ukrainian Nationalist forces, led by Aleksander Antonov, fought in the Pripet marshes of North Ukraine. There were the Black Russians, the anarchist army, which suddenly captured Ekatirinburg. Their numbers were swayed by international anarchists defecting from every nation to join their center in Odessa. Kaiser Wilhelm organized Russian POWs into the Grey Russian army, under the leadership of captured Marshal Paul Rennenkampf and his magnificent mustache. They sought to install Kaiserin Viktoria Luise as 'The New Catherine the Great', from the region of Minsk. There were the esoteric Purple Russians, under the sway of the Mad Monk Rasputin, who had suddenly resurfaced from hiding in the Caucasus, claiming to be the second coming of Christ, and leading an army of religious fanatics. There was the Siberian republic, adopted the tiger stripe pattern, based off of the siberian Tiger. This coalition of Evenki and Sami nationalists came to be known as the Stripey Russians, though in truth they were neither Russian, nor stripey. There were the Poles, used a Red and White flag, led by General Pilsudski. As slavs, they came to get the press nickname of the 'Checkered Russian' faction. The Finns, led by Karl Mannerheim, became the Gold army, allied in the metallic alliance of the ethnic separatist fighters. The Baltic Alliance was the Bronze army, seeking freedom for the Latvian, Estonian, and Lithuanian people. The Czech legion marched forth under the banner of the Polka Dot. At first they fought as mercenaries for the Whites, then they defected to the Purples after being unpaid, then they were betrayed and fought for the Reds, and eventually, they just marched through every army to escape back to the peace and stability of the Balkans. The British intervention had unforeseen consequences. Angry Scottish draftees, tired over the extension and severity of conscription, rose in mutiny near Talinn. The Plaid Army quickly found common cause with the Estonian people, and came to be dubbed the Plaid Russians, over their colorful kilts and banners. Meanwhile, Douglas MacArthur, the commander of the US intervention forces, took advantage of Woodrow Wilson's incapacity and Warren Harding's indolence to go beyond his remit, starting the United States of Russia, and thus the Spangled Russians, fighting from Arkhangelsk, sought to reform Russia as the next expanse of manifest destiny. On top of this, you have active military interventions from the German, Italian, Austrian, Romanian, Swedish, American, British, French, Japanese, Chinese, Turkish, Persian, Afghan, and Mongolian armies, all of whom were pursuing separate agendas and separate governments, occasionally fighting together, and equally as often fighting against each other. The Russian civil war, lasting as it did from 1917-1948, was thus a rainbow of horror, strife, and confusion. It was only with the peace of Prismata that the United Nations managed a peaceful division of the former territories of the Russian empire, resulting in the formation of 193 new sovereign nations, forming the region of Eurasia now referred to as the great color wheel..... the next chapter of this book will help to explain the cultural and political distinctions between such countries as Lavenderia, Violet Russia, and Mauveland.""	"Fifteen." She took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes in frustration. "Yes Madam President. Fifteen factions have decended on the city of Sahir, intending-" "Malcolm...shut the hell up for a moment and take a breath." The president turned away from her advisers and looked out on the pristine greenery of the White House garden she set up her first week in office. It reminded her of the open-heartedness she tried to project her first term. Just like her disillusionment to the character of the people she worked with, the roses were losing their luster as the late September wind rolled in. "Madam President, we-" "Malcolm. Just tell me how the hell are there FIFTEEN sides in this civil war?" Malcolm swallowed, hard, attempted to center himself. One breath, one exhale. Two breaths, two exhales, three breaths, three- "Malcolm, if you cannot handle the stress of your position, feel free to relinquish it. Otherwise, answer my question." "All right. My apologies. Well, Madam President, there remains several schools of thought on the merging of-" "concisely, or not at all." The president sat there, still absorbed in the splendor of the garden. "The Sahir Free Army was initially against the state government of Mahab, but certain extreme factions split into the original SFA and the New Sahir Free Army. The division in the SFA and the NSFA confused many locals of Sahir, so they formed their own government in the basement of the local temple, the Real Sahir Free Army, and in opposition to them-" "Malcolm, I said concisely." "...Everyone worships the same god but is still an asshole. They all want the exact same thing, autonomy, but they can't agree on how, because they're fundamentalist religious, assholes." Malcolm quickly clasped his hand over his mouth. Never before had he cussed in front of the president, nor made any mention of his hatred for organized religion. Considering the President had campaigned on pivoting the country to following Christian Dogma, Malcolm waited with sweaty pits and trembling fingers for news of the future of his career. "Malcolm?" The President called. "Yes, Madam President?" His chest was pounding. "If you ever speak that way to me again..." She paused and took a breath, "I may have to start listening to you. Okay, Gentlemen, options. I want them by 1400. We reconvene then. You're under the direction of General Potty Mouth over there. Adjourned." As the president stood to leave, she couldn't help but notice how lovely the roses looked at that moment.
	[WP] "How the hell are there FIFTEEN sides in this civil war?"	(This is really stupid, but I've done it now.) Somewhere in rural Hertfordshire, a commander rallied her troops. “And remember, when you hold your sword aloft in no man's land, when you stare your enemy down in the moment before bloodshed, remember for whom you fight...” The warriors stood shoulder to shoulder as the commander paced across to the front line, shouting over countless heads of devoted followers. “You fight for your lives, you fight for a future for your children, but most importantly of all...” The commander raised a fist triumphantly. The front line of soldiers lifted their heads, as if to pre-empt the cacophony of jubilation and passion that was surely to follow. “You fight... for 'Those Who Like Their Tea Without Sugar, With Just a Dash of Milk but Not Too Much and Brewed for a Couple Of Minutes Thank You Very Much'!” A swelling of cheers, whoops and jubilant screams arose among the armed masses. Swords were wantonly bashed against shields, against helmets, and against the backs of the warriors directly in front. Unfortunately that last form of celebration led to the deaths of hundreds of unprepared and inadequately back-armoured soldiers. Still, they were noble and willing martyrs in the fight for 'Tea Without Sugar, With Just a Dash of Milk but Not Too Much and Brewed for a Couple of Minutes Thank You Very Much'. Opposing them, the mighty ranks of 'You Don't Need to Brew Your Tea, All It Needs is a Good Couple of Squeezes of the Teabag'. In response to hearing the shouts from the brew-inclined heathens over the hill, a mechanic crane roared into life. Slowly, as the moon eclipses the Sun, so did a giant, dripping teabag blot out all of industrial Hertfordshire. The merriment of the Brew camp quickly turned to silent astonishment as two giant teaspoons gently ascended, one on either side of the teabag. As each teaspoon was moved inward towards the central teabag, the Brew commander's eyes widened. She could not have prepared for this. Gasps of incredulity rang out amongst her ranks. In the Anti-Brew ranks, impassioned cries of “Yes!” and “Squeeze!” and “Tea's every bit as good if you just fiddle with the teabag a bit, there's no need for all this waiting and brewing nonsense!” were thrown up to the heavens as the two giant teaspoons made contact with the giant teabag, and still they pushed further. At first a few drips of tea dripped against the helmets of the luckiest recruits, soon after there was a veritable waterfall of tea pouring atop the fighters. The few who were scalded was but a small price to pay for the greater goal of proving a point via seemingly impractical feats of engineering. “It's bitter! It's too bitter! You need to let it settle!” the Brew camp cried out in unison. “You can hardly tell the bloody difference!” those who weren't boiled alive retorted. In amongst the riotous proceedings, the 'I Quite Like a Lot of Milk in my Tea, Honestly I Like it to be Mainly Milk' bunch hardly got a word in edgeways. Unsurprising really, considering that they were objectively wrong and consisted entirely of chancers and idiots. The 'Hey, What About Herbal Tea?' bunch were somewhere in Berwick-Upon-Tweed; no-one paid them any mind. Similarly, the 'I Prefer Coffee' lot had long since gone to live a more fulfilled life in continental Europe. In an entirely separate battle fought on the coast of Portsmouth, the regiments of One Sugar, Two Sugar, Three Sugar, and More heartily battled it out. It had been decided long ago that the differences between those who like sugared tea and those who like unsugared were so irreconcilable that war would be pointless. Thus it was that sugars One, Two and Three fought valiantly on the seaside. The More group had the far more pressing concern of imminent diabetes to be concerned with, so forwent the battle. As the armies of 'Those Who Like Their Tea Without Sugar, With Just a Dash of Milk but Not Too Much and Brewed for a Couple Of Minutes Thank You Very Much' and 'You Don't Need to Brew Your Tea, All It Needs is a Good Couple of Squeezes of the Teabag' were beginning to close the gap between one another, a blood-curdling cry arose from a nearby forest stopping both groups in their tracks. Jumping out of trees and crawling out of the dirt came the 'Tea With No Milk Nor Sugar' hordes. The jaw of every soldier dropped; as did the giant teabag, crushing seven. The commander looked at her own group, those who Brew, and looked across the field, at those who most abjectly Do Not. “All who would take the obvious measure of adding a bit of damn milk to your tea, all who have a tongue that actually senses heat and would rather not have literal boiling water brazenly poured onto it, with me!”	"Fifteen." She took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes in frustration. "Yes Madam President. Fifteen factions have decended on the city of Sahir, intending-" "Malcolm...shut the hell up for a moment and take a breath." The president turned away from her advisers and looked out on the pristine greenery of the White House garden she set up her first week in office. It reminded her of the open-heartedness she tried to project her first term. Just like her disillusionment to the character of the people she worked with, the roses were losing their luster as the late September wind rolled in. "Madam President, we-" "Malcolm. Just tell me how the hell are there FIFTEEN sides in this civil war?" Malcolm swallowed, hard, attempted to center himself. One breath, one exhale. Two breaths, two exhales, three breaths, three- "Malcolm, if you cannot handle the stress of your position, feel free to relinquish it. Otherwise, answer my question." "All right. My apologies. Well, Madam President, there remains several schools of thought on the merging of-" "concisely, or not at all." The president sat there, still absorbed in the splendor of the garden. "The Sahir Free Army was initially against the state government of Mahab, but certain extreme factions split into the original SFA and the New Sahir Free Army. The division in the SFA and the NSFA confused many locals of Sahir, so they formed their own government in the basement of the local temple, the Real Sahir Free Army, and in opposition to them-" "Malcolm, I said concisely." "...Everyone worships the same god but is still an asshole. They all want the exact same thing, autonomy, but they can't agree on how, because they're fundamentalist religious, assholes." Malcolm quickly clasped his hand over his mouth. Never before had he cussed in front of the president, nor made any mention of his hatred for organized religion. Considering the President had campaigned on pivoting the country to following Christian Dogma, Malcolm waited with sweaty pits and trembling fingers for news of the future of his career. "Malcolm?" The President called. "Yes, Madam President?" His chest was pounding. "If you ever speak that way to me again..." She paused and took a breath, "I may have to start listening to you. Okay, Gentlemen, options. I want them by 1400. We reconvene then. You're under the direction of General Potty Mouth over there. Adjourned." As the president stood to leave, she couldn't help but notice how lovely the roses looked at that moment.
	[WP] "How the hell are there FIFTEEN sides in this civil war?"	"The successful assassination of Vladimir Lenin in June of 1918 led to a further fracturing of forces in the Russian civil war. There was the Red Russians, the bolsheviks, now under the leadership of Leon Trotsky, centered in Moscow. There were the White Russians, the Tzarists, under the command of Admiral Kolchak. They were seeking to place a cade Prince of the Romanov dynasty upon the throne, as they marched West from Siberia. Resentful over Trotsky's power grab, and fearful for his own survival in the face the invading armies of basically every nation on earth, Josef Stalin fled to Georgia, where he led the Pink Russians, who claimed to be communists not dedicated to global revolution. With international support, Kerensky staged a successful reconquest of Petersburg. The democratic Blue Russians would continue to fight with the aid of Mensheviks. The Green Russians was the appellate given to the Ukrainian Nationalist forces, led by Aleksander Antonov, fought in the Pripet marshes of North Ukraine. There were the Black Russians, the anarchist army, which suddenly captured Ekatirinburg. Their numbers were swayed by international anarchists defecting from every nation to join their center in Odessa. Kaiser Wilhelm organized Russian POWs into the Grey Russian army, under the leadership of captured Marshal Paul Rennenkampf and his magnificent mustache. They sought to install Kaiserin Viktoria Luise as 'The New Catherine the Great', from the region of Minsk. There were the esoteric Purple Russians, under the sway of the Mad Monk Rasputin, who had suddenly resurfaced from hiding in the Caucasus, claiming to be the second coming of Christ, and leading an army of religious fanatics. There was the Siberian republic, adopted the tiger stripe pattern, based off of the siberian Tiger. This coalition of Evenki and Sami nationalists came to be known as the Stripey Russians, though in truth they were neither Russian, nor stripey. There were the Poles, used a Red and White flag, led by General Pilsudski. As slavs, they came to get the press nickname of the 'Checkered Russian' faction. The Finns, led by Karl Mannerheim, became the Gold army, allied in the metallic alliance of the ethnic separatist fighters. The Baltic Alliance was the Bronze army, seeking freedom for the Latvian, Estonian, and Lithuanian people. The Czech legion marched forth under the banner of the Polka Dot. At first they fought as mercenaries for the Whites, then they defected to the Purples after being unpaid, then they were betrayed and fought for the Reds, and eventually, they just marched through every army to escape back to the peace and stability of the Balkans. The British intervention had unforeseen consequences. Angry Scottish draftees, tired over the extension and severity of conscription, rose in mutiny near Talinn. The Plaid Army quickly found common cause with the Estonian people, and came to be dubbed the Plaid Russians, over their colorful kilts and banners. Meanwhile, Douglas MacArthur, the commander of the US intervention forces, took advantage of Woodrow Wilson's incapacity and Warren Harding's indolence to go beyond his remit, starting the United States of Russia, and thus the Spangled Russians, fighting from Arkhangelsk, sought to reform Russia as the next expanse of manifest destiny. On top of this, you have active military interventions from the German, Italian, Austrian, Romanian, Swedish, American, British, French, Japanese, Chinese, Turkish, Persian, Afghan, and Mongolian armies, all of whom were pursuing separate agendas and separate governments, occasionally fighting together, and equally as often fighting against each other. The Russian civil war, lasting as it did from 1917-1948, was thus a rainbow of horror, strife, and confusion. It was only with the peace of Prismata that the United Nations managed a peaceful division of the former territories of the Russian empire, resulting in the formation of 193 new sovereign nations, forming the region of Eurasia now referred to as the great color wheel..... the next chapter of this book will help to explain the cultural and political distinctions between such countries as Lavenderia, Violet Russia, and Mauveland.""	[EXCEPT FROM "WORLD HISTORY", COPYRIGHT 2145] Genetic Modification and The Chemical Demise The first precise DNA prediction softwares were developed in 2024, and were mainly used for treatment and diagnosis of Cancer. Soon, DNA softwares along with cloning were used by expecting mothers to give their children desirable genetic traits. However, this type of genetic modification significantly increased the chances of extreme genetic mutation. In 2036, The United States suffered a deadly plague, killing about 35 million Americans, nearly 10% of the population. More commonly known as The Chemical Demise, this plague came as a result of a rare genetic mutation occurring in genetically altered fetuses, which then was passed onto the mothers. Sick mothers were quarantined immediately in large holding facilities called Chambers. The Chambers were almost always over capacity due to the rapidly growing number of ill mothers, and there were not enough resources to accommodate most of the mothers. Unfortunately, there were many deaths due to these conditions. Dead bodies from the Chambers were not disposed of properly, but rather piled up outside of Chambers. In turn, more and more people became ill when exposed to the corpses. The Rights of the Unwell Those suffering from fatal diseases that were not held in Chambers, usually because they were not women nor young, were heavily discriminated against. It was practically impossible for the sick to apply for and maintain jobs, vote, obtain legal documents and drivers' licenses, and attend public events without being exposed to bigotry. The states of New York, Connecticut, California, Colorado, Iowa, Michigan, and Vermont passed a series of laws called The Rights of the Unwell, which stated that the sick should be granted the same civil rights as other law-abiding citizens. While the laws faced some opposition, most of the population of these states, known as the Support States, were in agreement with the new codes. Some states however, called the Demurring States, heavily opposed the idea of The Rights of the Unwell. These states included Rhode Island, New Hampshire, Minnesota, Nebraska, New Mexico, and Texas. The Demurring States had a much higher concentration of Chambers, and the sick were actively hunted down and captured. On May 7, 2037, the Support States declared war on the Demurring States. The American War on Freedom had begun. Alliances Form While the Supporting States and the Demurring States were the two main powers in the War on Freedom, they each had their own allies to aid them in battle. The Supporting States were aided by the Greater Protection Alliance, while the Demurring States were aided by the Greater Separation Alliance. For the first time ever in American History, alliances were not determined by geographical location nor political parties. The Greater Protection Alliance Supporting States: The main powers of The Greater Protection Alliance; Advocate the most for the Rights of the Unwell; Abolished Chambers in their States; Actively aggressive towards the Greater Separation Alliance, specifically, the Demurring States. Passive States: Abolished Chambers in their own states; Heavily guarded borders, but did not provoke the GSA unless attacked. Compliants: Simply followed orders given by the Supporting States; Not nearly as powerful as the Supporting States, but had large populations and manpower. Protection Intelligence (Alaska only): Not physically involved in the war, but in charge of overseeing GPA actions. Frequently communicates with the Supporting States. Aftermath Territory: States that were abandoned due to living conditions, flight to other countries, mass loss of life, and/or war. Almost all Aftermath Territories became occupied by the GPA for use as military bases, the largest and most useful of which being Montana. The Greater Separation Alliance Demurring States: Actively attacked all states affiliated with the GPA. Chambers were used as the main form of quarantine, and the sick were not functioning members of society. Resolutes: Advised the Demurring States in both national and international affairs. Constant States: Greatly depended upon by the GSA for troops. Constant States were in convenient locations relative to GPA-affiliated areas, and were prime locations for attacks. Advancement States: Mostly empty states with heavily protected borders, mostly used by the GSA to travel from one area to another without fear of a GPA attack. Containment States: Usually on the coast, these states found and captured immigrants planning to enter or leave GPA territory, keeping GSA information protected. Unfortunately the Containment States resorted to violent tactics to control immigrants. Neutral Areas Research States: Areas purposefully set aside for research to cure the plague. Both the GSA and the GPA did not attack these areas, and focused their mobilization elsewhere. Objective States: States that were split evenly among GSA and GPA supporters. Both views were suppressed by the state governments to avoid conflict. History State (Hawaii Only): Hawaii was dedicated to the preservation of historical artifacts and landmarks, while also being in charge of the records taken from the War on Freedom. After 3 months of deliberation, they worked out treaties with the GSA and the GPA promising peace. Impartials: These states and territories showed no clear preference for the GSA or GPA. While they did not have peace treaties with either side, it was understood that they meant no harm. Wasteland: Inhabited by very few, these areas were considered uninhabitable by most standards, and did not have the proper conditions to make the GPA consider using them as Aftermath Territory. ... ... ... Hey guys! Thanks for reading. I was wondering if any of you would find it worthwhile if I made my own subreddit. I'm not sure if my writing is good or interesting for it. Just looking for some opinions, thanks :)
	[WP] "How the hell are there FIFTEEN sides in this civil war?"	(This is really stupid, but I've done it now.) Somewhere in rural Hertfordshire, a commander rallied her troops. “And remember, when you hold your sword aloft in no man's land, when you stare your enemy down in the moment before bloodshed, remember for whom you fight...” The warriors stood shoulder to shoulder as the commander paced across to the front line, shouting over countless heads of devoted followers. “You fight for your lives, you fight for a future for your children, but most importantly of all...” The commander raised a fist triumphantly. The front line of soldiers lifted their heads, as if to pre-empt the cacophony of jubilation and passion that was surely to follow. “You fight... for 'Those Who Like Their Tea Without Sugar, With Just a Dash of Milk but Not Too Much and Brewed for a Couple Of Minutes Thank You Very Much'!” A swelling of cheers, whoops and jubilant screams arose among the armed masses. Swords were wantonly bashed against shields, against helmets, and against the backs of the warriors directly in front. Unfortunately that last form of celebration led to the deaths of hundreds of unprepared and inadequately back-armoured soldiers. Still, they were noble and willing martyrs in the fight for 'Tea Without Sugar, With Just a Dash of Milk but Not Too Much and Brewed for a Couple of Minutes Thank You Very Much'. Opposing them, the mighty ranks of 'You Don't Need to Brew Your Tea, All It Needs is a Good Couple of Squeezes of the Teabag'. In response to hearing the shouts from the brew-inclined heathens over the hill, a mechanic crane roared into life. Slowly, as the moon eclipses the Sun, so did a giant, dripping teabag blot out all of industrial Hertfordshire. The merriment of the Brew camp quickly turned to silent astonishment as two giant teaspoons gently ascended, one on either side of the teabag. As each teaspoon was moved inward towards the central teabag, the Brew commander's eyes widened. She could not have prepared for this. Gasps of incredulity rang out amongst her ranks. In the Anti-Brew ranks, impassioned cries of “Yes!” and “Squeeze!” and “Tea's every bit as good if you just fiddle with the teabag a bit, there's no need for all this waiting and brewing nonsense!” were thrown up to the heavens as the two giant teaspoons made contact with the giant teabag, and still they pushed further. At first a few drips of tea dripped against the helmets of the luckiest recruits, soon after there was a veritable waterfall of tea pouring atop the fighters. The few who were scalded was but a small price to pay for the greater goal of proving a point via seemingly impractical feats of engineering. “It's bitter! It's too bitter! You need to let it settle!” the Brew camp cried out in unison. “You can hardly tell the bloody difference!” those who weren't boiled alive retorted. In amongst the riotous proceedings, the 'I Quite Like a Lot of Milk in my Tea, Honestly I Like it to be Mainly Milk' bunch hardly got a word in edgeways. Unsurprising really, considering that they were objectively wrong and consisted entirely of chancers and idiots. The 'Hey, What About Herbal Tea?' bunch were somewhere in Berwick-Upon-Tweed; no-one paid them any mind. Similarly, the 'I Prefer Coffee' lot had long since gone to live a more fulfilled life in continental Europe. In an entirely separate battle fought on the coast of Portsmouth, the regiments of One Sugar, Two Sugar, Three Sugar, and More heartily battled it out. It had been decided long ago that the differences between those who like sugared tea and those who like unsugared were so irreconcilable that war would be pointless. Thus it was that sugars One, Two and Three fought valiantly on the seaside. The More group had the far more pressing concern of imminent diabetes to be concerned with, so forwent the battle. As the armies of 'Those Who Like Their Tea Without Sugar, With Just a Dash of Milk but Not Too Much and Brewed for a Couple Of Minutes Thank You Very Much' and 'You Don't Need to Brew Your Tea, All It Needs is a Good Couple of Squeezes of the Teabag' were beginning to close the gap between one another, a blood-curdling cry arose from a nearby forest stopping both groups in their tracks. Jumping out of trees and crawling out of the dirt came the 'Tea With No Milk Nor Sugar' hordes. The jaw of every soldier dropped; as did the giant teabag, crushing seven. The commander looked at her own group, those who Brew, and looked across the field, at those who most abjectly Do Not. “All who would take the obvious measure of adding a bit of damn milk to your tea, all who have a tongue that actually senses heat and would rather not have literal boiling water brazenly poured onto it, with me!”	"This isn't really a fifteen-sided war, General. You cannot honestly tell me that we will stand a chance of winning." "You're still here, aren't you, Lieutenant?" "Sir...all I've ever known is here. This group...this side in the war...I cannot leave." "Just the answer I expected, son. You are an honorable man. Given where you were born, nobody would have blamed you for casting your lot with the men across the Bay." "Never sir, not with a gun to my head. But those fighters aren't even a faction in this war. Supporting them would be a moot point." "For this conflict, son." "With due respect sir, the army from St. Louis have all but destroyed the entirety of their opposition." "That is true...any news from the East?" "The two largest factions are still locked in a virtual stalemate. But that small fleet from the south is looking towards us." "Us versus them Tampa boys? Peace of cake." "General!" "At ease, Private! What's going on?" "Word from Texas! The Rangers destroyed the Astros. Every last one of their fighters has been killed." "So now there are only fifteen of us..." "Fifteen...how the hell are there FIFTEEN sides in this war?" "It's baseball, son. America's pastime. The greatest sport ever thought up by the greatest country God ever created."
	[WP] "How the hell are there FIFTEEN sides in this civil war?"	(This is really stupid, but I've done it now.) Somewhere in rural Hertfordshire, a commander rallied her troops. “And remember, when you hold your sword aloft in no man's land, when you stare your enemy down in the moment before bloodshed, remember for whom you fight...” The warriors stood shoulder to shoulder as the commander paced across to the front line, shouting over countless heads of devoted followers. “You fight for your lives, you fight for a future for your children, but most importantly of all...” The commander raised a fist triumphantly. The front line of soldiers lifted their heads, as if to pre-empt the cacophony of jubilation and passion that was surely to follow. “You fight... for 'Those Who Like Their Tea Without Sugar, With Just a Dash of Milk but Not Too Much and Brewed for a Couple Of Minutes Thank You Very Much'!” A swelling of cheers, whoops and jubilant screams arose among the armed masses. Swords were wantonly bashed against shields, against helmets, and against the backs of the warriors directly in front. Unfortunately that last form of celebration led to the deaths of hundreds of unprepared and inadequately back-armoured soldiers. Still, they were noble and willing martyrs in the fight for 'Tea Without Sugar, With Just a Dash of Milk but Not Too Much and Brewed for a Couple of Minutes Thank You Very Much'. Opposing them, the mighty ranks of 'You Don't Need to Brew Your Tea, All It Needs is a Good Couple of Squeezes of the Teabag'. In response to hearing the shouts from the brew-inclined heathens over the hill, a mechanic crane roared into life. Slowly, as the moon eclipses the Sun, so did a giant, dripping teabag blot out all of industrial Hertfordshire. The merriment of the Brew camp quickly turned to silent astonishment as two giant teaspoons gently ascended, one on either side of the teabag. As each teaspoon was moved inward towards the central teabag, the Brew commander's eyes widened. She could not have prepared for this. Gasps of incredulity rang out amongst her ranks. In the Anti-Brew ranks, impassioned cries of “Yes!” and “Squeeze!” and “Tea's every bit as good if you just fiddle with the teabag a bit, there's no need for all this waiting and brewing nonsense!” were thrown up to the heavens as the two giant teaspoons made contact with the giant teabag, and still they pushed further. At first a few drips of tea dripped against the helmets of the luckiest recruits, soon after there was a veritable waterfall of tea pouring atop the fighters. The few who were scalded was but a small price to pay for the greater goal of proving a point via seemingly impractical feats of engineering. “It's bitter! It's too bitter! You need to let it settle!” the Brew camp cried out in unison. “You can hardly tell the bloody difference!” those who weren't boiled alive retorted. In amongst the riotous proceedings, the 'I Quite Like a Lot of Milk in my Tea, Honestly I Like it to be Mainly Milk' bunch hardly got a word in edgeways. Unsurprising really, considering that they were objectively wrong and consisted entirely of chancers and idiots. The 'Hey, What About Herbal Tea?' bunch were somewhere in Berwick-Upon-Tweed; no-one paid them any mind. Similarly, the 'I Prefer Coffee' lot had long since gone to live a more fulfilled life in continental Europe. In an entirely separate battle fought on the coast of Portsmouth, the regiments of One Sugar, Two Sugar, Three Sugar, and More heartily battled it out. It had been decided long ago that the differences between those who like sugared tea and those who like unsugared were so irreconcilable that war would be pointless. Thus it was that sugars One, Two and Three fought valiantly on the seaside. The More group had the far more pressing concern of imminent diabetes to be concerned with, so forwent the battle. As the armies of 'Those Who Like Their Tea Without Sugar, With Just a Dash of Milk but Not Too Much and Brewed for a Couple Of Minutes Thank You Very Much' and 'You Don't Need to Brew Your Tea, All It Needs is a Good Couple of Squeezes of the Teabag' were beginning to close the gap between one another, a blood-curdling cry arose from a nearby forest stopping both groups in their tracks. Jumping out of trees and crawling out of the dirt came the 'Tea With No Milk Nor Sugar' hordes. The jaw of every soldier dropped; as did the giant teabag, crushing seven. The commander looked at her own group, those who Brew, and looked across the field, at those who most abjectly Do Not. “All who would take the obvious measure of adding a bit of damn milk to your tea, all who have a tongue that actually senses heat and would rather not have literal boiling water brazenly poured onto it, with me!”	I haven't written anything concrete yet, but I love this scenario. This is how I envisioned it: (not a native english speaker btw, so bear with me) "Fifteen bloody sides? When His Holiness, Protector of the Dominion of Men and Divine Avatar passed at 102, He declared on His deathbed His Child as Holy Successor and Prophet of Mankind, and ordered the destruction of false prophets that would lead His people astray. However, he might have forgotten to specify which of His fifteen children he had meant..."
	[WP] When a pregnant woman gets moody, it's actually the baby controlling her like a gundam/mecha.	My first prompt! It's not the best but enjoy? I guess: Damn it, Damn it, Damn it all! How could I have let this happen? I was supposed to be completely in control. I know I... I…I. Had it, it’s like this beast can’t be tamed! Let’s check the fuel reactors…. Damn it! Completely empty…. I guess I’ll sit tight for the time being, rethink my hacking method…. “HONEY!!! I NEED MORE SPINACH ICE CREAM!!!” “Umm, babe I think you need to go easy on the spinach Ice Cream, if you keep eating it like this the demand is gonna be higher than the supply and you remember what happened last time don’t you?” “That wasn’t my fault. You can’t advertise all you can eat ice cream if you can’t provide All you can eat ice cream” “You just go easy. Okay? I’ll go make another run to the parlor.” “Thanks babe, I will… Oh! Before you go, what should I order for dinner? I was thinking maybe Indian or Korean?” “Umm, whatever you want babe. I’m not in a particularly persnickety mood today.” “Alright, Indian it is!” It’s been 4 months and David Herschway and Miranda Herschway are still coping with the pregnant life. Dave’s been writing twice as many articles for Gaming Nightly. Miranda’s been antsy after taking a leave of absence from her job as an Internal Technician at one of the biggest corporations to exist. CLICK WHIRRRRRR Yes, I’m back in control. Now let’s take this baby out for a spin. Mech! Walk to the refrigerator! (We’re gonna need some extra fuel if I’m going to be able to pilot this for more than a half-hour.) Miranda takes a few uncoordinated steps to the refrigerator and stares blankly Alright! It’s working! Who knew these roundhouses to the front wall would be so effective! Mech! Grab materials needed to make: Ham and Cheese Sandwich CLICK CRASH!!!!!!! *ERROR---PILOT 001 IS NO LONGER IN CONTROL ---AUTO-PILOT: DISABLED* DAMN! NOT AGAIN! WHY SO SOON? WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG! IS IT THE COMMANDS? I CAN’T BEGIN TO UNDERSTAND?! “Honey. Go back to bed. You know what the Doctor said.” “Umm, yeah. I.Uh. Have no idea how I got here” Miranda stared at her stomach with a bemused expression as she considered the idea of a baby controlling her every movement…. That simply wasn’t the case …. The baby couldn’t control her EVERY movement…….	The symbiotic relationship with his host was extremely beneficial for young Caleb. His host was in near perfect form, both strong(getting stronger by the day it seemed) and fast. Caleb knew that this time-THIS LIFE-Would be the culmination of all his hard work. Reincarnation was real, but if you die in the womb, you die for real. He had fought countless battles throughout the years, both bloody and savage, against Michael. Each time, he would find the timing to be wrong. After birth, he lost it would seem like his muscles would atrophy and his brain would revert to its simplest form. This time, he prayed, he would be early enough to end it once and for all. It all started so long ago that Caleb could hardly remember the original conflict. They always seemed to be on opposite sides. He had fallen to Michael's spear as a gladiator, but tasted revenge when his arrow had taken Michael in the chest some decades later. He was shot, presumably during one of the big wars, and had killed his rival most recently in the barren wastelands of the middle east, before being destroyed by the improvised explosive attached to Michael's chest, only moments after. He lived to fight. Countless lives had been lost or taken, but each time he would come back. He finally figured a way to finish this. He instructed his vehicle to move. She followed the commands well though he could only communicate with subtle hints. By giving her cravings, he could manipulate her wants and needs. He just needed to maneuver close to the other, and set his host off. Her raging hormones should do the rest. There! Across the parking lot he sensed him. Just a little closer....
	[WP] One person is born in every hundred million people with the ability to resurrect a single person from the dead, regardless of who they are or how long they've been dead.	I could raise a scientist Like Einstein or Bohr. It's 2052, And we could do more. I could bring back a peace man Like Ghandi or King, To guide us more forward, And make that a thing. I could bring back an artist Like Hals or Rembrandt. He would have to be Dutch, No one said I can't. I could bring back a general Like Tzu or Sherman, And show everyone else, Where war's really been. I could bring back anyone Anyone at all, But the choice must be mine, This must be my call. Why not Hitler or Stalin, To make them my staff? Or Williams or Carson, To give me a laugh? You know what, I've decided. Perhaps a latina... Ah forget it, I've chosen. [AND HIS NAME IS...](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=enMReCEcHiM)	Harold was one of them. There was approximately 1 every year. 5 occurrences every four years. A lot of people had been brought back from the dead. Harold wondered who there was to bring back. It seemed like all the cool people had already been seen again. Hitler had been interrogated. Stalin had been prosecuted for his crimes. Jesus Christ - who actually had existed - was found to just be a simple boy who had been used as a prophet. Harold didn't want to be one of those ones who brought back a dead cat or his grandmother. He drafted a list of names and went through them one by one with his best friend Joey. "What about Thomas Jefferson?" "Already brought back." "Benjamin Franklin?" "Done already." Harold tapped his pencil against his desk. "What about Steve Irwin?" "Yeah. Last year, they did the special about it. Don't you remember?" The names got crossed off one by one. Vonnegut, Hemingway, Charlie Chaplin, Amelia Earhart, Lenin, Lennon. "There's just no one good anymore!" Harold threw his pencil across the room. "Why does it even matter if I can bring someone back from the dead if it can't be someone cool like Heath Ledger or Madonna?" "Actually Madonna is still alive." "Seriously? Is she a dinosaur or what?" Joey didn't answer. Instead he went through the list again. All of the names had been crossed out. "You could just wait a few years, until someone cool dies." "But I want to use it now." Harold stamped his foot. "I've waited fourteen years for this moment!" "What about Marilyn?" "Monroe?" "No. Marilyn. From down the street. She made good cookies, man." Harold sighed and sat down. "I just don't want to be one of those. There has to be something cool out there. There has to be some cool dead person who hasn't been brought back. What about Ted Bundy?" "Uh...actually, no. Still dead." "Perfect," Harold clapped his hands together. "I'll bring back Ted Bundy! What could go wrong with that?" --- /r/Celsius232
	[WP] God died eons ago. The devil took it upon himself to try and do both jobs	So this kinda changed as I was writing it, and I am feeling REALLY unfocused right now (yay 2am!) and it's apparently too long to post, so splitting it up... Do you know how hard it is to juggle two jobs, deal with an extended and dysfunctional family, and keep my public image suitably menacing? Not to mention carving out just a little quality "me time" without someone barging into my throne room-slash-office declaring some dire emergency or another that just needs the attention of the guy in charge? Apparently, you are important enough that I need to take time out of my day. Well, let's start with the basics - I'm Lucifer Morningstar, CEO of DIYD-DIYD, Inc. You can pronouce that however you want, but I just say "Died Died" and be done with it. Honestly, it's how I feel most days anyway - dragging my ass out of bed and away from the ~~thralls~~ groupies just to come into work and deal with all the crap in the universe - ugh! I'm rambling, but you'll forgive that. Well, you're currently strapped down to your chair and there's a couple of winged blokes looming menacingly on either side of you, so you'd better forgive me for few unfocused tangents. You know it's an acronym, right? What? Pay attention, please. They're not going to start cutting on you just yet, so show some bloody manners okay? DIYD-DIYD! It stands for Damned If You Do - Damned If You Don't. I didn't come up with it - one of the fellas in marketing pulled it out of their ass and I couldn't come up with anything better. So now you know who I am. And I know who you are, you maggoty little worm of a human. Hmm? Oh. Damnit, one second, let me find the right file...bloody secretary. I told her to file everything in numerical order and she went and made a mess of it. Apparently she thought I said "new miracle order" or something. I'd fire or disembowel her, but she's a cousin or something. Ugh. Family. Don't get me started. Right, so... okay, wow. Back off a few paces, fellas. Give the poor guy a little breathing room. Hand him a tissue or something to wipe away the tears and - oh, right, the straps. No, sorry, we can't remove those. It's sort of traditional and even though it seems that you're here for the special treatment we can't really argue with tradition. The straps stay. Anazoel, can you just wipe his...ah, thanks. Okay. Down to business. You're here - apparently, so says this file - because you're about six weeks from death and - oh, for cryin' out loud, Belial can you calm him down a little? Not too hard, just a quick tap. Thank you. Listen, you knew you were going to die, right? All those visits to the doctor? The headaches? The little flutters in your chest? Sure, you didn't know exactly when, but it must have been on your metaphorical radar. Your impending death. Can you just hear me out? Honestly, the sobbing is a little distracting. Here's the thing. Right now you're all written up to shoot straight to the shining city. You've been a good person. Suitably modest, generous, kind, and you're a Believer (though a little wishy-washy in your college years, you came back with a passion after that car accident). So once you kick off this crappy little world you'll be set for eternity beyond the ol' Pearly Whites. Seeing loved ones again, existing in serene joy and all that. So chill the fuck out about this whole dying thing. What? This is me being comforting. Christ. Everyone's a critic. The thing is, I've got a job to do. Several, actually. And you've made one of them really easy - this paperwork takes care of that - but the other is a little more problematic. See, you've been too good. I've had some of my boys and girls toss temptations your way and you've pretty much ignored them. You've been happy and content and honestly, that sort of thing is kinda sickening. You understand, right? I'm the devil, after all. Sure, one half of my duties include clapping with gay abandon at your pending ascension, but the other half knows that you still have six weeks and that means I still have some time to - oh, for Pete's sake. Hold on. You're speaking to the bright and shining Morningstar. What's up? Oh, hey Azmodeus, what's up my man? What? No, seriously, I'm right in the middle of a - he what? With who? No, no, no that's just not cool, Az. You get your forked tail back in there and...oh, come on! Like the old bell, book and candle would have kept you from doing your job back in the old days? You're just being a little girl about it.... ...WHAT? No, I'm not authorizing extra medical benefits. At worst you'll get a rash. You're a fucking Lord of the Abyss for My sake, you can deal with a little psoriasis. Don't make me come down there and...you know what? Fine. What-the-Hell-EVER, Az, but your bonus this year is looking pretty damn slim. Bye. Sorry about that. Work, work, work. Apparently Azmodeus is turning into a little bitch in his old age. Belial, make a note that we need to run a couple of seminars or something to bolster up some of the old guard. Honestly, it's like working with geriatric children. The guy strapped to the chair gets it, right? It's okay, you can nod. See? Where was I? Right. Temptation. Listen, six weeks isn't a long time. Isn't there a whole long list of nasty-ass shit you always wanted to get up to but didn't, simply because you were worried about going to Hell? No? Not even a short list? A single thing? No? What sort of human are you? Wow, that's just...oh, wait, are you just saying that because you think you'll be damned if you do something within the next six weeks? 'Cuz I can pretty much guarantee that you're gonna be fine. Trust me. I mean, I know the guy in charge. Heh. I am the guy in charge. That's a mighty skeptical look for a guy strapped to a chair with six weeks to live. Seriously, I'm the guy in charge. Sure, of Hell, that's pretty much a shoe-in. But Heaven, too. Really. The old guy kicked off so long ago that I can't even write out the number without using a whole memo pad. Christ, what a shitstorm that was. Angelic beings all in a panic, zooming across the skies like demented pigeons back and forth in mindless horror. Someone had to pick up the slack. Someone had to take things in hand. And you know, nobody else was stepping up, so I did. You think I wanted to take on the old guy's job? Creation and love? That's like drinking beer that someone's pissed in. But I was the only one who could, so I did. Did pretty well, too, if I may brag just a little bit. Can I brag a little? Nod for yes. Thank you. I'm good with organization, see? So I picked up and moved here to Earth - halfway between Heaven and Hell and convenient for travel between the two. I rolled the two jobs into one megacorp (one of my more inspired inventions) and balance the good and evil of the world through carefully calculated acts of either grace or temptation. Neat, huh? Oh, no, I don't do it myself. I've got people for that. So many people. It's like a little hive or something, all these calculator-types. What? Oh, right. Analysts. Whatever they're called, they do the figuring out of were a little good needs to be done, or a little nasty act of malice, and we send out agents to deal with it. That's not to say it's easy. No, you've got to deal with oh for fucks sake Janine I thought I said I wanted all my calls held until I was done. FINE. Hello. you're speaking to the bri- Whoa, whoa, whoa, slow down there Mike. It's all good, my man. You don't need to get into a spin about that, we can just send an imp to strangle him in his sleep. I know he has a family. That's not the point. You can't mess with free will, my man, and he freely and wilfully signed away his- oh, jeez, I'm not going to argue about this over the phone, Michael. If you want to talk about it, we'll pencil something in for Tuesday. Honestly, you could do with a refresher on the whole Divine Guidance thing. We've got a script that covers everything, you know. No, Michael, you screwed it up. You went off-script and now he's made his choice. Not your problem anymore. Just get on with the next job, okay? Almost ten billion people on this planet, and they're not slowing down, so get cracking. Ciao.	God left us a long time ago. He just couldn't take it anymore. He was already old when he made Universe #16891-A or our current universe. A quintillion years had passed by during his attempts to create a flourishing universe. Finally, he cracked the secret to making intelligent life. When he saw Earth's early life, he was the happiest man in existence. You should have seen the gleam in his eye when he saw the first bacteria roam the planet! He was ecstatic when he saw humanity learn to make fire and plant seeds. When he saw the debauchery, the sin, that violence pervading the world, he became ashamed of his creation. His son sacrificed himself for nothing and the grief enveloped him. He disappeared soon after that. He initially created me, the Devil, to manage the more menial tasks of the upkeep his universe requires. When he left that faithful day two thousand years ago, he entrusted me with the care of Earth. I knew better than he did about what made humanity tick. How easy it is to corrupt them, how easy it is to motivate them, how easy it is to guide them. But he made me see something that day. Humanity is still worth preserving at the end of the day. Sure, there may be terrible villains but humanity does not let evil mold them. Despite all the terrible things that had happened to humanity, they have made it through every trial and tribulation set upon them. They progressed farther than any of our previous creations and they still have so much to go. So much to discover. Someday, they might even discover us. I look forward to that day when I can give them the keys to creation itself. If only God was here to see them now. If only...
	[WP] You have come to the realization that your roommate is actually a velociraptor in disguise.	"Lorie, I thought I was very clear about this. Anything marked with my name in the fridge is mine. We have these rules for a reason." I spoke directly to her but it was hard to tell if she was getting what I was saying. She always wore wayyyy too much makeup and it made her expression unreadable. "Lorie, c'mon. At least acknowledge that you are hearing me!" "Raaaahhhhhhhhh," was all that Lorie could manage. Typical Lorie response. A month living with her and I wasn't sure how much longer I could bear it. Her room was always a mess, she never cleaned up after herself, and every time I tried speaking to her she would just respond with a scream. It was downright rude. I wasn't looking for a friend in a new roommate, but a little respect would have been nice. Not to mention both of my cats had run away, and she wouldn't fess up to letting that happen. I know she must have left the door open or something, if only she would admit to it. Finally, I had had enough. "You know what Lorie, this just isn't going to work out. I think you need to start looking for another place." "Raaaahhhhhhh! Ka! Ka!" "Okay, Lorie, I have to be honest, I'm not sure what that means at all. Please pack your shit and get out." Lorie turned her head sideways and looked at me, leering with those striking green eyes. There was something in that stare that chilled me to the bone. As she continued to stare, I noticed, not for the first time, how bad her posture was. She was constantly hunched over. That could not be good for your back. I wondered to myself if that was why she was such a bitch all the time. I'm not sure what my plan was-- to physically take her out of the house? That was a silly notion, she had at least a hundred pounds on me. Regardless, I started moving towards her, and that is when Lorie went nuts. She stood up taller and looked up to the ceiling, her head bouncing back and forth from side to side as a weird throaty sound started emanating from her mouth. "Kaw, Kaw! Kaw, Kaw!" As her head was tilted back in this position I noticed how sharp her teeth were and it stopped me dead in my tracks. They were like razor blades. It was at this point something started to click in my mind, and I looked from her teeth down to her hands, where her pinky nail was much longer than the rest of her nails. Not only that, but it was filed to a point, almost like... a claw. Shit. Realization started to hit me, and all of the puzzle pieces started to fit into place. How could I have not realized?? Lorie was a velociraptor. With my final breath before she pounced on me, I was able to get out two words. "Clever girl."	I’m beginning to think something might be up with Jack. I’ve been living here with him for three years, but lately he’s been acting a bit off. I probably should’ve realised sooner what he actually was, but I honestly didn’t care to notice with him paying half the rent. Jack is not really a human, he’s a velociraptor. I guess it’s pretty obvious in hindsight. After all, his voice was always was pretty screechy, and his stature is terrible. What really gave it up to me, though, was when he drove his muzzle into my abdomen and began eating my innards. I mean, damn. You think you know a guy.
	[WP] Time Travel exists and a new job exists! Your job is to take people from the past right before they die and show them their impact on the present for a day or two and then return them to their death.	When the director had called me at 3am, I knew it had to be an important case. "I need you here right now." The statement was short and flat. "Who's the client?" I was still groggy when I answered the call, "You better be waking me up for either George Washington or Batman, I swear to Go-" "No, trust me," he sounded dead serious, "You need to handle this one." He hung up the call as I decided it was best that it wasn't a joke. "Who was that?" My wife asked as I got out of bed. "Work," I shrugged, "Apparently it's urgent." I got dressed and made my way down to the lab about half-an-hour later. I dressed in a simple T-shirt and jeans as I found my way over to my work-space. To no surprise the director was waiting for me, a manila folder tucked in his arms. "What is it?" I drew closer to him as my body was still aching from the three hours of sleep. He quietly handed me the folder. I opened it and read the client's name to myself. It can't be. I froze as my eyes widened in shock. I took a deep breath before I looked at the director, a sad look on his face. "This is a joke, right?" "I wish it was, Sam," he shook his head as he handed me my time machine, a small bracelet I would be able to attach. I took the device and locked it around my wrist. "Sam, before you go..." "I know," I cut him off, "This will be quick." I sighed and pressed the button. A bright flash of light as I felt my body disintegrate. My consciousness evaporated as I died over and over again. It was a weird process but working at the agency for almost a dozen years made no difference as I quietly waited to be reborn. In the back of my head, I chuckled at the fact that most newcomers would vomit upon their return to the present, unfamiliar with the sensation of not existing. "Hello?" A voice called out to me. I opened my eyes and made no expression as a young woman in her twenties appeared in front of me. Beneath her glasses and messy brown hair, she had a quirky smile and a thin figure, no womanly curves showing beneath her beige turtleneck sweater. "Who are you?" She seemed alarmed to see me, holding her arms up in defense like a terrible kung-fu character. "Relax," I muttered as I remembered the details of the file, "Ms. Wintermeyer, my name is Samuel and I work for a time traveling agency. Our job is to..." I paused as the woman seemed incredulous. "I don't believe you, I don't und-" "Our job is to show you your impact on the present day," I finished curtly, "As for your death, it appears to be a motor vehicle incident." The woman gasped. A tear flowed down her cheek. "So that truck... the bright lights," she wiped her face, "It wasn't... it wasn't... it wasn't a dream." "Ma'am?" Another tear rolled down her cheek as she collapsed on the ground. "I was..." She looked down at her thin figure and looked horrified. "You were pregnant nine months," I nodded before I gave her a gentle smile, "Ma'am, I'm here to tell you that your child was safe." Her face had lit up in surprise as she crawled her way over to me. "Please, you need to-" "Yes, I will," I took her hand, her soft flesh warming against mine, "I'm here to show you how you have impacted the present, Ms. Wintermeyer." I pressed a button on the device as another flash of light consumed the two of us. The journey was generally quick, allowing us to peek through what we considered scenes in a rather quick fashion. The light died as the two of us began to watch. A baby crying alone in his crib, his father groggily waking up from sleep to take care of him. He had prepared formula and rocked the baby in his arms, singing a lullaby as the baby fell asleep again. "Robert..." the woman had muttered, "He... he took care of our baby." I gave a simple nod as the scene changed again. The boy had grown older, perhaps around eight years old as he was crying in the corner of his room. On his head was a little "Happy Birthday" hat as the boy continued to sob in the unlit room. "I don't understand." "For eight years he had wished for one birthday present," my voice was unfaltering, "For eight years, all he asked for was a mom." "Oh..." Her hand went over her mouth, trying to hold back the tears as the scene changed once again. The boy was being held up on the shoulders of the cheering crowd, a massive trophy in his arms as confetti flew around everywhere. It was after a championship game. I gave a little smile. The scoreboard above the baskets showed a close game as I took a look back at her, her proud face shimmering with sadness. The scene changed as the boy, slightly older and a grin on his face, was walking across the stage in a graduation uniform. The woman couldn't hold back her tears as the boy accepted his degree from the dean, his arms shaky as he looked at the crowd. "I want to thank everyone for this," his shaky voice echoed through the auditorium, "My friends, my dad..." A brief pause as I knew what was coming. I held back my tear as the statement hit me hard. "...and my mom, who I know has always been with us." The boy looked up at the ceiling and gave a warm smile. The woman began to cry uncontrollably. A single tear rolled down my cheek as a I quickly wiped it away. The scene changed to a wedding, where the boy held hands with his future partner. As he slipped on the wedding ring, Ms. Wintermeyer took a closer look and gasped. "Is that..." "The ring was yours," I answered, "His father gave it to him." "Oh, Robert..." The woman smiled through her sobs and took a deep breath. "Is my son still doing fine?" "He's doing well actually," I gave her a simple nob, "In the next scene..." But before the scene could change, Ms. Wintermeyer grabbed my wrist. She shook her head. "Ma'am." "I'm happy," she sighed, "Take me back please." I opened my mouth to protest but didn't say anything. I simply cupped her hands in mine and gave her a gentle smile. "Thank you for everything." "Thank you, Sam," she gave me an understanding smile as her body began to disintegrate, "Be good." I closed my eyes as I felt my body disappear underneath me. When I opened my eyes again, I found myself on the floor of the lab, my boss looking at me. "How was it?" "Good," I gave him a satisfied nod, "It wasn't as bad as I thought." "Sam, the paperwork for that-" "I'll fill it out later," I got up and scurried away, "Excuse me, sir. I need to go to my locker." He nodded as I made my way past the other work stations into a small room of the corner of the building. Inside the room were a dozen lockers lined up, the scent of musty sweat rising through my nose. But I ignored everything as I made my way to my locker, opening the lock as a tear fell from my face. I opened the door and looked at my personal belongings I kept. A ripped birthday hat, a photo of the championship basketball team, and a faded photo of a messy brown-haired girl with a quirky expression. She smiled at me as I brought the photo close to my face, giving it a gentle kiss. Another tear fell from my face as I remembered the last thing she said to me. "I will be good. I love you, Mom." _____________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Hope you enjoyed. If you enjoy tears or medium-rare steaks, sub to /r/AvuKamu! ________________________________________ EDIT: thanks stranger for the gold. Yeezus bless you.	"Mr Thalamus, I see you worked for Insignia Corporation. They're one of the leading companies in our field... why are you looking for a new position?" "My old job at Insignia Corp. didn't work out in the end. I mean, 99.99% of the people I brought to the present had made an impact on the world, even if it was minor. But this poor soul - this guy born in the 1990s - he hadn't changed anything. I mean, the guy must have sleep-walked through his life, because everyone has an impact, even if it does just amount to a piece of chewing gum still stuck to one of the pavements in their home-town. But this guy... everything remained black when he arrived and of course he panicked because I had explained the process to him. So we ended up sitting down in this... void and I asked about his life. I tried to comfort him by saying he must have had an impact on his family and friends at the time, and that in a way it's good not to have a physical impact on the world considering its current state, but... well he didn't like that. And when I got back to the office... well... let's just say my boss wasn't too pleased either. She said what I had told him "wasn't part of the company 'culture'", so asked me to pack my bags right there and then. So... here I am." Michael chuckled nervously, tugging at his collar. "Well... that must have been a very rare case. But I liked the way you handled the situation. When can you start?"
"bakes" is obviously a typo, but since people have already made it the topic of their stories, I won't fix it. Feel free to use "bakes" or "baked" (as originally intended) as you see fit.	[WP] Ground control has just lost all contact to the international space station. Their last message was: "I know this sounds weird, but we all can smell it. Freshly bakes chocolate cookies..."	'You, you expect us to live like this? Like animals?'' Peter Brown was on night duty at NASAs ISS response room when the message crackled through. It had made him jump - he had been alone in silence for two hours and the voice that now shattered his reverie sounded disturbed. He took a deep breath, put down his crossword and responded. 'Lieutenant Pashnikov, is that you?' 'No food, just mush. Just shit. Day after day after day..I will find something. I am going to eat tonight. Even now I smell freshly baked chocolate cookies.' Oh boy thought Peter as he sent a message to medical, requesting a copy of Pashnikov's psych evaluation. 'I know it must be hard, but you're just going through a rough patch. We are going to get you through this.' Peter said in a calm but friendly voice. 'Know? How could you know, you arrogant piece of shit. When you are alone in the cold for month on end, staring into a godless oblivion with no food, with no woman, just your thoughts - then maybe you know.' 'You're not on your own. I'm sure the crew can relate better than I can. Have you spoken to Carlos about how you feel?' 'Carlos.. yes maybe he give me some food for thought.' A small man entered the room and passed Peter a file. He opened it quickly. Heavy breathing punctuated by occasional fits of laughter came from the speaker as Peter skimmed through the results of Pashnikov's psych evaluation. He muted the microphone and looked at the man. 'Holy shit! Who the fuck approved him for the mission? He's on antipsychotics for Christ's sake.' '..Doctor Weaving was kinda pressured into approving him. There's no better engi-' Peter unmuted the microphone. 'Lieutenant, have you taken your meds today?' A slight delay followed. 'They made me feel...unwell. I do not need them anymore so I flushed them into space. Mr Brown, I must go now, I think I smell.. cooked meat. And...there it is again, warm chocolate cookies.' The transmission ended. Peter immediately tried to get in touch with the other crew on board, but either they were sleeping heavily or... He called his boss on the emergency line as he watched in hopeless despair as the bio readings on the crew flat-lined one by one, until only a single bio reading remained. By the time his boss arrived the last bio reading had just gone dead.	"Ground Control, I know this sounds weird, but we can all smell it. Freshly baked chocolate chip cookies." "November Alpha One Sierra Sierra, sorry, chocolate chip cookies, did we hear you right?" ... "NA1SS, please repeat, did not copy." ... "NA1SS, you ok up there?" ... "Hey, Joe, keep trying to get NA1SS on that other frequency. Wait, did you hear that? I thought I just heard the faint sound of sleigh bells and reindeer hooves." I immediately pulled up the livestream record of the preliminary test launch and started looping through it while keeping at least one ear open so that if they picked up anything else ... ((can't write more, falling asleep))
"bakes" is obviously a typo, but since people have already made it the topic of their stories, I won't fix it. Feel free to use "bakes" or "baked" (as originally intended) as you see fit.	[WP] Ground control has just lost all contact to the international space station. Their last message was: "I know this sounds weird, but we all can smell it. Freshly bakes chocolate cookies..."	Freshly bakes chocolate cookies and Warmly toasts the bread. And all around the ISS, the crew is losing their head. Maudlin stares out the portholes and Rotten just lies there dead. And Radar, that goofball mutton, he lies sobbing in his bed. Ach'Natazul probes and prods the nerves in our head. And the Old Ones, tentacles and all, are just as real as Lovercraft said.	"Ground Control, I know this sounds weird, but we can all smell it. Freshly baked chocolate chip cookies." "November Alpha One Sierra Sierra, sorry, chocolate chip cookies, did we hear you right?" ... "NA1SS, please repeat, did not copy." ... "NA1SS, you ok up there?" ... "Hey, Joe, keep trying to get NA1SS on that other frequency. Wait, did you hear that? I thought I just heard the faint sound of sleigh bells and reindeer hooves." I immediately pulled up the livestream record of the preliminary test launch and started looping through it while keeping at least one ear open so that if they picked up anything else ... ((can't write more, falling asleep))
"bakes" is obviously a typo, but since people have already made it the topic of their stories, I won't fix it. Feel free to use "bakes" or "baked" (as originally intended) as you see fit.	[WP] Ground control has just lost all contact to the international space station. Their last message was: "I know this sounds weird, but we all can smell it. Freshly bakes chocolate cookies..."	"Freshly bakes chocolate cookies... I don't get it Harold." "I just read the message as it read sir. Could be a case of roleplay." "What?" "As someone's grandmother sir. Maybe Captain Michaels is pretending to go senile." "That's ridiculous Harold." "He's been up there a while sir. Longer than most. Could be he's gone nuts." "They could all smell it though. Or, was that part of the delusion?" "Who knows?" "Our astronauts on the International Space Station Harold. Don't tell me they actually tried to bake chocolate chip cookies up there..." "Or Captain Michaels at least sir. Freshly bakes chocolate cookies... I wish there was more to the message." "Me too Harold. Now, if it read freshly baked chocolate cookies, we could assume Santa Clause went up there and, uh, did something." "True, wouldn't that have been something. Lets rule out Santa Clause sir. Now, freshly bakes chocolate cookies..." "Expresses concern with our astronauts." "Pardon?" "Sorry, just... trying to get into his mindset." "He's not a criminal sir." "I know." "And you're not a detective." "Just, let me try Harold. Hmm. Smells chocolate chip cookies. Bakes chocolate chip cookies. Blows up international ---" "Sir!" "What?" "We, we don't know it's gone! Communication may have stopped, but that doesn't mean the station is, is gone!" "Sorry Harold, I know you have a brother up there." "I'm trying to get back in touch with Captain Michaels to get to the bottom of this." "Very good. Commends ground control subordinate for great efforts." "Knock it off sir." "Ignores subordinates plea to continue roleplaying." "I'll lodge a complaint!" "Freshly bakes chocolate cookies... oh that son of a bitch." "What is it sir!" "Put me through to the station." "Pardon?" "Just do it Harold." "Ok. You're live." "Thanks. This is Ground Control to the ISS." "... They're not replying ---" "Merry Christmas assholes." "MERRY CHRISTMAS GROUND CONTROL!" "Oh god damnit Captain Michaels!" "Sir?! What were they even..." "SHARES CHOCOLATE COOKIES WITH GROUND CONTROL!" "Stop that Captain Michaels!" "IGNORES GROUND CONTROL AND EATS CHOCOLATE COOKIES." "He's roleplaying sir! Why the hell is he roleplaying?!" "I don't know Harold, but this is getting out of ---" "SHARES CHOCOLATE COOKIES WITH EVERYONE ELSE!" "We really need to rotate him out." "SINGS YULETIDE CAROLS FOR GROUND CONTROL!" "Agreed sir." ----------------------- More at r/galokot, and thanks for reading!	"Ground Control, I know this sounds weird, but we can all smell it. Freshly baked chocolate chip cookies." "November Alpha One Sierra Sierra, sorry, chocolate chip cookies, did we hear you right?" ... "NA1SS, please repeat, did not copy." ... "NA1SS, you ok up there?" ... "Hey, Joe, keep trying to get NA1SS on that other frequency. Wait, did you hear that? I thought I just heard the faint sound of sleigh bells and reindeer hooves." I immediately pulled up the livestream record of the preliminary test launch and started looping through it while keeping at least one ear open so that if they picked up anything else ... ((can't write more, falling asleep))
"bakes" is obviously a typo, but since people have already made it the topic of their stories, I won't fix it. Feel free to use "bakes" or "baked" (as originally intended) as you see fit.	[WP] Ground control has just lost all contact to the international space station. Their last message was: "I know this sounds weird, but we all can smell it. Freshly bakes chocolate cookies..."	Freshly bakes chocolate cookies and Warmly toasts the bread. And all around the ISS, the crew is losing their head. Maudlin stares out the portholes and Rotten just lies there dead. And Radar, that goofball mutton, he lies sobbing in his bed. Ach'Natazul probes and prods the nerves in our head. And the Old Ones, tentacles and all, are just as real as Lovercraft said.	'You, you expect us to live like this? Like animals?'' Peter Brown was on night duty at NASAs ISS response room when the message crackled through. It had made him jump - he had been alone in silence for two hours and the voice that now shattered his reverie sounded disturbed. He took a deep breath, put down his crossword and responded. 'Lieutenant Pashnikov, is that you?' 'No food, just mush. Just shit. Day after day after day..I will find something. I am going to eat tonight. Even now I smell freshly baked chocolate cookies.' Oh boy thought Peter as he sent a message to medical, requesting a copy of Pashnikov's psych evaluation. 'I know it must be hard, but you're just going through a rough patch. We are going to get you through this.' Peter said in a calm but friendly voice. 'Know? How could you know, you arrogant piece of shit. When you are alone in the cold for month on end, staring into a godless oblivion with no food, with no woman, just your thoughts - then maybe you know.' 'You're not on your own. I'm sure the crew can relate better than I can. Have you spoken to Carlos about how you feel?' 'Carlos.. yes maybe he give me some food for thought.' A small man entered the room and passed Peter a file. He opened it quickly. Heavy breathing punctuated by occasional fits of laughter came from the speaker as Peter skimmed through the results of Pashnikov's psych evaluation. He muted the microphone and looked at the man. 'Holy shit! Who the fuck approved him for the mission? He's on antipsychotics for Christ's sake.' '..Doctor Weaving was kinda pressured into approving him. There's no better engi-' Peter unmuted the microphone. 'Lieutenant, have you taken your meds today?' A slight delay followed. 'They made me feel...unwell. I do not need them anymore so I flushed them into space. Mr Brown, I must go now, I think I smell.. cooked meat. And...there it is again, warm chocolate cookies.' The transmission ended. Peter immediately tried to get in touch with the other crew on board, but either they were sleeping heavily or... He called his boss on the emergency line as he watched in hopeless despair as the bio readings on the crew flat-lined one by one, until only a single bio reading remained. By the time his boss arrived the last bio reading had just gone dead.
I figured there are too many specific, limiting stories, so just write a nice story about anything fantasy you want.	[WP] Write a simple fantasy story, with no plot twist or anything too crazy. Just a simple story.	#A Tale of Quetzal the Riodan; The Squirrel and the Acorn# Herwald's tavern was busier than usual tonight. The humble sitting room, usually hosting no more than a dozen denizens at its busiest, was packed to the rafters. Not just laborers or field hands as was usually the case, but women came, some with bundled babes in arm. Children slunk between legs as tall as they, trying to find a spot at the front of the gathering. All eyes were turned towards the back left hand corner of the room, laying behind the soft glow of the fireplace. A man sat there, wearing simple, road worn clothes, ensconced in a hooded cloak the color of an evening sky. By his feet on either side lay a mandolin, worn with use, yet to the trained eye, lovingly cared for, and a scythe, less worn than the mandolin, but obviously belonging in its place at it's masters' feet. The hood of the cloak was thrown back, revealing tosseled hair so pale blond that was nearly white. His eyes were grey like a winter river, alight right now with a deep seated passion. The muscles in his narrow face were livid as he spoke, almost comically so; but his voice had a depth to it, a shallow bass, and his words were conveyed with such earnestness, one could not help but listen as at the feet of a priest. His gestures were measured, issued with the ease of a practiced story teller. The crowd around was absolutely silent, so that even the soft crackling of the fire seemed a disturbance. The light from the flames made the shadows dance around his face, so that he seemed almost a specter, something otherworldly, though everything else about him was perfectly material. "So thus he said 'Justice is for the many, yet, vengeance is for the wronged.' And so ends the tale of Io the Sawn-String." The crowd remained silent, ideas and images running through their heads like a creek into a pond. "But" a small, soft voice broke the silence. "what happened to Io?" The teller found the source of the voice, a small, red headed lad, no more than twelve winters. He shrugged. "What happens to those who decide justice for themselves?" "They're hung." The boy answered innocently. "They're hung." "But Io was right...wasn't he?" The story wielder gave a small smile. "He certainly thought so." He turned his attention to the crowd at large. "The night grows long, and I must soon rest. Before I sleep, however, I would ask of you all something in return for the tales you've heard. Not gold, or silver, though such baubles would be appreciated. Even singers close their mouths to eat." A low chuckle went around the room. The teller smiled briefly, then continued with his sober plea. "Yet I know you have little enough of these things. So what I will ask of you, is something only you can give me. No other is capable of the task." One could almost feel the breath in the room still, as every mind contemplated what such a man of this could ask of any of them. "I want your stories...told only as you can tell them. Are there any here willing to acquiesce?" The room shifted, not willing to meet the man's questioning gaze. What stores could they offer this grand tale teller? No grandfather among them here had slain giants, or rode in great wars. None had become a partner to the deepest of love, or a slave to the cruelest spell. They were farm folk, with farm stories, not fit for the likes of a man like that which sat before them now. Quetzal sighed inwardly, thinking once again that country humility would rob him of yet another strike. Suddenly, the young, red headed buy stepped forward. "I've got a story, master bard." The boys mother, her own hair a deep rouge, glanced sheepishly at the bars, and began to pull her son back. Quetzal raised his hand, shot a beaming smile at the lad. "Please, young sir. Sing your song." The boy was suddenly unsure. He glanced back at his mother. She nodded towards the stranger with a look that said "You've got to finish it now." He kept his eyes on the ground, only looking up for quick studies of the tellers face. Quetzal was impressed when he didn't mutter away the story. "Once there was a great king of the wood, ruler of all the creatures and creeping things that lived within the wood. One day, he declared a tithe from all his subjects, gifts to please the king. The stag pledged his herd, to feed the king in winter when the fields offered naught. The king was pleased, and honored the stag as first lord of his court." "The second to come was the fox. He offered his wit, pledging to seek knowledge and wisdom that would bring the king prosperity. The king was pleased, and honored him as second lord of his court." "The third to come was the boar. He offered his strength to the king, to act as guard and shield against any and all who would seek to harm him. The king was pleased, and honored the boat as third lord of his court." "Now the last to come was the squirrel. The squirrel, having no herd, or wit, or strength, gave to the king an acorn. 'Humble it may be' he said 'but beneath its face beats the heart of an oak.' The king was angered by the simple gift. He banished the squirrel from his court, condemning him to the outer reaches of his realm, where the hawk and wolf flourish." "In time though, a great storm can upon the kings' realm. So great was its wrath that the trees around the kings' court were felled, and the land round bout became barren. The squirrel returned then, as the king lay, weeping in the ruins of his realm. To him he said 'If you'd taken the gift of my acorn, and planted it anon, your kingdom would yet live-for it would have grown into an oak, and no storm has come upon men yet which can fell an oak. Even so, now you are king of nothing. And so the foolishness of your wisdom passes.'" The boy looked up then, as one reciting well versed rhetoric. "The lesson then is this: kingdoms may yet grow out of the simplest of seeds." He met the strangers gaze shyly. "Is...is that what you meant." Quetzal hadn't stopped smiling from the moment the boy started talking. He held out his hand, and the boy came forward. Surprising all, he hugged the lad. Then holding him at arms length, he said "I could hope for nothing more. Now listen to the truth of your own story, little seed. Hold to it like morning dew upon the grass. And you'll not oft go astray." With this final word, he gathered his mandolin and scythe together, making his way through the astounded crowd, upstairs to awaiting sleep.	Knight and Day ------------------ The knight dropped and pressed himself against a boulder to avoid the rich inferno that blazed over his shoulders. He took three quick breaths, recounting his minor successes against the pitch black dragon; three strikes to the shoulders, one to its right wing. A roar shook the debris around his metal feet and the beast smashed the tower with its tail in frustration. The princess swept away the newly-fallen dust from the table, ‘Another brave knight desperate to rescue me from my obvious suffering,’ she sighed, sitting with a book. It was worn, with wrinkles down its face and spine. She continued reading stories about Greek heroes; Perseus, Hercules, and Odysseus. Next to her red leather armchair sat an ornamental end table with a fresh-baked cake and tea. Another roar rattled the metal helmet until the knight felt no choice but to close his eyes and shake his head; a mistake. He was slammed by the massive tail into the side of the tower, and he hit the ground hard; small rocks caught in his breastplate, pressing his chest and making it even harder to breath in the broiling air tinged of smoke and smoldering dragon breathe. Humming drowned out the roaring, smashing, and the clashing sound whenever steel met aged scales. The bookshelf’s contents were tipped over, and she was straightening them up. Among them was a portrait of her when she was ten. Her parents were on either side of her, and each of them was smiling. Except her father, who had the content academic look where his lips where drawn thin, but yielded the slightest grin to the painter, showing his sense of liveness. The sword and shield were beginning to feel too heavy. The sun never relented, and the piercing mismatched pair of blue and green eyes that studied him from the other side of the walled-in field. The knight gasped as he, too, studied the feral foe. The monster’s protective eyes never lost their focus, like the mother wolf the knight let go during a hunt, two winters ago; he noticed the thin line of the dragon’s jaws, and he felt drawn into the beast’s presence, nearly lost in the moment when the claws snapped forward. In the mirror the young woman examined her youthful figure; she brushed her polished black hair in sweeping strokes, her long figure stood and studied herself, just in case she forgot later on. Her eyes still didn’t match, one blue and one green; a family trait. Leaving her reflection, she gathered the meat sack and prepared to feed her guardian. One lousy glory-seeker wouldn’t sate its appetite. A broken sword laid across the front of the knight, and his gimped arm dropped the shield before the figure collapsed in a broken steel heap; one surrounding chomp and he was gone.
I figured there are too many specific, limiting stories, so just write a nice story about anything fantasy you want.	[WP] Write a simple fantasy story, with no plot twist or anything too crazy. Just a simple story.	"How long until the blues and reds?" Marg asked, tapping impatiently on the counter. Old lady Sali huffed. "My girl, I'm working as fast as I can." She picked up a tray of set cookie dough, each one littered with red and blue chocolate buttons, and placed them in the oven. "I know, I'm sorry, Sali. Don Vilo's boys are pressuring me, that's all." "Those rascals," Sali said," without my supply they wouldn't be able to hold off the slum dogs, let alone the guards." Marg smirked. "They know that. The Don stresses when he runs low on cookies, thas all." "Vilo, he's been that way since he was a boy," Sali said. She looked up, deep in thought, and then burst out in laughter. "What?" Marg asked. "Oh, nothing, nothing." "Come on, Sali! You can't not tell me now. Especially if it's about the, Don," Marg said. "I was just thinking back to when Vilo was a boy. He was picked up by a few bronze shields, and they brought him straight here, saying he was caught smuggling cookies. They wanted to arrest him." She paused, taking the batch from the oven. Sali continued, "But I scolded him, and promised that If I ever found cookies again, he'd never see the light of day. Funnily enough, we cooked three dozen right after." Marg chuckled, and then stared at the cookies. "They smell delicious." Old lady Sali placed the batch into a silver bag and then handed her a steaming treat. "Blow on it first." Marg blew on the cookie and then bit into it. Dali watched as the girl faded away, becoming invisible. "Did it work?" Margy asked. "You're as see through as glass, love. Don't be too long." "See you soon," a voice quirked from down the street.	Knight and Day ------------------ The knight dropped and pressed himself against a boulder to avoid the rich inferno that blazed over his shoulders. He took three quick breaths, recounting his minor successes against the pitch black dragon; three strikes to the shoulders, one to its right wing. A roar shook the debris around his metal feet and the beast smashed the tower with its tail in frustration. The princess swept away the newly-fallen dust from the table, ‘Another brave knight desperate to rescue me from my obvious suffering,’ she sighed, sitting with a book. It was worn, with wrinkles down its face and spine. She continued reading stories about Greek heroes; Perseus, Hercules, and Odysseus. Next to her red leather armchair sat an ornamental end table with a fresh-baked cake and tea. Another roar rattled the metal helmet until the knight felt no choice but to close his eyes and shake his head; a mistake. He was slammed by the massive tail into the side of the tower, and he hit the ground hard; small rocks caught in his breastplate, pressing his chest and making it even harder to breath in the broiling air tinged of smoke and smoldering dragon breathe. Humming drowned out the roaring, smashing, and the clashing sound whenever steel met aged scales. The bookshelf’s contents were tipped over, and she was straightening them up. Among them was a portrait of her when she was ten. Her parents were on either side of her, and each of them was smiling. Except her father, who had the content academic look where his lips where drawn thin, but yielded the slightest grin to the painter, showing his sense of liveness. The sword and shield were beginning to feel too heavy. The sun never relented, and the piercing mismatched pair of blue and green eyes that studied him from the other side of the walled-in field. The knight gasped as he, too, studied the feral foe. The monster’s protective eyes never lost their focus, like the mother wolf the knight let go during a hunt, two winters ago; he noticed the thin line of the dragon’s jaws, and he felt drawn into the beast’s presence, nearly lost in the moment when the claws snapped forward. In the mirror the young woman examined her youthful figure; she brushed her polished black hair in sweeping strokes, her long figure stood and studied herself, just in case she forgot later on. Her eyes still didn’t match, one blue and one green; a family trait. Leaving her reflection, she gathered the meat sack and prepared to feed her guardian. One lousy glory-seeker wouldn’t sate its appetite. A broken sword laid across the front of the knight, and his gimped arm dropped the shield before the figure collapsed in a broken steel heap; one surrounding chomp and he was gone.
I figured there are too many specific, limiting stories, so just write a nice story about anything fantasy you want.	[WP] Write a simple fantasy story, with no plot twist or anything too crazy. Just a simple story.	When adventurers meet at a tavern, it's inevitable that they'll start comparing their deeds and trying to decide which of them is the greatest hero of all. In this particular instance, A wizard, a knight, a cleric, and a commoner were in the tavern. The commoner, of course, was a fixture at the place, but the others were newcomers and so talked first. The Wizard began his boasting: "I come to this tavern after just today having located tomes of knowledge for our kingdom." There was scattered applause. The Knight went next: "You may recall that the princess Esmerelda was kidnapped by the chancellor only last week. It was I who rescued her, and brought the chancellor to justice!" This was met with nods and clapping. Then the Cleric: "I have traveled the lands these last months, healing the infirm and destitute." Everyone nodded reverently at this show of selflessness. Finally, the commoner dared speak up. "I am paying for your drinks." And truly, he was the greatest hero of all.	Knight and Day ------------------ The knight dropped and pressed himself against a boulder to avoid the rich inferno that blazed over his shoulders. He took three quick breaths, recounting his minor successes against the pitch black dragon; three strikes to the shoulders, one to its right wing. A roar shook the debris around his metal feet and the beast smashed the tower with its tail in frustration. The princess swept away the newly-fallen dust from the table, ‘Another brave knight desperate to rescue me from my obvious suffering,’ she sighed, sitting with a book. It was worn, with wrinkles down its face and spine. She continued reading stories about Greek heroes; Perseus, Hercules, and Odysseus. Next to her red leather armchair sat an ornamental end table with a fresh-baked cake and tea. Another roar rattled the metal helmet until the knight felt no choice but to close his eyes and shake his head; a mistake. He was slammed by the massive tail into the side of the tower, and he hit the ground hard; small rocks caught in his breastplate, pressing his chest and making it even harder to breath in the broiling air tinged of smoke and smoldering dragon breathe. Humming drowned out the roaring, smashing, and the clashing sound whenever steel met aged scales. The bookshelf’s contents were tipped over, and she was straightening them up. Among them was a portrait of her when she was ten. Her parents were on either side of her, and each of them was smiling. Except her father, who had the content academic look where his lips where drawn thin, but yielded the slightest grin to the painter, showing his sense of liveness. The sword and shield were beginning to feel too heavy. The sun never relented, and the piercing mismatched pair of blue and green eyes that studied him from the other side of the walled-in field. The knight gasped as he, too, studied the feral foe. The monster’s protective eyes never lost their focus, like the mother wolf the knight let go during a hunt, two winters ago; he noticed the thin line of the dragon’s jaws, and he felt drawn into the beast’s presence, nearly lost in the moment when the claws snapped forward. In the mirror the young woman examined her youthful figure; she brushed her polished black hair in sweeping strokes, her long figure stood and studied herself, just in case she forgot later on. Her eyes still didn’t match, one blue and one green; a family trait. Leaving her reflection, she gathered the meat sack and prepared to feed her guardian. One lousy glory-seeker wouldn’t sate its appetite. A broken sword laid across the front of the knight, and his gimped arm dropped the shield before the figure collapsed in a broken steel heap; one surrounding chomp and he was gone.
I figured there are too many specific, limiting stories, so just write a nice story about anything fantasy you want.	[WP] Write a simple fantasy story, with no plot twist or anything too crazy. Just a simple story.	#A Tale of Quetzal the Riodan; The Squirrel and the Acorn# Herwald's tavern was busier than usual tonight. The humble sitting room, usually hosting no more than a dozen denizens at its busiest, was packed to the rafters. Not just laborers or field hands as was usually the case, but women came, some with bundled babes in arm. Children slunk between legs as tall as they, trying to find a spot at the front of the gathering. All eyes were turned towards the back left hand corner of the room, laying behind the soft glow of the fireplace. A man sat there, wearing simple, road worn clothes, ensconced in a hooded cloak the color of an evening sky. By his feet on either side lay a mandolin, worn with use, yet to the trained eye, lovingly cared for, and a scythe, less worn than the mandolin, but obviously belonging in its place at it's masters' feet. The hood of the cloak was thrown back, revealing tosseled hair so pale blond that was nearly white. His eyes were grey like a winter river, alight right now with a deep seated passion. The muscles in his narrow face were livid as he spoke, almost comically so; but his voice had a depth to it, a shallow bass, and his words were conveyed with such earnestness, one could not help but listen as at the feet of a priest. His gestures were measured, issued with the ease of a practiced story teller. The crowd around was absolutely silent, so that even the soft crackling of the fire seemed a disturbance. The light from the flames made the shadows dance around his face, so that he seemed almost a specter, something otherworldly, though everything else about him was perfectly material. "So thus he said 'Justice is for the many, yet, vengeance is for the wronged.' And so ends the tale of Io the Sawn-String." The crowd remained silent, ideas and images running through their heads like a creek into a pond. "But" a small, soft voice broke the silence. "what happened to Io?" The teller found the source of the voice, a small, red headed lad, no more than twelve winters. He shrugged. "What happens to those who decide justice for themselves?" "They're hung." The boy answered innocently. "They're hung." "But Io was right...wasn't he?" The story wielder gave a small smile. "He certainly thought so." He turned his attention to the crowd at large. "The night grows long, and I must soon rest. Before I sleep, however, I would ask of you all something in return for the tales you've heard. Not gold, or silver, though such baubles would be appreciated. Even singers close their mouths to eat." A low chuckle went around the room. The teller smiled briefly, then continued with his sober plea. "Yet I know you have little enough of these things. So what I will ask of you, is something only you can give me. No other is capable of the task." One could almost feel the breath in the room still, as every mind contemplated what such a man of this could ask of any of them. "I want your stories...told only as you can tell them. Are there any here willing to acquiesce?" The room shifted, not willing to meet the man's questioning gaze. What stores could they offer this grand tale teller? No grandfather among them here had slain giants, or rode in great wars. None had become a partner to the deepest of love, or a slave to the cruelest spell. They were farm folk, with farm stories, not fit for the likes of a man like that which sat before them now. Quetzal sighed inwardly, thinking once again that country humility would rob him of yet another strike. Suddenly, the young, red headed buy stepped forward. "I've got a story, master bard." The boys mother, her own hair a deep rouge, glanced sheepishly at the bars, and began to pull her son back. Quetzal raised his hand, shot a beaming smile at the lad. "Please, young sir. Sing your song." The boy was suddenly unsure. He glanced back at his mother. She nodded towards the stranger with a look that said "You've got to finish it now." He kept his eyes on the ground, only looking up for quick studies of the tellers face. Quetzal was impressed when he didn't mutter away the story. "Once there was a great king of the wood, ruler of all the creatures and creeping things that lived within the wood. One day, he declared a tithe from all his subjects, gifts to please the king. The stag pledged his herd, to feed the king in winter when the fields offered naught. The king was pleased, and honored the stag as first lord of his court." "The second to come was the fox. He offered his wit, pledging to seek knowledge and wisdom that would bring the king prosperity. The king was pleased, and honored him as second lord of his court." "The third to come was the boar. He offered his strength to the king, to act as guard and shield against any and all who would seek to harm him. The king was pleased, and honored the boat as third lord of his court." "Now the last to come was the squirrel. The squirrel, having no herd, or wit, or strength, gave to the king an acorn. 'Humble it may be' he said 'but beneath its face beats the heart of an oak.' The king was angered by the simple gift. He banished the squirrel from his court, condemning him to the outer reaches of his realm, where the hawk and wolf flourish." "In time though, a great storm can upon the kings' realm. So great was its wrath that the trees around the kings' court were felled, and the land round bout became barren. The squirrel returned then, as the king lay, weeping in the ruins of his realm. To him he said 'If you'd taken the gift of my acorn, and planted it anon, your kingdom would yet live-for it would have grown into an oak, and no storm has come upon men yet which can fell an oak. Even so, now you are king of nothing. And so the foolishness of your wisdom passes.'" The boy looked up then, as one reciting well versed rhetoric. "The lesson then is this: kingdoms may yet grow out of the simplest of seeds." He met the strangers gaze shyly. "Is...is that what you meant." Quetzal hadn't stopped smiling from the moment the boy started talking. He held out his hand, and the boy came forward. Surprising all, he hugged the lad. Then holding him at arms length, he said "I could hope for nothing more. Now listen to the truth of your own story, little seed. Hold to it like morning dew upon the grass. And you'll not oft go astray." With this final word, he gathered his mandolin and scythe together, making his way through the astounded crowd, upstairs to awaiting sleep.	We walked along a gravel pathway lined with birch trees and maples and oaks on either side of us and there was some shade from the early afternoon sun because of sprouting leaves on the trees. I took her hand and it was sweaty and slick from the heat and bug spray we had on and I held her hand firm in mine. I asked her how she felt and what she thought of our walk and she told me that she felt fine and that it was so nice to get out of the city even though we were still very much in the city, just in a part where there wasn't towers and stores and cars and people on any side of us. I smiled and said I was glad that we could do something like this and that it had been a little bit too long since we had and that this summer we should take advantage of such a nice trail and she agreed and said in two weeks we should do it again, that is if we didn't die of exhaustion today. I laughed. We reached a large circular sitting area with a fountain in the middle and a number of benches and picnic tables and drinking fountains and gardens. She asked me if I needed a break and I told her that I did but I didn't really, I just wanted to sit and enjoy the colorful trees and fresher air and the sun and the company we had in other hikers and joggers and strollers. We sat on a bench and I was still holding her hand. I asked her if she was having a good time and she said that she was and to stop asking her that because I had done so a few times already. I told her I was sorry and that I just wanted her to be happy and she said she was and as such I should stop asking. She smiled and kissed me and I allowed her to and I took it all in and I could feel her slick and sweaty hand on mine and my sweat was one with hers and I loved her. I took my lips off of hers and I stared into her eyes and I could smell her hair and the flowers around us and the fresher air. I smiled and I told her I was glad she was happy and I wouldn't want to be with anyone else and she said something to the same effect and kissed me again. I was happy and perfectly content in that moment and I knew that I had a plan for that night but like most other things I do I had to double check last minute that I was sure of what I wanted and that I had done my due diligence. I made a decision to ask her to marry me later that night after our dinner out and in that moment I knew it was the right decision and would be for the foreseeable future and I dare not try to look past where I'm not meant to or capable of. She was going to be mine and I held her hand in mine and I squeezed it hard but brief and I smiled at her once again while her head was turned from mine as she was looking at people walking by and the sky and the trees and flowers, and as she was looking at whatever her eyes were fixed on she asked me if I felt like just ordering pizza for dinner tonight instead of going out and I told her that was the best idea she ever had, and she laughed.
I figured there are too many specific, limiting stories, so just write a nice story about anything fantasy you want.	[WP] Write a simple fantasy story, with no plot twist or anything too crazy. Just a simple story.	"How long until the blues and reds?" Marg asked, tapping impatiently on the counter. Old lady Sali huffed. "My girl, I'm working as fast as I can." She picked up a tray of set cookie dough, each one littered with red and blue chocolate buttons, and placed them in the oven. "I know, I'm sorry, Sali. Don Vilo's boys are pressuring me, that's all." "Those rascals," Sali said," without my supply they wouldn't be able to hold off the slum dogs, let alone the guards." Marg smirked. "They know that. The Don stresses when he runs low on cookies, thas all." "Vilo, he's been that way since he was a boy," Sali said. She looked up, deep in thought, and then burst out in laughter. "What?" Marg asked. "Oh, nothing, nothing." "Come on, Sali! You can't not tell me now. Especially if it's about the, Don," Marg said. "I was just thinking back to when Vilo was a boy. He was picked up by a few bronze shields, and they brought him straight here, saying he was caught smuggling cookies. They wanted to arrest him." She paused, taking the batch from the oven. Sali continued, "But I scolded him, and promised that If I ever found cookies again, he'd never see the light of day. Funnily enough, we cooked three dozen right after." Marg chuckled, and then stared at the cookies. "They smell delicious." Old lady Sali placed the batch into a silver bag and then handed her a steaming treat. "Blow on it first." Marg blew on the cookie and then bit into it. Dali watched as the girl faded away, becoming invisible. "Did it work?" Margy asked. "You're as see through as glass, love. Don't be too long." "See you soon," a voice quirked from down the street.	We walked along a gravel pathway lined with birch trees and maples and oaks on either side of us and there was some shade from the early afternoon sun because of sprouting leaves on the trees. I took her hand and it was sweaty and slick from the heat and bug spray we had on and I held her hand firm in mine. I asked her how she felt and what she thought of our walk and she told me that she felt fine and that it was so nice to get out of the city even though we were still very much in the city, just in a part where there wasn't towers and stores and cars and people on any side of us. I smiled and said I was glad that we could do something like this and that it had been a little bit too long since we had and that this summer we should take advantage of such a nice trail and she agreed and said in two weeks we should do it again, that is if we didn't die of exhaustion today. I laughed. We reached a large circular sitting area with a fountain in the middle and a number of benches and picnic tables and drinking fountains and gardens. She asked me if I needed a break and I told her that I did but I didn't really, I just wanted to sit and enjoy the colorful trees and fresher air and the sun and the company we had in other hikers and joggers and strollers. We sat on a bench and I was still holding her hand. I asked her if she was having a good time and she said that she was and to stop asking her that because I had done so a few times already. I told her I was sorry and that I just wanted her to be happy and she said she was and as such I should stop asking. She smiled and kissed me and I allowed her to and I took it all in and I could feel her slick and sweaty hand on mine and my sweat was one with hers and I loved her. I took my lips off of hers and I stared into her eyes and I could smell her hair and the flowers around us and the fresher air. I smiled and I told her I was glad she was happy and I wouldn't want to be with anyone else and she said something to the same effect and kissed me again. I was happy and perfectly content in that moment and I knew that I had a plan for that night but like most other things I do I had to double check last minute that I was sure of what I wanted and that I had done my due diligence. I made a decision to ask her to marry me later that night after our dinner out and in that moment I knew it was the right decision and would be for the foreseeable future and I dare not try to look past where I'm not meant to or capable of. She was going to be mine and I held her hand in mine and I squeezed it hard but brief and I smiled at her once again while her head was turned from mine as she was looking at people walking by and the sky and the trees and flowers, and as she was looking at whatever her eyes were fixed on she asked me if I felt like just ordering pizza for dinner tonight instead of going out and I told her that was the best idea she ever had, and she laughed.
I figured there are too many specific, limiting stories, so just write a nice story about anything fantasy you want.	[WP] Write a simple fantasy story, with no plot twist or anything too crazy. Just a simple story.	When adventurers meet at a tavern, it's inevitable that they'll start comparing their deeds and trying to decide which of them is the greatest hero of all. In this particular instance, A wizard, a knight, a cleric, and a commoner were in the tavern. The commoner, of course, was a fixture at the place, but the others were newcomers and so talked first. The Wizard began his boasting: "I come to this tavern after just today having located tomes of knowledge for our kingdom." There was scattered applause. The Knight went next: "You may recall that the princess Esmerelda was kidnapped by the chancellor only last week. It was I who rescued her, and brought the chancellor to justice!" This was met with nods and clapping. Then the Cleric: "I have traveled the lands these last months, healing the infirm and destitute." Everyone nodded reverently at this show of selflessness. Finally, the commoner dared speak up. "I am paying for your drinks." And truly, he was the greatest hero of all.	We walked along a gravel pathway lined with birch trees and maples and oaks on either side of us and there was some shade from the early afternoon sun because of sprouting leaves on the trees. I took her hand and it was sweaty and slick from the heat and bug spray we had on and I held her hand firm in mine. I asked her how she felt and what she thought of our walk and she told me that she felt fine and that it was so nice to get out of the city even though we were still very much in the city, just in a part where there wasn't towers and stores and cars and people on any side of us. I smiled and said I was glad that we could do something like this and that it had been a little bit too long since we had and that this summer we should take advantage of such a nice trail and she agreed and said in two weeks we should do it again, that is if we didn't die of exhaustion today. I laughed. We reached a large circular sitting area with a fountain in the middle and a number of benches and picnic tables and drinking fountains and gardens. She asked me if I needed a break and I told her that I did but I didn't really, I just wanted to sit and enjoy the colorful trees and fresher air and the sun and the company we had in other hikers and joggers and strollers. We sat on a bench and I was still holding her hand. I asked her if she was having a good time and she said that she was and to stop asking her that because I had done so a few times already. I told her I was sorry and that I just wanted her to be happy and she said she was and as such I should stop asking. She smiled and kissed me and I allowed her to and I took it all in and I could feel her slick and sweaty hand on mine and my sweat was one with hers and I loved her. I took my lips off of hers and I stared into her eyes and I could smell her hair and the flowers around us and the fresher air. I smiled and I told her I was glad she was happy and I wouldn't want to be with anyone else and she said something to the same effect and kissed me again. I was happy and perfectly content in that moment and I knew that I had a plan for that night but like most other things I do I had to double check last minute that I was sure of what I wanted and that I had done my due diligence. I made a decision to ask her to marry me later that night after our dinner out and in that moment I knew it was the right decision and would be for the foreseeable future and I dare not try to look past where I'm not meant to or capable of. She was going to be mine and I held her hand in mine and I squeezed it hard but brief and I smiled at her once again while her head was turned from mine as she was looking at people walking by and the sky and the trees and flowers, and as she was looking at whatever her eyes were fixed on she asked me if I felt like just ordering pizza for dinner tonight instead of going out and I told her that was the best idea she ever had, and she laughed.
I figured there are too many specific, limiting stories, so just write a nice story about anything fantasy you want.	[WP] Write a simple fantasy story, with no plot twist or anything too crazy. Just a simple story.	#A Tale of Quetzal the Riodan; The Squirrel and the Acorn# Herwald's tavern was busier than usual tonight. The humble sitting room, usually hosting no more than a dozen denizens at its busiest, was packed to the rafters. Not just laborers or field hands as was usually the case, but women came, some with bundled babes in arm. Children slunk between legs as tall as they, trying to find a spot at the front of the gathering. All eyes were turned towards the back left hand corner of the room, laying behind the soft glow of the fireplace. A man sat there, wearing simple, road worn clothes, ensconced in a hooded cloak the color of an evening sky. By his feet on either side lay a mandolin, worn with use, yet to the trained eye, lovingly cared for, and a scythe, less worn than the mandolin, but obviously belonging in its place at it's masters' feet. The hood of the cloak was thrown back, revealing tosseled hair so pale blond that was nearly white. His eyes were grey like a winter river, alight right now with a deep seated passion. The muscles in his narrow face were livid as he spoke, almost comically so; but his voice had a depth to it, a shallow bass, and his words were conveyed with such earnestness, one could not help but listen as at the feet of a priest. His gestures were measured, issued with the ease of a practiced story teller. The crowd around was absolutely silent, so that even the soft crackling of the fire seemed a disturbance. The light from the flames made the shadows dance around his face, so that he seemed almost a specter, something otherworldly, though everything else about him was perfectly material. "So thus he said 'Justice is for the many, yet, vengeance is for the wronged.' And so ends the tale of Io the Sawn-String." The crowd remained silent, ideas and images running through their heads like a creek into a pond. "But" a small, soft voice broke the silence. "what happened to Io?" The teller found the source of the voice, a small, red headed lad, no more than twelve winters. He shrugged. "What happens to those who decide justice for themselves?" "They're hung." The boy answered innocently. "They're hung." "But Io was right...wasn't he?" The story wielder gave a small smile. "He certainly thought so." He turned his attention to the crowd at large. "The night grows long, and I must soon rest. Before I sleep, however, I would ask of you all something in return for the tales you've heard. Not gold, or silver, though such baubles would be appreciated. Even singers close their mouths to eat." A low chuckle went around the room. The teller smiled briefly, then continued with his sober plea. "Yet I know you have little enough of these things. So what I will ask of you, is something only you can give me. No other is capable of the task." One could almost feel the breath in the room still, as every mind contemplated what such a man of this could ask of any of them. "I want your stories...told only as you can tell them. Are there any here willing to acquiesce?" The room shifted, not willing to meet the man's questioning gaze. What stores could they offer this grand tale teller? No grandfather among them here had slain giants, or rode in great wars. None had become a partner to the deepest of love, or a slave to the cruelest spell. They were farm folk, with farm stories, not fit for the likes of a man like that which sat before them now. Quetzal sighed inwardly, thinking once again that country humility would rob him of yet another strike. Suddenly, the young, red headed buy stepped forward. "I've got a story, master bard." The boys mother, her own hair a deep rouge, glanced sheepishly at the bars, and began to pull her son back. Quetzal raised his hand, shot a beaming smile at the lad. "Please, young sir. Sing your song." The boy was suddenly unsure. He glanced back at his mother. She nodded towards the stranger with a look that said "You've got to finish it now." He kept his eyes on the ground, only looking up for quick studies of the tellers face. Quetzal was impressed when he didn't mutter away the story. "Once there was a great king of the wood, ruler of all the creatures and creeping things that lived within the wood. One day, he declared a tithe from all his subjects, gifts to please the king. The stag pledged his herd, to feed the king in winter when the fields offered naught. The king was pleased, and honored the stag as first lord of his court." "The second to come was the fox. He offered his wit, pledging to seek knowledge and wisdom that would bring the king prosperity. The king was pleased, and honored him as second lord of his court." "The third to come was the boar. He offered his strength to the king, to act as guard and shield against any and all who would seek to harm him. The king was pleased, and honored the boat as third lord of his court." "Now the last to come was the squirrel. The squirrel, having no herd, or wit, or strength, gave to the king an acorn. 'Humble it may be' he said 'but beneath its face beats the heart of an oak.' The king was angered by the simple gift. He banished the squirrel from his court, condemning him to the outer reaches of his realm, where the hawk and wolf flourish." "In time though, a great storm can upon the kings' realm. So great was its wrath that the trees around the kings' court were felled, and the land round bout became barren. The squirrel returned then, as the king lay, weeping in the ruins of his realm. To him he said 'If you'd taken the gift of my acorn, and planted it anon, your kingdom would yet live-for it would have grown into an oak, and no storm has come upon men yet which can fell an oak. Even so, now you are king of nothing. And so the foolishness of your wisdom passes.'" The boy looked up then, as one reciting well versed rhetoric. "The lesson then is this: kingdoms may yet grow out of the simplest of seeds." He met the strangers gaze shyly. "Is...is that what you meant." Quetzal hadn't stopped smiling from the moment the boy started talking. He held out his hand, and the boy came forward. Surprising all, he hugged the lad. Then holding him at arms length, he said "I could hope for nothing more. Now listen to the truth of your own story, little seed. Hold to it like morning dew upon the grass. And you'll not oft go astray." With this final word, he gathered his mandolin and scythe together, making his way through the astounded crowd, upstairs to awaiting sleep.	Nothing was different stepping off the plane. The rural panhandle of Florida still smelled of salt water, which was a smell I never appreciated until now. My mother was still knitting and my father still drinking and reading the paper. I didn't come home a decorated war hero, I was never in the papers, but, I did come home, and they seemed proud of me for that. Many men would be thankful enough to make it home, and I was thankful. "Where is Katherine?" I assumed she'd be here "Who?" Pops muttered, not looking away from his newspaper "Katherine, Dad. My fiance." I gave her a ring the day I left, and it had been two long years since. Her dark hair and dark eyes, the way she laughed. You only get so much from letters, my heart ached to see her again. "When did you get engaged? Hopefully not to some French girl you met." "Momma, is Dad okay?" "Hunny, who is Katherine? What on earth are you talking about?" Confusion is to put it lightly. I felt as light as a feather and as heavy as cannonball all at the same time. How did my parents not remember her? She had been with me since we were 14, my parents adored her. They helped her pay for her schooling. She wanted to be a nurse. "I have to go." I hugged them, apologized, and hurried home. I opened the door to our apartment and nothing was ever the same. The picture frames still hang where I remembered them, but they were empty. Missing the pictures of the two of us. I rushed around the house in a frenzy. I was pulled simultaneously towards angry and fear. I was lost. The closet half empty, only my clothes hang. Her record collection absent. Her toothbrush no longer next to mine. Every single trace of her had seemingly vanished, but nothing else out of place. What the fuck is happening? Where is she? I called her parents house, panicked and disorientated, I must have sounded insane. "Katherine who?" This can't be happening. The next 3 days bleed into one another. Everyone I spoke to had no memory of Kat, they looked at me like I was crazy. Shell-shocked, someone suggested. My thoughts were drowning in her, the little details you can't just make up. She would eat the crust of her pizza first. When she was sad she would leave me letters if she couldn't find the words to speak about it. And now, a void. No letters, no toothbrush, no one to believe me. I could lay down and never stand again. I spent the next week closed off. I drank and slept and cried. Late one afternoon I awoke to a least expected happening. Next to me was a cat, fast asleep. We didn't own a cat, I had never owned a cat in all my life. The cat woke for only a moment, purred softly, and pressed closer to me. We both drifted back to sleep, comfortable and alone. I awoke that evening and wondered if the feline was part of a vivid dream, but before I could finish that thought, I saw her. She was moving about the house as if it was her childhood home, a place she never left. Her coat the same black as Katherine's hair, like looking into infinity. I can't tell you why it made me feel better. I can't rationalize why the cat reminded me of her, or why she never left. I can't tell you where the pictures from the empty frames have gone. I can only know in my heart that in some strange and melancholy way, I have regained a piece of something once lost. I have never reconciled what truly happened, I stopped trying. I simply buy more milk than I used to. And I guess that's okay.
I figured there are too many specific, limiting stories, so just write a nice story about anything fantasy you want.	[WP] Write a simple fantasy story, with no plot twist or anything too crazy. Just a simple story.	"How long until the blues and reds?" Marg asked, tapping impatiently on the counter. Old lady Sali huffed. "My girl, I'm working as fast as I can." She picked up a tray of set cookie dough, each one littered with red and blue chocolate buttons, and placed them in the oven. "I know, I'm sorry, Sali. Don Vilo's boys are pressuring me, that's all." "Those rascals," Sali said," without my supply they wouldn't be able to hold off the slum dogs, let alone the guards." Marg smirked. "They know that. The Don stresses when he runs low on cookies, thas all." "Vilo, he's been that way since he was a boy," Sali said. She looked up, deep in thought, and then burst out in laughter. "What?" Marg asked. "Oh, nothing, nothing." "Come on, Sali! You can't not tell me now. Especially if it's about the, Don," Marg said. "I was just thinking back to when Vilo was a boy. He was picked up by a few bronze shields, and they brought him straight here, saying he was caught smuggling cookies. They wanted to arrest him." She paused, taking the batch from the oven. Sali continued, "But I scolded him, and promised that If I ever found cookies again, he'd never see the light of day. Funnily enough, we cooked three dozen right after." Marg chuckled, and then stared at the cookies. "They smell delicious." Old lady Sali placed the batch into a silver bag and then handed her a steaming treat. "Blow on it first." Marg blew on the cookie and then bit into it. Dali watched as the girl faded away, becoming invisible. "Did it work?" Margy asked. "You're as see through as glass, love. Don't be too long." "See you soon," a voice quirked from down the street.	Nothing was different stepping off the plane. The rural panhandle of Florida still smelled of salt water, which was a smell I never appreciated until now. My mother was still knitting and my father still drinking and reading the paper. I didn't come home a decorated war hero, I was never in the papers, but, I did come home, and they seemed proud of me for that. Many men would be thankful enough to make it home, and I was thankful. "Where is Katherine?" I assumed she'd be here "Who?" Pops muttered, not looking away from his newspaper "Katherine, Dad. My fiance." I gave her a ring the day I left, and it had been two long years since. Her dark hair and dark eyes, the way she laughed. You only get so much from letters, my heart ached to see her again. "When did you get engaged? Hopefully not to some French girl you met." "Momma, is Dad okay?" "Hunny, who is Katherine? What on earth are you talking about?" Confusion is to put it lightly. I felt as light as a feather and as heavy as cannonball all at the same time. How did my parents not remember her? She had been with me since we were 14, my parents adored her. They helped her pay for her schooling. She wanted to be a nurse. "I have to go." I hugged them, apologized, and hurried home. I opened the door to our apartment and nothing was ever the same. The picture frames still hang where I remembered them, but they were empty. Missing the pictures of the two of us. I rushed around the house in a frenzy. I was pulled simultaneously towards angry and fear. I was lost. The closet half empty, only my clothes hang. Her record collection absent. Her toothbrush no longer next to mine. Every single trace of her had seemingly vanished, but nothing else out of place. What the fuck is happening? Where is she? I called her parents house, panicked and disorientated, I must have sounded insane. "Katherine who?" This can't be happening. The next 3 days bleed into one another. Everyone I spoke to had no memory of Kat, they looked at me like I was crazy. Shell-shocked, someone suggested. My thoughts were drowning in her, the little details you can't just make up. She would eat the crust of her pizza first. When she was sad she would leave me letters if she couldn't find the words to speak about it. And now, a void. No letters, no toothbrush, no one to believe me. I could lay down and never stand again. I spent the next week closed off. I drank and slept and cried. Late one afternoon I awoke to a least expected happening. Next to me was a cat, fast asleep. We didn't own a cat, I had never owned a cat in all my life. The cat woke for only a moment, purred softly, and pressed closer to me. We both drifted back to sleep, comfortable and alone. I awoke that evening and wondered if the feline was part of a vivid dream, but before I could finish that thought, I saw her. She was moving about the house as if it was her childhood home, a place she never left. Her coat the same black as Katherine's hair, like looking into infinity. I can't tell you why it made me feel better. I can't rationalize why the cat reminded me of her, or why she never left. I can't tell you where the pictures from the empty frames have gone. I can only know in my heart that in some strange and melancholy way, I have regained a piece of something once lost. I have never reconciled what truly happened, I stopped trying. I simply buy more milk than I used to. And I guess that's okay.
	[WP] A person is greeted by two of their children from the future, each from a different timeline. They must decide which timeline to follow and which child to give up.	The pail was full to the brim and the witch stirred the clear water gently with her finger to keep surface from icing over. Abigail stood shivering in the snow and dead branches. Mercy had been left swaddled in blankets back at the cottage, but her twin was held tightly in Abigail's arms. The unnamed child slept quietly despite that terrible chill, her pink nose barely visible beneath the blanket. Say one word more and nothing you see will come to pass, the witch had told her. Say a word, but for the name of the babe, and you will have sinned for sin alone. And what a wretched sin it is. The witch turned her finger so as to scrape her nail sharply against the tin wall of the pail. Abigail looked at the witch's chapped lips and saw no breath. Her own was thick white clouds in the morning air, and a steam seemed to rise from the babe's swaddling. When Abigail did not move forward the screeching stopped and the witch looked up at her with warm brown eyes. Eyes that Abigail thought to beg her not to continue. But she did. Each footfall sunk deep in the snow, always finding brittle twigs beneath to break and frighten the birds. The witch sighed, this time with white vapor, and scratched quickly, roundly, within the pail. Peering down, Abigail could see only the swirling water, but no vision. Only the occasional flash of sky or tree or her own hard aquiline face reflecting back and then rippling and vanishing again. What was she doing here? Why had she not just risked travel back to the city? Tried to find another husband? Who would want a woman with two children? With no horse, was she to walk this country with a babe in each arm? Why had her husband been such a fool? Why did he think he could ride? Why couldn't he horse have survived the fall? Stupid animal. Why had David left her with not one mouth to feed, but two? Why had he... The screeching yielded again and the witch gazed up, but just before the water stilled, "Mercy," Abigail said. And nothing more. The water swirled and the metal cried. Shadows came first, then a faint green light illuminated them. A golden haired girl, lovely. And smart, she had a quill in her hand and was writing, writing what? A book! Mercy the author. A husband drifted into the scene, well-dressed and handsome, but for his spectacles and a braced leg. He tried to peek at a finished page and was playfully batted away. The room was beautiful, all mahogany carved with ornate filigree and large windows with velvety curtains and gold fringe. A maid holding a child, a golden haired boy entered the vision and then the witch's nail reversed. The swirl of the pool went from clockwise to counter clockwise and the images faded. The twin in her arms began to wiggle and writhe, cooing at first, then crying when it felt the cold air breaking through the folds of the blanket. Abigail wanted to hush it, but would a hush be taken as a word? Abigail dared no break the silence as the water revealed the most gorgeous mansion she had ever seen. The golden haired Mercy was just as beautiful as before if, perhaps, slightly more plump. Maybe with child, but indulgence was more likely as slaves were serving her and her friends sweaty glasses of sweetened tea and platters of apple slices, strawberries, molasses cookies, ginger snaps, and more, so much more, always more. Her chestnut-haired husband here was not quite so dashing, but wore no spectacles or brace. He also seemed to speak more to the other men, who smoked pipes at the far porch as the women gabbed over treats. SKRREEEEEEECCCCHH The witch swirled the water clockwise again and looked up at Abigail. SKREECH back to counter clockwise. The baby in her arms pushed aside the blanket and stared up with watery eyes, grey eyes, like her father's. SKREEEEEEECCCCCHHHHH The blanket fell to the ground, the naked babe's was hot to her cold palms and her little heart was pounding little hummingbird beats in her hands as it thrashed in the cold air, she could see her ribs. She could not feed them both. There was no way. There wasn't. SKREEEEEECCCCHHHH. She held the baby in front of her, wanting to hold her, to quiet her, to warm her. SKREEEEEEECCCHHHHHH With the icy water at her elbows, the dim green image of the writing desk and child at play turned to vivid color. Another chapter of her life showed Mercy at a stage play for one of her novels. Her husband's hair had turned white and Mercy had three daughters as well as a son. Abigail could see herself sitting between the two youngest girls. She hadn't aged a day, but her eyes were no longer blue, but warm brown eyes. The image faded and the water stilled. Through the ice she could now see the blackened eyes of the unnamed babe, lips blue and a ribbon of red floating from the nostrils of its little pink nose. Abigail pulled her baby free from the tin pail and screamed till the cords in her neck were taught and near breaking. The witch was gone, her footsteps vanishing north, and by the position of the sun it was past noon. Abigail's hands were numb and dark red and her sleeves were thick with ice. Mercy! she thought, still, after so much, unwilling to break the silence. She snatched the blanket from the ground and wrapped the dead baby tightly, covering her pale head, because Abigail could not bear to see it again. Not like that. She stomped through the dense wood, following the footsteps she had left that morning. When she could see the cottage through the trees, she caught sight of something else...footprints from the north. Rows of them. Mercy. She hurried. Tripping on a root buried in the snow and twisting her ankle as she fell. There was pain, terrible pain, but she did not scream. All of her thoughts were on the cottage and the daughter she had let live, the daughter she had left alone just as the witch had told her. She limped across the field and as she approached her home she could see that the old door to the cabin was ajar. All she found inside was darkness.	What is in this dryer? Why do I always get socks stuck way in the back? What!? The back opens? I guess that's what happens when you do laundry at midnight. The back of the dryer opens into...oh shit! It's a freaking portal! Is this Narnia? I hope not, because talking lions and Turkish delights sound like too much to deal with right now. I'd rather have a talking snail buddy that I can take a nap by then wake up and follow his trail. This is a long, dark hole. How many other long dark holes are there in the world? I wonder where it leads. I wonder if I'm going to die if I hit the bottom. When I hit the bottom? If, definitely if. Oh! Well that's good that I didn't die. Now who are these two weirdos in front of me? They kind of look like me. Well one does, the other one kind of scares me. I guess I'll greet them. Hello you two weirdos! Hopefully they can't read my thoughts. Oh crap, now I should think about something else. Here they come. Okay. Shaun: Hello, father. I am your son from the future. I am having an inter-dimensional debate with Sean about which one of us is actually real. We have used the time moleculizer thingy ma whats it to bring you here where time does not exist. Yeah that's cool I guess. But how do I know he, they're, them, these two dudes, are my sons? Shaun: You do not have to believe either one of us is telling the truth. Please observe us then choose which one of us will represent your seed in the future. So these guys are the ones who didn't end up on a paper towel. Shaun: We will now present a battle of the mind. Please tell us when to go. Okay, go. I like that band...well their videos but not their songs. Shaun: I am thinking of a number between one and ten. Can you tell me what it is, Sean? Sean: Sixteen? Shaun: No. Sean: Tostada? Shaun: No. One guess remaining. Sean: Tostada with beans? Shaun: No, it was three. The representative number of the eternity of the holy trinity: Larry the Cable Guy Mos Deaf and Curly Sue. Now, Shaun, it is your turn. Think of a number between one and ten. I shall try to guess it. Sean: Okay. What the fuck is going on? Shaun: WITH THE POWER THAT IS MINE I STICK MY THUMB IN MY BEHIND AND READ WHAT'S ON YOUR MIND! Oh, I guess I'm safe from mind reading as long as he doesn't have his thumb in his ass. Shaun: Sean, you are thinking about a toilet. Sean: Nope! Shaun: Now you are thinking of taking a giant dump on a nice toilet. Sean: Nope! Shaun: Now you're thinking of pushing out a toilet into a giant dump. Sean: Nope! Shaun: Now you're thinking of oatmeal. Sean: Yep! But you used all your guesses so I am the absolute winner! What the fuck is going on? Sean: Now the second competition....Juggling. No! Nope! I've got shit I need to do today and I'm pretty sure my dress shirts are getting wrinkled. I'm getting a vasectomy and going home. I never thought I'd be so relieved to be back in this laundry mat.
	[WP] A person is greeted by two of their children from the future, each from a different timeline. They must decide which timeline to follow and which child to give up.	There was a low pitched humming emanating from the closet. Burt had found it curious that such a sound should be coming from his closet. He didn't have a vacuum cleaner or refrigerator stored there and certainly not one he'd leave running. He considered taking a peek but was stuck fearing there might be some Alien or human annihilator machine waiting if he opened the door. Burt knew the deal on his apartment was too good to be true, 850 a month plus utilities right in downtown? Of course the landlord was sacrificing his tenants to some otherworldly entity, it's not like he had anyone to come looking for him after Carol dumped him. He was sure the worst month of his life was about to end with him losing the only thing he had left to give-- his life. The humming persisted for a few more minutes while Burt stayed frozen in the same sport, maybe he was safe if he left the door shut? Unfortunately the door opened despite his inaction. Burt screamed in terror as it swung open, "Please, show mercy!" he covered his face hoping it'd protect him from the monster's tentacles or the alien's vaporizing ray. Instead of death a perplexed voice responded, "uh, what?" a young man with messy brown hair and familiar face stood in front of the closet door. Burt looked through the cracks of his forearm shield at the young man. His fear immediately turned into rage at the completely terrestrial intruder, "What the hell are you doing in my closet, you pervert?!" he shouted. The young man started waving his hands frantically, "No, no. no. It's not like that at all Da..." Burt tackled the intruder, they fell right into the closet, where he started shaking him violently and cursing. The tunnel vision rage distracted Burt from the fact he was not in his closet but instead on a rather ginormous sophisticated platform, the platform which seemed to float magically in the middle of an even more ginormous room was illuminated by a single light on the platform that lit every chrome panel in the spherical room. It didn't take long for him to notice though when he stopped to take a breather from all the cursing, his stomach dropped suddenly with the realization that his fears of death or abduction her valid. "I'm so sorry!," his shift in mood was nearly instantaneous as he'd already helped the intruder up to his feet, "I have uncontrollable spasms, same with bad words-- comes out uncontrollably. Please forgive me, sir" he bowed to his new alien overlord. Burt heard it making strange sounds, he did his best not to cry as he looked up expecting to see the young man have changed into some terrifying form; what he saw was the intruder biting his lip trying to hold in laughter. It was somehow more terrifying. After the intruder had stopped laughing some time later he finally spoke. He explained to Burt that they were in a sort of inter-dimensional lobby for time travelers and that he was Burt's future son (his name was Eli) and that Carol had never broken up with Burt in his future and wanted to help his father win back his mother so he wouldn't be blinked out of existence. Eli didn't go too much into detail about Burt's future but assured him that Carol was his destiny, "I don't know. She made it clear that she wasn't happy with me anymore, s-- Eli," Burt wondered if there was a way to win her back. "Look, you guys have a loving relationship, I see the way she looks at you and you her dad," Eli tried to convince him to try. They discussed it for what felt to them like hours when the humming sound started again. Burt looked at Eli who just shrugged with the same wide-eyed dopey look Burt had on his face. Shortly after the humming noise began again another person flashed into the lobby. It was a blonde haired young woman whose hair had that same messy look as Eli's. "Dad, I-- uh, what're you doing here?" Burt pointed to himself to confirm she meant him, "Yes, you're not suppose to-- never mind, I need to stop you from missing the chance to meet mom," she started talking about meeting his future wife sometime after breaking up with a woman he'd been with for some time before then. Eli's face turned printer paper white, he didn't recognize her as his sister; he was an only child in fact. Burt had noticed his reaction and asked his daughter(Petra) to stop for a second, "What's your mom's name, hmm?" he'd asked just to confirm his suspicion. Her mom's name was Anya, they'd met at a movie festival he was suppose to go to with a previous girlfriend (Carol). "No, that's not how it happens," Eli finally mustered up the power to say something. The girl finally noticed him for the first time since she flashed onto the platform, "And who are you?" she asked, now also confused along with Burt and Eli. After telling her who he was she almost fainted from the shock. Burt caught Petra before she could fully black out from the shock. Who knew walk-in closets could lead to such a crisis? Burt didn't know what to do. He felt a strong bond to both of them that was impossible to describe but he knew they were both his and they both deserved a chance, at least to Burt. What could he do for them, he had to choose one of them... didn't he? It would be impossible to pick between two kids he didn't know but loved equally, they could both be saviors of the world or the next Stalin or a faceless citizen. Burt let Petra go after she recovered from the shock and ran off the platform, he didn't know how it worked but he just wanted to land back in his closet and be home. Burt had barricaded the door after he got home and decided to do nothing. He heard the humming sound not long after he got back and sure enough Petra and Eli were at the door, pleading and knocking relentlessly. It was a few days before the knocking stopped and the weight of his decision weighed heavily on his conscious for the last few moments before he'd died. Burt had gone into the bathroom and cut his wrists, he couldn't live knowing he'd killed one child in place of another.	What is in this dryer? Why do I always get socks stuck way in the back? What!? The back opens? I guess that's what happens when you do laundry at midnight. The back of the dryer opens into...oh shit! It's a freaking portal! Is this Narnia? I hope not, because talking lions and Turkish delights sound like too much to deal with right now. I'd rather have a talking snail buddy that I can take a nap by then wake up and follow his trail. This is a long, dark hole. How many other long dark holes are there in the world? I wonder where it leads. I wonder if I'm going to die if I hit the bottom. When I hit the bottom? If, definitely if. Oh! Well that's good that I didn't die. Now who are these two weirdos in front of me? They kind of look like me. Well one does, the other one kind of scares me. I guess I'll greet them. Hello you two weirdos! Hopefully they can't read my thoughts. Oh crap, now I should think about something else. Here they come. Okay. Shaun: Hello, father. I am your son from the future. I am having an inter-dimensional debate with Sean about which one of us is actually real. We have used the time moleculizer thingy ma whats it to bring you here where time does not exist. Yeah that's cool I guess. But how do I know he, they're, them, these two dudes, are my sons? Shaun: You do not have to believe either one of us is telling the truth. Please observe us then choose which one of us will represent your seed in the future. So these guys are the ones who didn't end up on a paper towel. Shaun: We will now present a battle of the mind. Please tell us when to go. Okay, go. I like that band...well their videos but not their songs. Shaun: I am thinking of a number between one and ten. Can you tell me what it is, Sean? Sean: Sixteen? Shaun: No. Sean: Tostada? Shaun: No. One guess remaining. Sean: Tostada with beans? Shaun: No, it was three. The representative number of the eternity of the holy trinity: Larry the Cable Guy Mos Deaf and Curly Sue. Now, Shaun, it is your turn. Think of a number between one and ten. I shall try to guess it. Sean: Okay. What the fuck is going on? Shaun: WITH THE POWER THAT IS MINE I STICK MY THUMB IN MY BEHIND AND READ WHAT'S ON YOUR MIND! Oh, I guess I'm safe from mind reading as long as he doesn't have his thumb in his ass. Shaun: Sean, you are thinking about a toilet. Sean: Nope! Shaun: Now you are thinking of taking a giant dump on a nice toilet. Sean: Nope! Shaun: Now you're thinking of pushing out a toilet into a giant dump. Sean: Nope! Shaun: Now you're thinking of oatmeal. Sean: Yep! But you used all your guesses so I am the absolute winner! What the fuck is going on? Sean: Now the second competition....Juggling. No! Nope! I've got shit I need to do today and I'm pretty sure my dress shirts are getting wrinkled. I'm getting a vasectomy and going home. I never thought I'd be so relieved to be back in this laundry mat.
	[WP] A person is greeted by two of their children from the future, each from a different timeline. They must decide which timeline to follow and which child to give up.	(AN: Italics symbolizes speaking in German, normal text is English.) Through a long and complicated series of errors, I ended up being born with dual citizenship, British and American. I suppose the best way to explain the series of errors is that, despite being a successful businessman, my father didn’t exactly have the best sense of how long a pregnancy generally lasted and accidentally booked a business trip in London right around my mother’s due date. It ended up being useful in the long-run, though. Because of that nifty little Schengen policy, I could live and work anywhere I wanted in Europe. Because of that, when my dad wanted me to pick a private school, he let me look at ones in the EU, and I ended up going to a boarding school way out in Germany. I had no idea what to expect, but I ended up falling love with the area and, when it came time to apply to college, the only universities I ever even applied to were German. I wanted to spend the rest of my life here, in Germany, and I’d even heard a legal firm down in Munich wanted to hire me and help me do just that. Everything was looking great for me. It was the night before my graduation when all of that changed, however. Right when I was about to fall asleep, my phone rang on the bed next to me, filling my small apartment with the harsh buzzing of wood against plastic. Groaning, I leaned over, and picked up the phone to see who on Earth wanted to call me at this late hour. ”805 Area Code. Los Angeles. Dad.” I managed to think through the fog of exhaustion, and I begrudgingly answered the phone. “Hey, Leo! It’s me, your dad! How are you, son?” my father’s overly-excited and just far too loud voice came through. “I’m good, dad. Can we keep this quick? It’s midnight here, and I have my graduation tomorrow.” I said, barely managing to string together coherent sentences. “That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about. I have some amazing news! A staffer over at the company just retired, and I wanted to offer you the job! You’d get to come back to LA with us! What do you say?” I groaned. It was way too late at night (or early in the morning, as it were) for all of this life-changing bullshit. “No, thanks, Dad.” I muttered, stifling a yawn, “I think I wanna stay in Europe, at least for a few more years.” “Oh, I figured you’d say that, and that’s why I saved the best for last! It comes with a six-figure starting salary, all-expenses-paid healthcare, and an apartment in downtown LA! What do you say to that, son?” I groaned again. I’d get free healthcare here in Germany, anyway, and part of the reason I left the states was because I really hated Los Angeles. Still, there was no denying that the salary made the offer...compelling. I could do so much with all that money, and plus, it basically gave me the CEO’s chair once my father retired. I would basically be famous – but, still, I’d have to leave my life here in Germany. “I don’t know, Dad. Look, can I have a few days to think it over? This is some pretty big stuff you’re asking of me.” “I’m afraid I can’t, son. There’s a backlog of fifty applicants and I can only hold their forms for so long. The latest I can give you is eight o’clock tomorrow morning.” “My time or yours?” I asked, impatiently. “Mine. Why would I use yours?” I groaned for yet a third time. “Bye, Dad.” I spit out quickly, before hanging up. For some reason, I was suddenly hit with a wave of exhaustion, like I’d just run a marathon right after swimming three gold medal-winning races in an Olympic-sized swimming pool. Suffice it to say, it wasn’t hard to fall asleep. Light began to peer through my eyelids, slowly forcing me awake. What wasn’t helping at all was the cold water being sprinkled on my face, like the world’s weakest ice hose. Suddenly, a particularly large drop hit my eye, and I shot awake. Standing in front of me was a teenage girl, with freckled skin and dark brown hair pulled messily back into a bun. A glass of ice water sat on the table next to her, proving her crime. I wracked my mind, trying to see if I knew her, or had met her some place. She looked a heck of a lot like my friend Ada from finance class, but her hair and eyes were both several shades darker. In a way, she vaguely reminded me of my sister Inez, but I couldn’t place my finger on why. “Come on, father.” she said, stoically, “Mother’s already there. We’re going to miss the train if we don’t hurry.” “The train?” I asked, cracking my neck, “What train?” “Come on, father. You know I don’t speak English very well.” the girl said, rolling her eyes, “You never taught me.” “Sorry...” I muttered, switching my brain over to its other language, “What train are we going to miss?” “The one to brother’s graduation, of course. Mother’s already there. We’re going to have to hurry if we don’t want to miss it.” “Alright, alright. Sorry...Sofia.” I had no idea where I got the name, but it suddenly flooded into my mind. “It’s alright. Just hurry up, father!” I got out of bed and hurried into the shower. Details of this life slowly began returning to me; I had gone to work at the legal firm in Munich, where I learned one of the partners was actually Ada’s father. Later that year, wanting to stay “close to home”, Ada began working at the legal firm as well, where the two of us quickly bonded. A successful legal career led to a successful marriage, and we were able to welcome two children into the world: Adam Emil Hernandez, and then, four years later, Sofia Adala Hernandez. Adam was about to graduate college with a degree in law, and start practicing at the firm with him and Ada. Sofia had just been accepted into her first choice of university, and was on her way to pursuing a lucrative biochemistry career. It was a good life, a perfect life, and he couldn’t say he wanted more. “What about me, daddy?” I whipped around, trying to locate the sound of the voice that had just scared me senseless. A young girl, no more than twelve, was standing outside the shower, staring coldly at me with piercing, ice blue eyes. Her skin was significantly darker than Sofia’s, showing much of my olive complexion, but her hair was a dirty blonde, and fell in curls around her shoulders. “It’s okay.” she said, in perfect American English, “I know you don’t really care about me. All you ever cared about was money.” “Wha-What do you mean?” I asked, stumbling as I tried to switch languages in my head. “I knew you wanted to go back to Germany, but mommy would never let you. I’d guess you never even wanted to leave, but you came here following granddaddy’s money. That’s how you met mommy, too.”  “Mommy? Who’s your mother...” my brain struggled for a name, but just as Sofia’s had, her’s suddenly popped into my brain, “...Emily?” “Her name’s Karen Amell. Her family ran some big pharmaceutical company in Vancouver, and when you saw her, you saw a good chance to, let’s say...merge your companies.” “No...” I muttered, my head spinning. “Marry someone for money? That…that’s awful. I’d never…” “You’d never do something that overtly greedy? Think again, daddy. You would, and you did. In fact, that’s all you ever did. You followed the money trail without any regard for who you hurt, even if you were hurting yourself.” Emily grinned, and looked around the room, her blue eyes showing what was almost a parody of interest. “You know, daddy, this is a nice place you got here. Not as nice as the one you had back in LA, but still. It feels…homey. Just goes to show you money can’t buy you everything.” “What are you trying to say?” I asked, a strange mix of confusion and anger swelling up inside of me and seizing control of my thoughts.  “I’m saying you’re gonna choose this life. It’ll be hard at first, sure, and you won’t make as much money or have as much name recognition, but trust me. I know you. You don’t want that. You don’t want me. You only think you do.” Tears began to well up in the young girl’s eyes. I might not have lived it, but I remembered all of her life – every fight her parents had, every night she laid awake wondering if both her parents would make it to tomorrow; every tear she ever cried, every piece of flesh she ever cut. He didn’t want anybody to live like that. “I’m sorry for putting you through that.” I said, embracing my daughter for what would be the first and the last time. “You shouldn’t be. None of it’s gonna happen anymore.” I felt the warmth fade from my hands as the young girl’s form began to fade, leaving behind nothing but a voice on the wind that said: “Goodbye, daddy. I hope you end up happy.” I shot awake in my bed, cold sweat dripping down my back. I glanced over at my clock, and saw that it was only 3AM. Good – there was still time. I reached over and grabbed my phone, quickly dialing my father’s number. After ringing twice, I heard the line connect and the voice of my father come through. “Leo! Have you thought about my offer?” “I have, Dad. I’m going to have to decline.” “What? Why?!” “I don’t know, Dad. I just don’t think I’ll be very happy there.” For a moment, all I heard was silence. I was suddenly filed with dread, like I had said the exact wrong thing at the exact wrong time. Then, my father came back on. “Look, son, with all due respect, you’re being a fucking fool. I could give you everything you ever wanted, and more – so much more. What are you gonna get over there – a job at some base-rate legal firm in Munich? You’re better than that – “ “No, Dad. I think I’m better than you. I’d rather be happy than rich.” I said, and I hung up the phone. Life wasn’t going to be easy from here on out – Emily had warned him of that. But at least he knew what was coming, and he knew he’d have Ada and her father and all the people at the firm to help him through it. He wouldn’t get fame or fortune, and he was fine with that. He’d taken a different road, the one more travelled, and yet it felt so much better.	What is in this dryer? Why do I always get socks stuck way in the back? What!? The back opens? I guess that's what happens when you do laundry at midnight. The back of the dryer opens into...oh shit! It's a freaking portal! Is this Narnia? I hope not, because talking lions and Turkish delights sound like too much to deal with right now. I'd rather have a talking snail buddy that I can take a nap by then wake up and follow his trail. This is a long, dark hole. How many other long dark holes are there in the world? I wonder where it leads. I wonder if I'm going to die if I hit the bottom. When I hit the bottom? If, definitely if. Oh! Well that's good that I didn't die. Now who are these two weirdos in front of me? They kind of look like me. Well one does, the other one kind of scares me. I guess I'll greet them. Hello you two weirdos! Hopefully they can't read my thoughts. Oh crap, now I should think about something else. Here they come. Okay. Shaun: Hello, father. I am your son from the future. I am having an inter-dimensional debate with Sean about which one of us is actually real. We have used the time moleculizer thingy ma whats it to bring you here where time does not exist. Yeah that's cool I guess. But how do I know he, they're, them, these two dudes, are my sons? Shaun: You do not have to believe either one of us is telling the truth. Please observe us then choose which one of us will represent your seed in the future. So these guys are the ones who didn't end up on a paper towel. Shaun: We will now present a battle of the mind. Please tell us when to go. Okay, go. I like that band...well their videos but not their songs. Shaun: I am thinking of a number between one and ten. Can you tell me what it is, Sean? Sean: Sixteen? Shaun: No. Sean: Tostada? Shaun: No. One guess remaining. Sean: Tostada with beans? Shaun: No, it was three. The representative number of the eternity of the holy trinity: Larry the Cable Guy Mos Deaf and Curly Sue. Now, Shaun, it is your turn. Think of a number between one and ten. I shall try to guess it. Sean: Okay. What the fuck is going on? Shaun: WITH THE POWER THAT IS MINE I STICK MY THUMB IN MY BEHIND AND READ WHAT'S ON YOUR MIND! Oh, I guess I'm safe from mind reading as long as he doesn't have his thumb in his ass. Shaun: Sean, you are thinking about a toilet. Sean: Nope! Shaun: Now you are thinking of taking a giant dump on a nice toilet. Sean: Nope! Shaun: Now you're thinking of pushing out a toilet into a giant dump. Sean: Nope! Shaun: Now you're thinking of oatmeal. Sean: Yep! But you used all your guesses so I am the absolute winner! What the fuck is going on? Sean: Now the second competition....Juggling. No! Nope! I've got shit I need to do today and I'm pretty sure my dress shirts are getting wrinkled. I'm getting a vasectomy and going home. I never thought I'd be so relieved to be back in this laundry mat.
	[WP] A person is greeted by two of their children from the future, each from a different timeline. They must decide which timeline to follow and which child to give up.	I left my job late that night, having lingered in the office to finish some work. And, if I was being totally honest, to steal a few words with Jake. He was five years my senior and a candidate for an executive position, so he was always busy during the day. After work, however, we usually found excuses to hang around and chat. I was riding on cloud nine as I shut off the bright fluorescent lights and locked the door–he had asked me to come over later that night! I had never been the sort of girl to get all giddy over a guy, but now I sort of knew how they felt. What would I wear...? I left the office complex whistling, and began the long walk to my apartment. It's only a long walk if I stick to the main roads, I thought. I had cut through back alleys to get to lab before–if I was running late–but only during the daytime. At night, they were dark as pitch, unilluminated by the warm orange glow of streetlights. Still, I mused, I could use some extra time to get ready… I was about to turn onto one of the nameless tiny streets that would lead back to my apartment when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I spun around, startled. "Who are you?" I demanded, hands raised to protect my face. "Don't go that way," the mysterious person answered, or, well, didn't answer. "Don't tell me what to do. I'll ask again, who are you?" "Very bad things will happen if you take that shortcut." I squinted through the dim light to see the speaker's face. "At least let me get a clear look at you." My voice shook, betraying the fear that welled up inside me. "You need not know my name nor my face. Just don't go that way. Your life–and mine–depend on it." "H-how does your life depend on me taking the long way home?" As I asked the question, an answer occurred to me. He's probably going to rob me. He's been tracking me, and if I slip into the alley, he'll lose me. I took a step towards the darkness. "Don't!" His had shot out to grab my wrist and he yanked me back forcefully. I twisted my hand away and brought it up defensively. "How dare you touch me! Leave me alone, or I will call the police." I brought my phone out, showing my intention to make good on my threat. He raised his hands in a placating gesture. "Don't do that. Please. Just listen. You're on your way back to your apartment after a long day in the office. You've been invited over a coworker's place." "Creep!" I spat, and moved to dial 9-1-1 into my phone. "Wait! Wait. Listen. You get home safely, and call Jake. He comes to pick you up. You both go out for a drink and then back to his place. You have a lovely time, you really hit it off." "You stopped me to tell me my fortune?" I asked in distain. Freak. "Besides, all that will just happen 15 minutes earlier if I go down this alley." "No. It won't." "What happens, then?" I inquired sarcastically. Fortune tellers can only weave a tale so far. "I don't know." I gave a little humph, happy to catch him in his lie. "All I know is that, if you go down that way, I won't exist." There was a beat of silence. "Excuse me, what?" He sighed. "I had hoped not to divulge so much to you. I was so certain it wouldn't take much to persuade you to stay on the well-lit path. But now…" He paused. "I'm your son. Yours and Jake's. Or at least, I will be. If you stick to the main roads." He stepped into the light. I took in his face, his eyes, the shape of him. He looked like Jake…but with my hair, my build, my nose. I began to back away slowly, further into the dark reaches of the alley. It seemed safer now, farther away from the madman claiming to be my future son. His eyes widened in fright, and just then, I felt another tap on my back. I turned around, slowly this time. "And who might you be?" I asked with disaffected calm. I was too much in shock to be scared. The person shifted in the darkness. "I suppose he's already spilled the beans." It was a woman's voice. "I'm your daughter." Fucking perfect. "You're working together, then? I suppose you're here to warn me about the dangers of the alley, too." Impatience rose in my voice. I was finished with this nonsense. I just wanted to go home. "No to the first. We are working directly against each other. If one of us is brought into existence, the other will disappear, never to be born." She paused meaningfully. "To the second: well, that's a bit complicated. It is dangerous. You have every reason to fear it. And it will change your life." "If it's dangerous–if I should fear it, and you do not deny this, why should I go that way? Why should I put myself in danger that you might one day live? And anyway, I don't see how taking this road or that will change what children I have. I'll make it home, one way or the other." The girl's silence was deafening. "I-I will make it home, won't I?" Fear welled up inside me as I tried to choke it down, swallowing hard. The man spoke up. "If you take the main roads, you will be home in 45 minutes, as usual. Your night will go on as planned." The girl picked up his sentence immediately. "But if you take the alley, your night will be long. You will finally return to your apartment at dawn, less your purse and money, less most of your clothes, and less the comfortable surety of your old life." She hesitated. "And plus me." I stared back at her, tears welling up in my eyes. When I spoke, it came out a ragged whisper. "Why would you even tell me that? Who would walk in to that, knowing? You'd send me through hell, just to exist. You're a selfish, worthless bitch! You'd make me give up a happy family, for this?" Both my future children stiffened. "Oh, what is it now?" The man spoke up, quietly. "Not so happy," he said, barely audible. "Wh-What do you mean? I marry Jake, right?" The man nodded solemnly. "But. He…" The man paused. "Out with it!" "He abuses you. Emotionally, at first. Makes you feel small. Then, he starts beating you. It's terrible. I can't stand to think about it." He shuddered. "I'm sorry. You're life was never meant to be easy." "But I divorce him eventually, right? I'm not that dumb." Another pregnant pause. "No." There was a sense of finality in his voice. I turned to the girl. "What happens with the rest of my life, if I go this way?" And get raped, I added silently. "You're devastated, of course. Your entire life is changed. You don't talk to anyone at work, and Jake loses interest. Eventually, your boss fires you, to avoid paying maternity leave. I'm born, and you move back in with your mother, working small jobs to pay her back. You talk to someone–a therapist–about what happened, and they suggest you write about it. So you write. And you start working to raise awareness of rape and assault in schools. You do a lot of good for people. And your daughter is always right by your side, always there for you." I thought for a second. "Hold on," I said. "Couldn't I avoid all of this by just avoiding the situation with Jake?" "As soon as you have made your decision, you will forget us and anything we told you. You will only remember the path you chose." The man looked down solemnly. I sank down to the ground, wracked by sobs. Both my future children came over to console me. I didn't see how I could choose, but I couldn't stay here… After an eternity, I stood up. "I have decided," I said quietly. "Who?" The boy and girl asked concurrently. I shook my head. "One of you will find out, I suppose." They both nodded. --- I caught myself staring idly at the lamp-post and blinked twice to clear my head. I stared down the shortcut alley with a misplaced feeling of gravity and sorrow. I shook the feeling off, attributing it to exhaustion, and took a step.	What is in this dryer? Why do I always get socks stuck way in the back? What!? The back opens? I guess that's what happens when you do laundry at midnight. The back of the dryer opens into...oh shit! It's a freaking portal! Is this Narnia? I hope not, because talking lions and Turkish delights sound like too much to deal with right now. I'd rather have a talking snail buddy that I can take a nap by then wake up and follow his trail. This is a long, dark hole. How many other long dark holes are there in the world? I wonder where it leads. I wonder if I'm going to die if I hit the bottom. When I hit the bottom? If, definitely if. Oh! Well that's good that I didn't die. Now who are these two weirdos in front of me? They kind of look like me. Well one does, the other one kind of scares me. I guess I'll greet them. Hello you two weirdos! Hopefully they can't read my thoughts. Oh crap, now I should think about something else. Here they come. Okay. Shaun: Hello, father. I am your son from the future. I am having an inter-dimensional debate with Sean about which one of us is actually real. We have used the time moleculizer thingy ma whats it to bring you here where time does not exist. Yeah that's cool I guess. But how do I know he, they're, them, these two dudes, are my sons? Shaun: You do not have to believe either one of us is telling the truth. Please observe us then choose which one of us will represent your seed in the future. So these guys are the ones who didn't end up on a paper towel. Shaun: We will now present a battle of the mind. Please tell us when to go. Okay, go. I like that band...well their videos but not their songs. Shaun: I am thinking of a number between one and ten. Can you tell me what it is, Sean? Sean: Sixteen? Shaun: No. Sean: Tostada? Shaun: No. One guess remaining. Sean: Tostada with beans? Shaun: No, it was three. The representative number of the eternity of the holy trinity: Larry the Cable Guy Mos Deaf and Curly Sue. Now, Shaun, it is your turn. Think of a number between one and ten. I shall try to guess it. Sean: Okay. What the fuck is going on? Shaun: WITH THE POWER THAT IS MINE I STICK MY THUMB IN MY BEHIND AND READ WHAT'S ON YOUR MIND! Oh, I guess I'm safe from mind reading as long as he doesn't have his thumb in his ass. Shaun: Sean, you are thinking about a toilet. Sean: Nope! Shaun: Now you are thinking of taking a giant dump on a nice toilet. Sean: Nope! Shaun: Now you're thinking of pushing out a toilet into a giant dump. Sean: Nope! Shaun: Now you're thinking of oatmeal. Sean: Yep! But you used all your guesses so I am the absolute winner! What the fuck is going on? Sean: Now the second competition....Juggling. No! Nope! I've got shit I need to do today and I'm pretty sure my dress shirts are getting wrinkled. I'm getting a vasectomy and going home. I never thought I'd be so relieved to be back in this laundry mat.
	[WP] A person is greeted by two of their children from the future, each from a different timeline. They must decide which timeline to follow and which child to give up.	(AN: Italics symbolizes speaking in German, normal text is English.) Through a long and complicated series of errors, I ended up being born with dual citizenship, British and American. I suppose the best way to explain the series of errors is that, despite being a successful businessman, my father didn’t exactly have the best sense of how long a pregnancy generally lasted and accidentally booked a business trip in London right around my mother’s due date. It ended up being useful in the long-run, though. Because of that nifty little Schengen policy, I could live and work anywhere I wanted in Europe. Because of that, when my dad wanted me to pick a private school, he let me look at ones in the EU, and I ended up going to a boarding school way out in Germany. I had no idea what to expect, but I ended up falling love with the area and, when it came time to apply to college, the only universities I ever even applied to were German. I wanted to spend the rest of my life here, in Germany, and I’d even heard a legal firm down in Munich wanted to hire me and help me do just that. Everything was looking great for me. It was the night before my graduation when all of that changed, however. Right when I was about to fall asleep, my phone rang on the bed next to me, filling my small apartment with the harsh buzzing of wood against plastic. Groaning, I leaned over, and picked up the phone to see who on Earth wanted to call me at this late hour. ”805 Area Code. Los Angeles. Dad.” I managed to think through the fog of exhaustion, and I begrudgingly answered the phone. “Hey, Leo! It’s me, your dad! How are you, son?” my father’s overly-excited and just far too loud voice came through. “I’m good, dad. Can we keep this quick? It’s midnight here, and I have my graduation tomorrow.” I said, barely managing to string together coherent sentences. “That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about. I have some amazing news! A staffer over at the company just retired, and I wanted to offer you the job! You’d get to come back to LA with us! What do you say?” I groaned. It was way too late at night (or early in the morning, as it were) for all of this life-changing bullshit. “No, thanks, Dad.” I muttered, stifling a yawn, “I think I wanna stay in Europe, at least for a few more years.” “Oh, I figured you’d say that, and that’s why I saved the best for last! It comes with a six-figure starting salary, all-expenses-paid healthcare, and an apartment in downtown LA! What do you say to that, son?” I groaned again. I’d get free healthcare here in Germany, anyway, and part of the reason I left the states was because I really hated Los Angeles. Still, there was no denying that the salary made the offer...compelling. I could do so much with all that money, and plus, it basically gave me the CEO’s chair once my father retired. I would basically be famous – but, still, I’d have to leave my life here in Germany. “I don’t know, Dad. Look, can I have a few days to think it over? This is some pretty big stuff you’re asking of me.” “I’m afraid I can’t, son. There’s a backlog of fifty applicants and I can only hold their forms for so long. The latest I can give you is eight o’clock tomorrow morning.” “My time or yours?” I asked, impatiently. “Mine. Why would I use yours?” I groaned for yet a third time. “Bye, Dad.” I spit out quickly, before hanging up. For some reason, I was suddenly hit with a wave of exhaustion, like I’d just run a marathon right after swimming three gold medal-winning races in an Olympic-sized swimming pool. Suffice it to say, it wasn’t hard to fall asleep. Light began to peer through my eyelids, slowly forcing me awake. What wasn’t helping at all was the cold water being sprinkled on my face, like the world’s weakest ice hose. Suddenly, a particularly large drop hit my eye, and I shot awake. Standing in front of me was a teenage girl, with freckled skin and dark brown hair pulled messily back into a bun. A glass of ice water sat on the table next to her, proving her crime. I wracked my mind, trying to see if I knew her, or had met her some place. She looked a heck of a lot like my friend Ada from finance class, but her hair and eyes were both several shades darker. In a way, she vaguely reminded me of my sister Inez, but I couldn’t place my finger on why. “Come on, father.” she said, stoically, “Mother’s already there. We’re going to miss the train if we don’t hurry.” “The train?” I asked, cracking my neck, “What train?” “Come on, father. You know I don’t speak English very well.” the girl said, rolling her eyes, “You never taught me.” “Sorry...” I muttered, switching my brain over to its other language, “What train are we going to miss?” “The one to brother’s graduation, of course. Mother’s already there. We’re going to have to hurry if we don’t want to miss it.” “Alright, alright. Sorry...Sofia.” I had no idea where I got the name, but it suddenly flooded into my mind. “It’s alright. Just hurry up, father!” I got out of bed and hurried into the shower. Details of this life slowly began returning to me; I had gone to work at the legal firm in Munich, where I learned one of the partners was actually Ada’s father. Later that year, wanting to stay “close to home”, Ada began working at the legal firm as well, where the two of us quickly bonded. A successful legal career led to a successful marriage, and we were able to welcome two children into the world: Adam Emil Hernandez, and then, four years later, Sofia Adala Hernandez. Adam was about to graduate college with a degree in law, and start practicing at the firm with him and Ada. Sofia had just been accepted into her first choice of university, and was on her way to pursuing a lucrative biochemistry career. It was a good life, a perfect life, and he couldn’t say he wanted more. “What about me, daddy?” I whipped around, trying to locate the sound of the voice that had just scared me senseless. A young girl, no more than twelve, was standing outside the shower, staring coldly at me with piercing, ice blue eyes. Her skin was significantly darker than Sofia’s, showing much of my olive complexion, but her hair was a dirty blonde, and fell in curls around her shoulders. “It’s okay.” she said, in perfect American English, “I know you don’t really care about me. All you ever cared about was money.” “Wha-What do you mean?” I asked, stumbling as I tried to switch languages in my head. “I knew you wanted to go back to Germany, but mommy would never let you. I’d guess you never even wanted to leave, but you came here following granddaddy’s money. That’s how you met mommy, too.”  “Mommy? Who’s your mother...” my brain struggled for a name, but just as Sofia’s had, her’s suddenly popped into my brain, “...Emily?” “Her name’s Karen Amell. Her family ran some big pharmaceutical company in Vancouver, and when you saw her, you saw a good chance to, let’s say...merge your companies.” “No...” I muttered, my head spinning. “Marry someone for money? That…that’s awful. I’d never…” “You’d never do something that overtly greedy? Think again, daddy. You would, and you did. In fact, that’s all you ever did. You followed the money trail without any regard for who you hurt, even if you were hurting yourself.” Emily grinned, and looked around the room, her blue eyes showing what was almost a parody of interest. “You know, daddy, this is a nice place you got here. Not as nice as the one you had back in LA, but still. It feels…homey. Just goes to show you money can’t buy you everything.” “What are you trying to say?” I asked, a strange mix of confusion and anger swelling up inside of me and seizing control of my thoughts.  “I’m saying you’re gonna choose this life. It’ll be hard at first, sure, and you won’t make as much money or have as much name recognition, but trust me. I know you. You don’t want that. You don’t want me. You only think you do.” Tears began to well up in the young girl’s eyes. I might not have lived it, but I remembered all of her life – every fight her parents had, every night she laid awake wondering if both her parents would make it to tomorrow; every tear she ever cried, every piece of flesh she ever cut. He didn’t want anybody to live like that. “I’m sorry for putting you through that.” I said, embracing my daughter for what would be the first and the last time. “You shouldn’t be. None of it’s gonna happen anymore.” I felt the warmth fade from my hands as the young girl’s form began to fade, leaving behind nothing but a voice on the wind that said: “Goodbye, daddy. I hope you end up happy.” I shot awake in my bed, cold sweat dripping down my back. I glanced over at my clock, and saw that it was only 3AM. Good – there was still time. I reached over and grabbed my phone, quickly dialing my father’s number. After ringing twice, I heard the line connect and the voice of my father come through. “Leo! Have you thought about my offer?” “I have, Dad. I’m going to have to decline.” “What? Why?!” “I don’t know, Dad. I just don’t think I’ll be very happy there.” For a moment, all I heard was silence. I was suddenly filed with dread, like I had said the exact wrong thing at the exact wrong time. Then, my father came back on. “Look, son, with all due respect, you’re being a fucking fool. I could give you everything you ever wanted, and more – so much more. What are you gonna get over there – a job at some base-rate legal firm in Munich? You’re better than that – “ “No, Dad. I think I’m better than you. I’d rather be happy than rich.” I said, and I hung up the phone. Life wasn’t going to be easy from here on out – Emily had warned him of that. But at least he knew what was coming, and he knew he’d have Ada and her father and all the people at the firm to help him through it. He wouldn’t get fame or fortune, and he was fine with that. He’d taken a different road, the one more travelled, and yet it felt so much better.	The pail was full to the brim and the witch stirred the clear water gently with her finger to keep surface from icing over. Abigail stood shivering in the snow and dead branches. Mercy had been left swaddled in blankets back at the cottage, but her twin was held tightly in Abigail's arms. The unnamed child slept quietly despite that terrible chill, her pink nose barely visible beneath the blanket. Say one word more and nothing you see will come to pass, the witch had told her. Say a word, but for the name of the babe, and you will have sinned for sin alone. And what a wretched sin it is. The witch turned her finger so as to scrape her nail sharply against the tin wall of the pail. Abigail looked at the witch's chapped lips and saw no breath. Her own was thick white clouds in the morning air, and a steam seemed to rise from the babe's swaddling. When Abigail did not move forward the screeching stopped and the witch looked up at her with warm brown eyes. Eyes that Abigail thought to beg her not to continue. But she did. Each footfall sunk deep in the snow, always finding brittle twigs beneath to break and frighten the birds. The witch sighed, this time with white vapor, and scratched quickly, roundly, within the pail. Peering down, Abigail could see only the swirling water, but no vision. Only the occasional flash of sky or tree or her own hard aquiline face reflecting back and then rippling and vanishing again. What was she doing here? Why had she not just risked travel back to the city? Tried to find another husband? Who would want a woman with two children? With no horse, was she to walk this country with a babe in each arm? Why had her husband been such a fool? Why did he think he could ride? Why couldn't he horse have survived the fall? Stupid animal. Why had David left her with not one mouth to feed, but two? Why had he... The screeching yielded again and the witch gazed up, but just before the water stilled, "Mercy," Abigail said. And nothing more. The water swirled and the metal cried. Shadows came first, then a faint green light illuminated them. A golden haired girl, lovely. And smart, she had a quill in her hand and was writing, writing what? A book! Mercy the author. A husband drifted into the scene, well-dressed and handsome, but for his spectacles and a braced leg. He tried to peek at a finished page and was playfully batted away. The room was beautiful, all mahogany carved with ornate filigree and large windows with velvety curtains and gold fringe. A maid holding a child, a golden haired boy entered the vision and then the witch's nail reversed. The swirl of the pool went from clockwise to counter clockwise and the images faded. The twin in her arms began to wiggle and writhe, cooing at first, then crying when it felt the cold air breaking through the folds of the blanket. Abigail wanted to hush it, but would a hush be taken as a word? Abigail dared no break the silence as the water revealed the most gorgeous mansion she had ever seen. The golden haired Mercy was just as beautiful as before if, perhaps, slightly more plump. Maybe with child, but indulgence was more likely as slaves were serving her and her friends sweaty glasses of sweetened tea and platters of apple slices, strawberries, molasses cookies, ginger snaps, and more, so much more, always more. Her chestnut-haired husband here was not quite so dashing, but wore no spectacles or brace. He also seemed to speak more to the other men, who smoked pipes at the far porch as the women gabbed over treats. SKRREEEEEEECCCCHH The witch swirled the water clockwise again and looked up at Abigail. SKREECH back to counter clockwise. The baby in her arms pushed aside the blanket and stared up with watery eyes, grey eyes, like her father's. SKREEEEEEECCCCCHHHHH The blanket fell to the ground, the naked babe's was hot to her cold palms and her little heart was pounding little hummingbird beats in her hands as it thrashed in the cold air, she could see her ribs. She could not feed them both. There was no way. There wasn't. SKREEEEEECCCCHHHH. She held the baby in front of her, wanting to hold her, to quiet her, to warm her. SKREEEEEEECCCHHHHHH With the icy water at her elbows, the dim green image of the writing desk and child at play turned to vivid color. Another chapter of her life showed Mercy at a stage play for one of her novels. Her husband's hair had turned white and Mercy had three daughters as well as a son. Abigail could see herself sitting between the two youngest girls. She hadn't aged a day, but her eyes were no longer blue, but warm brown eyes. The image faded and the water stilled. Through the ice she could now see the blackened eyes of the unnamed babe, lips blue and a ribbon of red floating from the nostrils of its little pink nose. Abigail pulled her baby free from the tin pail and screamed till the cords in her neck were taught and near breaking. The witch was gone, her footsteps vanishing north, and by the position of the sun it was past noon. Abigail's hands were numb and dark red and her sleeves were thick with ice. Mercy! she thought, still, after so much, unwilling to break the silence. She snatched the blanket from the ground and wrapped the dead baby tightly, covering her pale head, because Abigail could not bear to see it again. Not like that. She stomped through the dense wood, following the footsteps she had left that morning. When she could see the cottage through the trees, she caught sight of something else...footprints from the north. Rows of them. Mercy. She hurried. Tripping on a root buried in the snow and twisting her ankle as she fell. There was pain, terrible pain, but she did not scream. All of her thoughts were on the cottage and the daughter she had let live, the daughter she had left alone just as the witch had told her. She limped across the field and as she approached her home she could see that the old door to the cabin was ajar. All she found inside was darkness.
	[WP] A person is greeted by two of their children from the future, each from a different timeline. They must decide which timeline to follow and which child to give up.	I left my job late that night, having lingered in the office to finish some work. And, if I was being totally honest, to steal a few words with Jake. He was five years my senior and a candidate for an executive position, so he was always busy during the day. After work, however, we usually found excuses to hang around and chat. I was riding on cloud nine as I shut off the bright fluorescent lights and locked the door–he had asked me to come over later that night! I had never been the sort of girl to get all giddy over a guy, but now I sort of knew how they felt. What would I wear...? I left the office complex whistling, and began the long walk to my apartment. It's only a long walk if I stick to the main roads, I thought. I had cut through back alleys to get to lab before–if I was running late–but only during the daytime. At night, they were dark as pitch, unilluminated by the warm orange glow of streetlights. Still, I mused, I could use some extra time to get ready… I was about to turn onto one of the nameless tiny streets that would lead back to my apartment when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I spun around, startled. "Who are you?" I demanded, hands raised to protect my face. "Don't go that way," the mysterious person answered, or, well, didn't answer. "Don't tell me what to do. I'll ask again, who are you?" "Very bad things will happen if you take that shortcut." I squinted through the dim light to see the speaker's face. "At least let me get a clear look at you." My voice shook, betraying the fear that welled up inside me. "You need not know my name nor my face. Just don't go that way. Your life–and mine–depend on it." "H-how does your life depend on me taking the long way home?" As I asked the question, an answer occurred to me. He's probably going to rob me. He's been tracking me, and if I slip into the alley, he'll lose me. I took a step towards the darkness. "Don't!" His had shot out to grab my wrist and he yanked me back forcefully. I twisted my hand away and brought it up defensively. "How dare you touch me! Leave me alone, or I will call the police." I brought my phone out, showing my intention to make good on my threat. He raised his hands in a placating gesture. "Don't do that. Please. Just listen. You're on your way back to your apartment after a long day in the office. You've been invited over a coworker's place." "Creep!" I spat, and moved to dial 9-1-1 into my phone. "Wait! Wait. Listen. You get home safely, and call Jake. He comes to pick you up. You both go out for a drink and then back to his place. You have a lovely time, you really hit it off." "You stopped me to tell me my fortune?" I asked in distain. Freak. "Besides, all that will just happen 15 minutes earlier if I go down this alley." "No. It won't." "What happens, then?" I inquired sarcastically. Fortune tellers can only weave a tale so far. "I don't know." I gave a little humph, happy to catch him in his lie. "All I know is that, if you go down that way, I won't exist." There was a beat of silence. "Excuse me, what?" He sighed. "I had hoped not to divulge so much to you. I was so certain it wouldn't take much to persuade you to stay on the well-lit path. But now…" He paused. "I'm your son. Yours and Jake's. Or at least, I will be. If you stick to the main roads." He stepped into the light. I took in his face, his eyes, the shape of him. He looked like Jake…but with my hair, my build, my nose. I began to back away slowly, further into the dark reaches of the alley. It seemed safer now, farther away from the madman claiming to be my future son. His eyes widened in fright, and just then, I felt another tap on my back. I turned around, slowly this time. "And who might you be?" I asked with disaffected calm. I was too much in shock to be scared. The person shifted in the darkness. "I suppose he's already spilled the beans." It was a woman's voice. "I'm your daughter." Fucking perfect. "You're working together, then? I suppose you're here to warn me about the dangers of the alley, too." Impatience rose in my voice. I was finished with this nonsense. I just wanted to go home. "No to the first. We are working directly against each other. If one of us is brought into existence, the other will disappear, never to be born." She paused meaningfully. "To the second: well, that's a bit complicated. It is dangerous. You have every reason to fear it. And it will change your life." "If it's dangerous–if I should fear it, and you do not deny this, why should I go that way? Why should I put myself in danger that you might one day live? And anyway, I don't see how taking this road or that will change what children I have. I'll make it home, one way or the other." The girl's silence was deafening. "I-I will make it home, won't I?" Fear welled up inside me as I tried to choke it down, swallowing hard. The man spoke up. "If you take the main roads, you will be home in 45 minutes, as usual. Your night will go on as planned." The girl picked up his sentence immediately. "But if you take the alley, your night will be long. You will finally return to your apartment at dawn, less your purse and money, less most of your clothes, and less the comfortable surety of your old life." She hesitated. "And plus me." I stared back at her, tears welling up in my eyes. When I spoke, it came out a ragged whisper. "Why would you even tell me that? Who would walk in to that, knowing? You'd send me through hell, just to exist. You're a selfish, worthless bitch! You'd make me give up a happy family, for this?" Both my future children stiffened. "Oh, what is it now?" The man spoke up, quietly. "Not so happy," he said, barely audible. "Wh-What do you mean? I marry Jake, right?" The man nodded solemnly. "But. He…" The man paused. "Out with it!" "He abuses you. Emotionally, at first. Makes you feel small. Then, he starts beating you. It's terrible. I can't stand to think about it." He shuddered. "I'm sorry. You're life was never meant to be easy." "But I divorce him eventually, right? I'm not that dumb." Another pregnant pause. "No." There was a sense of finality in his voice. I turned to the girl. "What happens with the rest of my life, if I go this way?" And get raped, I added silently. "You're devastated, of course. Your entire life is changed. You don't talk to anyone at work, and Jake loses interest. Eventually, your boss fires you, to avoid paying maternity leave. I'm born, and you move back in with your mother, working small jobs to pay her back. You talk to someone–a therapist–about what happened, and they suggest you write about it. So you write. And you start working to raise awareness of rape and assault in schools. You do a lot of good for people. And your daughter is always right by your side, always there for you." I thought for a second. "Hold on," I said. "Couldn't I avoid all of this by just avoiding the situation with Jake?" "As soon as you have made your decision, you will forget us and anything we told you. You will only remember the path you chose." The man looked down solemnly. I sank down to the ground, wracked by sobs. Both my future children came over to console me. I didn't see how I could choose, but I couldn't stay here… After an eternity, I stood up. "I have decided," I said quietly. "Who?" The boy and girl asked concurrently. I shook my head. "One of you will find out, I suppose." They both nodded. --- I caught myself staring idly at the lamp-post and blinked twice to clear my head. I stared down the shortcut alley with a misplaced feeling of gravity and sorrow. I shook the feeling off, attributing it to exhaustion, and took a step.	The pail was full to the brim and the witch stirred the clear water gently with her finger to keep surface from icing over. Abigail stood shivering in the snow and dead branches. Mercy had been left swaddled in blankets back at the cottage, but her twin was held tightly in Abigail's arms. The unnamed child slept quietly despite that terrible chill, her pink nose barely visible beneath the blanket. Say one word more and nothing you see will come to pass, the witch had told her. Say a word, but for the name of the babe, and you will have sinned for sin alone. And what a wretched sin it is. The witch turned her finger so as to scrape her nail sharply against the tin wall of the pail. Abigail looked at the witch's chapped lips and saw no breath. Her own was thick white clouds in the morning air, and a steam seemed to rise from the babe's swaddling. When Abigail did not move forward the screeching stopped and the witch looked up at her with warm brown eyes. Eyes that Abigail thought to beg her not to continue. But she did. Each footfall sunk deep in the snow, always finding brittle twigs beneath to break and frighten the birds. The witch sighed, this time with white vapor, and scratched quickly, roundly, within the pail. Peering down, Abigail could see only the swirling water, but no vision. Only the occasional flash of sky or tree or her own hard aquiline face reflecting back and then rippling and vanishing again. What was she doing here? Why had she not just risked travel back to the city? Tried to find another husband? Who would want a woman with two children? With no horse, was she to walk this country with a babe in each arm? Why had her husband been such a fool? Why did he think he could ride? Why couldn't he horse have survived the fall? Stupid animal. Why had David left her with not one mouth to feed, but two? Why had he... The screeching yielded again and the witch gazed up, but just before the water stilled, "Mercy," Abigail said. And nothing more. The water swirled and the metal cried. Shadows came first, then a faint green light illuminated them. A golden haired girl, lovely. And smart, she had a quill in her hand and was writing, writing what? A book! Mercy the author. A husband drifted into the scene, well-dressed and handsome, but for his spectacles and a braced leg. He tried to peek at a finished page and was playfully batted away. The room was beautiful, all mahogany carved with ornate filigree and large windows with velvety curtains and gold fringe. A maid holding a child, a golden haired boy entered the vision and then the witch's nail reversed. The swirl of the pool went from clockwise to counter clockwise and the images faded. The twin in her arms began to wiggle and writhe, cooing at first, then crying when it felt the cold air breaking through the folds of the blanket. Abigail wanted to hush it, but would a hush be taken as a word? Abigail dared no break the silence as the water revealed the most gorgeous mansion she had ever seen. The golden haired Mercy was just as beautiful as before if, perhaps, slightly more plump. Maybe with child, but indulgence was more likely as slaves were serving her and her friends sweaty glasses of sweetened tea and platters of apple slices, strawberries, molasses cookies, ginger snaps, and more, so much more, always more. Her chestnut-haired husband here was not quite so dashing, but wore no spectacles or brace. He also seemed to speak more to the other men, who smoked pipes at the far porch as the women gabbed over treats. SKRREEEEEEECCCCHH The witch swirled the water clockwise again and looked up at Abigail. SKREECH back to counter clockwise. The baby in her arms pushed aside the blanket and stared up with watery eyes, grey eyes, like her father's. SKREEEEEEECCCCCHHHHH The blanket fell to the ground, the naked babe's was hot to her cold palms and her little heart was pounding little hummingbird beats in her hands as it thrashed in the cold air, she could see her ribs. She could not feed them both. There was no way. There wasn't. SKREEEEEECCCCHHHH. She held the baby in front of her, wanting to hold her, to quiet her, to warm her. SKREEEEEEECCCHHHHHH With the icy water at her elbows, the dim green image of the writing desk and child at play turned to vivid color. Another chapter of her life showed Mercy at a stage play for one of her novels. Her husband's hair had turned white and Mercy had three daughters as well as a son. Abigail could see herself sitting between the two youngest girls. She hadn't aged a day, but her eyes were no longer blue, but warm brown eyes. The image faded and the water stilled. Through the ice she could now see the blackened eyes of the unnamed babe, lips blue and a ribbon of red floating from the nostrils of its little pink nose. Abigail pulled her baby free from the tin pail and screamed till the cords in her neck were taught and near breaking. The witch was gone, her footsteps vanishing north, and by the position of the sun it was past noon. Abigail's hands were numb and dark red and her sleeves were thick with ice. Mercy! she thought, still, after so much, unwilling to break the silence. She snatched the blanket from the ground and wrapped the dead baby tightly, covering her pale head, because Abigail could not bear to see it again. Not like that. She stomped through the dense wood, following the footsteps she had left that morning. When she could see the cottage through the trees, she caught sight of something else...footprints from the north. Rows of them. Mercy. She hurried. Tripping on a root buried in the snow and twisting her ankle as she fell. There was pain, terrible pain, but she did not scream. All of her thoughts were on the cottage and the daughter she had let live, the daughter she had left alone just as the witch had told her. She limped across the field and as she approached her home she could see that the old door to the cabin was ajar. All she found inside was darkness.
	[WP] A person is greeted by two of their children from the future, each from a different timeline. They must decide which timeline to follow and which child to give up.	(AN: Italics symbolizes speaking in German, normal text is English.) Through a long and complicated series of errors, I ended up being born with dual citizenship, British and American. I suppose the best way to explain the series of errors is that, despite being a successful businessman, my father didn’t exactly have the best sense of how long a pregnancy generally lasted and accidentally booked a business trip in London right around my mother’s due date. It ended up being useful in the long-run, though. Because of that nifty little Schengen policy, I could live and work anywhere I wanted in Europe. Because of that, when my dad wanted me to pick a private school, he let me look at ones in the EU, and I ended up going to a boarding school way out in Germany. I had no idea what to expect, but I ended up falling love with the area and, when it came time to apply to college, the only universities I ever even applied to were German. I wanted to spend the rest of my life here, in Germany, and I’d even heard a legal firm down in Munich wanted to hire me and help me do just that. Everything was looking great for me. It was the night before my graduation when all of that changed, however. Right when I was about to fall asleep, my phone rang on the bed next to me, filling my small apartment with the harsh buzzing of wood against plastic. Groaning, I leaned over, and picked up the phone to see who on Earth wanted to call me at this late hour. ”805 Area Code. Los Angeles. Dad.” I managed to think through the fog of exhaustion, and I begrudgingly answered the phone. “Hey, Leo! It’s me, your dad! How are you, son?” my father’s overly-excited and just far too loud voice came through. “I’m good, dad. Can we keep this quick? It’s midnight here, and I have my graduation tomorrow.” I said, barely managing to string together coherent sentences. “That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about. I have some amazing news! A staffer over at the company just retired, and I wanted to offer you the job! You’d get to come back to LA with us! What do you say?” I groaned. It was way too late at night (or early in the morning, as it were) for all of this life-changing bullshit. “No, thanks, Dad.” I muttered, stifling a yawn, “I think I wanna stay in Europe, at least for a few more years.” “Oh, I figured you’d say that, and that’s why I saved the best for last! It comes with a six-figure starting salary, all-expenses-paid healthcare, and an apartment in downtown LA! What do you say to that, son?” I groaned again. I’d get free healthcare here in Germany, anyway, and part of the reason I left the states was because I really hated Los Angeles. Still, there was no denying that the salary made the offer...compelling. I could do so much with all that money, and plus, it basically gave me the CEO’s chair once my father retired. I would basically be famous – but, still, I’d have to leave my life here in Germany. “I don’t know, Dad. Look, can I have a few days to think it over? This is some pretty big stuff you’re asking of me.” “I’m afraid I can’t, son. There’s a backlog of fifty applicants and I can only hold their forms for so long. The latest I can give you is eight o’clock tomorrow morning.” “My time or yours?” I asked, impatiently. “Mine. Why would I use yours?” I groaned for yet a third time. “Bye, Dad.” I spit out quickly, before hanging up. For some reason, I was suddenly hit with a wave of exhaustion, like I’d just run a marathon right after swimming three gold medal-winning races in an Olympic-sized swimming pool. Suffice it to say, it wasn’t hard to fall asleep. Light began to peer through my eyelids, slowly forcing me awake. What wasn’t helping at all was the cold water being sprinkled on my face, like the world’s weakest ice hose. Suddenly, a particularly large drop hit my eye, and I shot awake. Standing in front of me was a teenage girl, with freckled skin and dark brown hair pulled messily back into a bun. A glass of ice water sat on the table next to her, proving her crime. I wracked my mind, trying to see if I knew her, or had met her some place. She looked a heck of a lot like my friend Ada from finance class, but her hair and eyes were both several shades darker. In a way, she vaguely reminded me of my sister Inez, but I couldn’t place my finger on why. “Come on, father.” she said, stoically, “Mother’s already there. We’re going to miss the train if we don’t hurry.” “The train?” I asked, cracking my neck, “What train?” “Come on, father. You know I don’t speak English very well.” the girl said, rolling her eyes, “You never taught me.” “Sorry...” I muttered, switching my brain over to its other language, “What train are we going to miss?” “The one to brother’s graduation, of course. Mother’s already there. We’re going to have to hurry if we don’t want to miss it.” “Alright, alright. Sorry...Sofia.” I had no idea where I got the name, but it suddenly flooded into my mind. “It’s alright. Just hurry up, father!” I got out of bed and hurried into the shower. Details of this life slowly began returning to me; I had gone to work at the legal firm in Munich, where I learned one of the partners was actually Ada’s father. Later that year, wanting to stay “close to home”, Ada began working at the legal firm as well, where the two of us quickly bonded. A successful legal career led to a successful marriage, and we were able to welcome two children into the world: Adam Emil Hernandez, and then, four years later, Sofia Adala Hernandez. Adam was about to graduate college with a degree in law, and start practicing at the firm with him and Ada. Sofia had just been accepted into her first choice of university, and was on her way to pursuing a lucrative biochemistry career. It was a good life, a perfect life, and he couldn’t say he wanted more. “What about me, daddy?” I whipped around, trying to locate the sound of the voice that had just scared me senseless. A young girl, no more than twelve, was standing outside the shower, staring coldly at me with piercing, ice blue eyes. Her skin was significantly darker than Sofia’s, showing much of my olive complexion, but her hair was a dirty blonde, and fell in curls around her shoulders. “It’s okay.” she said, in perfect American English, “I know you don’t really care about me. All you ever cared about was money.” “Wha-What do you mean?” I asked, stumbling as I tried to switch languages in my head. “I knew you wanted to go back to Germany, but mommy would never let you. I’d guess you never even wanted to leave, but you came here following granddaddy’s money. That’s how you met mommy, too.”  “Mommy? Who’s your mother...” my brain struggled for a name, but just as Sofia’s had, her’s suddenly popped into my brain, “...Emily?” “Her name’s Karen Amell. Her family ran some big pharmaceutical company in Vancouver, and when you saw her, you saw a good chance to, let’s say...merge your companies.” “No...” I muttered, my head spinning. “Marry someone for money? That…that’s awful. I’d never…” “You’d never do something that overtly greedy? Think again, daddy. You would, and you did. In fact, that’s all you ever did. You followed the money trail without any regard for who you hurt, even if you were hurting yourself.” Emily grinned, and looked around the room, her blue eyes showing what was almost a parody of interest. “You know, daddy, this is a nice place you got here. Not as nice as the one you had back in LA, but still. It feels…homey. Just goes to show you money can’t buy you everything.” “What are you trying to say?” I asked, a strange mix of confusion and anger swelling up inside of me and seizing control of my thoughts.  “I’m saying you’re gonna choose this life. It’ll be hard at first, sure, and you won’t make as much money or have as much name recognition, but trust me. I know you. You don’t want that. You don’t want me. You only think you do.” Tears began to well up in the young girl’s eyes. I might not have lived it, but I remembered all of her life – every fight her parents had, every night she laid awake wondering if both her parents would make it to tomorrow; every tear she ever cried, every piece of flesh she ever cut. He didn’t want anybody to live like that. “I’m sorry for putting you through that.” I said, embracing my daughter for what would be the first and the last time. “You shouldn’t be. None of it’s gonna happen anymore.” I felt the warmth fade from my hands as the young girl’s form began to fade, leaving behind nothing but a voice on the wind that said: “Goodbye, daddy. I hope you end up happy.” I shot awake in my bed, cold sweat dripping down my back. I glanced over at my clock, and saw that it was only 3AM. Good – there was still time. I reached over and grabbed my phone, quickly dialing my father’s number. After ringing twice, I heard the line connect and the voice of my father come through. “Leo! Have you thought about my offer?” “I have, Dad. I’m going to have to decline.” “What? Why?!” “I don’t know, Dad. I just don’t think I’ll be very happy there.” For a moment, all I heard was silence. I was suddenly filed with dread, like I had said the exact wrong thing at the exact wrong time. Then, my father came back on. “Look, son, with all due respect, you’re being a fucking fool. I could give you everything you ever wanted, and more – so much more. What are you gonna get over there – a job at some base-rate legal firm in Munich? You’re better than that – “ “No, Dad. I think I’m better than you. I’d rather be happy than rich.” I said, and I hung up the phone. Life wasn’t going to be easy from here on out – Emily had warned him of that. But at least he knew what was coming, and he knew he’d have Ada and her father and all the people at the firm to help him through it. He wouldn’t get fame or fortune, and he was fine with that. He’d taken a different road, the one more travelled, and yet it felt so much better.	There was a low pitched humming emanating from the closet. Burt had found it curious that such a sound should be coming from his closet. He didn't have a vacuum cleaner or refrigerator stored there and certainly not one he'd leave running. He considered taking a peek but was stuck fearing there might be some Alien or human annihilator machine waiting if he opened the door. Burt knew the deal on his apartment was too good to be true, 850 a month plus utilities right in downtown? Of course the landlord was sacrificing his tenants to some otherworldly entity, it's not like he had anyone to come looking for him after Carol dumped him. He was sure the worst month of his life was about to end with him losing the only thing he had left to give-- his life. The humming persisted for a few more minutes while Burt stayed frozen in the same sport, maybe he was safe if he left the door shut? Unfortunately the door opened despite his inaction. Burt screamed in terror as it swung open, "Please, show mercy!" he covered his face hoping it'd protect him from the monster's tentacles or the alien's vaporizing ray. Instead of death a perplexed voice responded, "uh, what?" a young man with messy brown hair and familiar face stood in front of the closet door. Burt looked through the cracks of his forearm shield at the young man. His fear immediately turned into rage at the completely terrestrial intruder, "What the hell are you doing in my closet, you pervert?!" he shouted. The young man started waving his hands frantically, "No, no. no. It's not like that at all Da..." Burt tackled the intruder, they fell right into the closet, where he started shaking him violently and cursing. The tunnel vision rage distracted Burt from the fact he was not in his closet but instead on a rather ginormous sophisticated platform, the platform which seemed to float magically in the middle of an even more ginormous room was illuminated by a single light on the platform that lit every chrome panel in the spherical room. It didn't take long for him to notice though when he stopped to take a breather from all the cursing, his stomach dropped suddenly with the realization that his fears of death or abduction her valid. "I'm so sorry!," his shift in mood was nearly instantaneous as he'd already helped the intruder up to his feet, "I have uncontrollable spasms, same with bad words-- comes out uncontrollably. Please forgive me, sir" he bowed to his new alien overlord. Burt heard it making strange sounds, he did his best not to cry as he looked up expecting to see the young man have changed into some terrifying form; what he saw was the intruder biting his lip trying to hold in laughter. It was somehow more terrifying. After the intruder had stopped laughing some time later he finally spoke. He explained to Burt that they were in a sort of inter-dimensional lobby for time travelers and that he was Burt's future son (his name was Eli) and that Carol had never broken up with Burt in his future and wanted to help his father win back his mother so he wouldn't be blinked out of existence. Eli didn't go too much into detail about Burt's future but assured him that Carol was his destiny, "I don't know. She made it clear that she wasn't happy with me anymore, s-- Eli," Burt wondered if there was a way to win her back. "Look, you guys have a loving relationship, I see the way she looks at you and you her dad," Eli tried to convince him to try. They discussed it for what felt to them like hours when the humming sound started again. Burt looked at Eli who just shrugged with the same wide-eyed dopey look Burt had on his face. Shortly after the humming noise began again another person flashed into the lobby. It was a blonde haired young woman whose hair had that same messy look as Eli's. "Dad, I-- uh, what're you doing here?" Burt pointed to himself to confirm she meant him, "Yes, you're not suppose to-- never mind, I need to stop you from missing the chance to meet mom," she started talking about meeting his future wife sometime after breaking up with a woman he'd been with for some time before then. Eli's face turned printer paper white, he didn't recognize her as his sister; he was an only child in fact. Burt had noticed his reaction and asked his daughter(Petra) to stop for a second, "What's your mom's name, hmm?" he'd asked just to confirm his suspicion. Her mom's name was Anya, they'd met at a movie festival he was suppose to go to with a previous girlfriend (Carol). "No, that's not how it happens," Eli finally mustered up the power to say something. The girl finally noticed him for the first time since she flashed onto the platform, "And who are you?" she asked, now also confused along with Burt and Eli. After telling her who he was she almost fainted from the shock. Burt caught Petra before she could fully black out from the shock. Who knew walk-in closets could lead to such a crisis? Burt didn't know what to do. He felt a strong bond to both of them that was impossible to describe but he knew they were both his and they both deserved a chance, at least to Burt. What could he do for them, he had to choose one of them... didn't he? It would be impossible to pick between two kids he didn't know but loved equally, they could both be saviors of the world or the next Stalin or a faceless citizen. Burt let Petra go after she recovered from the shock and ran off the platform, he didn't know how it worked but he just wanted to land back in his closet and be home. Burt had barricaded the door after he got home and decided to do nothing. He heard the humming sound not long after he got back and sure enough Petra and Eli were at the door, pleading and knocking relentlessly. It was a few days before the knocking stopped and the weight of his decision weighed heavily on his conscious for the last few moments before he'd died. Burt had gone into the bathroom and cut his wrists, he couldn't live knowing he'd killed one child in place of another.
	[WP] A person is greeted by two of their children from the future, each from a different timeline. They must decide which timeline to follow and which child to give up.	I left my job late that night, having lingered in the office to finish some work. And, if I was being totally honest, to steal a few words with Jake. He was five years my senior and a candidate for an executive position, so he was always busy during the day. After work, however, we usually found excuses to hang around and chat. I was riding on cloud nine as I shut off the bright fluorescent lights and locked the door–he had asked me to come over later that night! I had never been the sort of girl to get all giddy over a guy, but now I sort of knew how they felt. What would I wear...? I left the office complex whistling, and began the long walk to my apartment. It's only a long walk if I stick to the main roads, I thought. I had cut through back alleys to get to lab before–if I was running late–but only during the daytime. At night, they were dark as pitch, unilluminated by the warm orange glow of streetlights. Still, I mused, I could use some extra time to get ready… I was about to turn onto one of the nameless tiny streets that would lead back to my apartment when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I spun around, startled. "Who are you?" I demanded, hands raised to protect my face. "Don't go that way," the mysterious person answered, or, well, didn't answer. "Don't tell me what to do. I'll ask again, who are you?" "Very bad things will happen if you take that shortcut." I squinted through the dim light to see the speaker's face. "At least let me get a clear look at you." My voice shook, betraying the fear that welled up inside me. "You need not know my name nor my face. Just don't go that way. Your life–and mine–depend on it." "H-how does your life depend on me taking the long way home?" As I asked the question, an answer occurred to me. He's probably going to rob me. He's been tracking me, and if I slip into the alley, he'll lose me. I took a step towards the darkness. "Don't!" His had shot out to grab my wrist and he yanked me back forcefully. I twisted my hand away and brought it up defensively. "How dare you touch me! Leave me alone, or I will call the police." I brought my phone out, showing my intention to make good on my threat. He raised his hands in a placating gesture. "Don't do that. Please. Just listen. You're on your way back to your apartment after a long day in the office. You've been invited over a coworker's place." "Creep!" I spat, and moved to dial 9-1-1 into my phone. "Wait! Wait. Listen. You get home safely, and call Jake. He comes to pick you up. You both go out for a drink and then back to his place. You have a lovely time, you really hit it off." "You stopped me to tell me my fortune?" I asked in distain. Freak. "Besides, all that will just happen 15 minutes earlier if I go down this alley." "No. It won't." "What happens, then?" I inquired sarcastically. Fortune tellers can only weave a tale so far. "I don't know." I gave a little humph, happy to catch him in his lie. "All I know is that, if you go down that way, I won't exist." There was a beat of silence. "Excuse me, what?" He sighed. "I had hoped not to divulge so much to you. I was so certain it wouldn't take much to persuade you to stay on the well-lit path. But now…" He paused. "I'm your son. Yours and Jake's. Or at least, I will be. If you stick to the main roads." He stepped into the light. I took in his face, his eyes, the shape of him. He looked like Jake…but with my hair, my build, my nose. I began to back away slowly, further into the dark reaches of the alley. It seemed safer now, farther away from the madman claiming to be my future son. His eyes widened in fright, and just then, I felt another tap on my back. I turned around, slowly this time. "And who might you be?" I asked with disaffected calm. I was too much in shock to be scared. The person shifted in the darkness. "I suppose he's already spilled the beans." It was a woman's voice. "I'm your daughter." Fucking perfect. "You're working together, then? I suppose you're here to warn me about the dangers of the alley, too." Impatience rose in my voice. I was finished with this nonsense. I just wanted to go home. "No to the first. We are working directly against each other. If one of us is brought into existence, the other will disappear, never to be born." She paused meaningfully. "To the second: well, that's a bit complicated. It is dangerous. You have every reason to fear it. And it will change your life." "If it's dangerous–if I should fear it, and you do not deny this, why should I go that way? Why should I put myself in danger that you might one day live? And anyway, I don't see how taking this road or that will change what children I have. I'll make it home, one way or the other." The girl's silence was deafening. "I-I will make it home, won't I?" Fear welled up inside me as I tried to choke it down, swallowing hard. The man spoke up. "If you take the main roads, you will be home in 45 minutes, as usual. Your night will go on as planned." The girl picked up his sentence immediately. "But if you take the alley, your night will be long. You will finally return to your apartment at dawn, less your purse and money, less most of your clothes, and less the comfortable surety of your old life." She hesitated. "And plus me." I stared back at her, tears welling up in my eyes. When I spoke, it came out a ragged whisper. "Why would you even tell me that? Who would walk in to that, knowing? You'd send me through hell, just to exist. You're a selfish, worthless bitch! You'd make me give up a happy family, for this?" Both my future children stiffened. "Oh, what is it now?" The man spoke up, quietly. "Not so happy," he said, barely audible. "Wh-What do you mean? I marry Jake, right?" The man nodded solemnly. "But. He…" The man paused. "Out with it!" "He abuses you. Emotionally, at first. Makes you feel small. Then, he starts beating you. It's terrible. I can't stand to think about it." He shuddered. "I'm sorry. You're life was never meant to be easy." "But I divorce him eventually, right? I'm not that dumb." Another pregnant pause. "No." There was a sense of finality in his voice. I turned to the girl. "What happens with the rest of my life, if I go this way?" And get raped, I added silently. "You're devastated, of course. Your entire life is changed. You don't talk to anyone at work, and Jake loses interest. Eventually, your boss fires you, to avoid paying maternity leave. I'm born, and you move back in with your mother, working small jobs to pay her back. You talk to someone–a therapist–about what happened, and they suggest you write about it. So you write. And you start working to raise awareness of rape and assault in schools. You do a lot of good for people. And your daughter is always right by your side, always there for you." I thought for a second. "Hold on," I said. "Couldn't I avoid all of this by just avoiding the situation with Jake?" "As soon as you have made your decision, you will forget us and anything we told you. You will only remember the path you chose." The man looked down solemnly. I sank down to the ground, wracked by sobs. Both my future children came over to console me. I didn't see how I could choose, but I couldn't stay here… After an eternity, I stood up. "I have decided," I said quietly. "Who?" The boy and girl asked concurrently. I shook my head. "One of you will find out, I suppose." They both nodded. --- I caught myself staring idly at the lamp-post and blinked twice to clear my head. I stared down the shortcut alley with a misplaced feeling of gravity and sorrow. I shook the feeling off, attributing it to exhaustion, and took a step.	There was a low pitched humming emanating from the closet. Burt had found it curious that such a sound should be coming from his closet. He didn't have a vacuum cleaner or refrigerator stored there and certainly not one he'd leave running. He considered taking a peek but was stuck fearing there might be some Alien or human annihilator machine waiting if he opened the door. Burt knew the deal on his apartment was too good to be true, 850 a month plus utilities right in downtown? Of course the landlord was sacrificing his tenants to some otherworldly entity, it's not like he had anyone to come looking for him after Carol dumped him. He was sure the worst month of his life was about to end with him losing the only thing he had left to give-- his life. The humming persisted for a few more minutes while Burt stayed frozen in the same sport, maybe he was safe if he left the door shut? Unfortunately the door opened despite his inaction. Burt screamed in terror as it swung open, "Please, show mercy!" he covered his face hoping it'd protect him from the monster's tentacles or the alien's vaporizing ray. Instead of death a perplexed voice responded, "uh, what?" a young man with messy brown hair and familiar face stood in front of the closet door. Burt looked through the cracks of his forearm shield at the young man. His fear immediately turned into rage at the completely terrestrial intruder, "What the hell are you doing in my closet, you pervert?!" he shouted. The young man started waving his hands frantically, "No, no. no. It's not like that at all Da..." Burt tackled the intruder, they fell right into the closet, where he started shaking him violently and cursing. The tunnel vision rage distracted Burt from the fact he was not in his closet but instead on a rather ginormous sophisticated platform, the platform which seemed to float magically in the middle of an even more ginormous room was illuminated by a single light on the platform that lit every chrome panel in the spherical room. It didn't take long for him to notice though when he stopped to take a breather from all the cursing, his stomach dropped suddenly with the realization that his fears of death or abduction her valid. "I'm so sorry!," his shift in mood was nearly instantaneous as he'd already helped the intruder up to his feet, "I have uncontrollable spasms, same with bad words-- comes out uncontrollably. Please forgive me, sir" he bowed to his new alien overlord. Burt heard it making strange sounds, he did his best not to cry as he looked up expecting to see the young man have changed into some terrifying form; what he saw was the intruder biting his lip trying to hold in laughter. It was somehow more terrifying. After the intruder had stopped laughing some time later he finally spoke. He explained to Burt that they were in a sort of inter-dimensional lobby for time travelers and that he was Burt's future son (his name was Eli) and that Carol had never broken up with Burt in his future and wanted to help his father win back his mother so he wouldn't be blinked out of existence. Eli didn't go too much into detail about Burt's future but assured him that Carol was his destiny, "I don't know. She made it clear that she wasn't happy with me anymore, s-- Eli," Burt wondered if there was a way to win her back. "Look, you guys have a loving relationship, I see the way she looks at you and you her dad," Eli tried to convince him to try. They discussed it for what felt to them like hours when the humming sound started again. Burt looked at Eli who just shrugged with the same wide-eyed dopey look Burt had on his face. Shortly after the humming noise began again another person flashed into the lobby. It was a blonde haired young woman whose hair had that same messy look as Eli's. "Dad, I-- uh, what're you doing here?" Burt pointed to himself to confirm she meant him, "Yes, you're not suppose to-- never mind, I need to stop you from missing the chance to meet mom," she started talking about meeting his future wife sometime after breaking up with a woman he'd been with for some time before then. Eli's face turned printer paper white, he didn't recognize her as his sister; he was an only child in fact. Burt had noticed his reaction and asked his daughter(Petra) to stop for a second, "What's your mom's name, hmm?" he'd asked just to confirm his suspicion. Her mom's name was Anya, they'd met at a movie festival he was suppose to go to with a previous girlfriend (Carol). "No, that's not how it happens," Eli finally mustered up the power to say something. The girl finally noticed him for the first time since she flashed onto the platform, "And who are you?" she asked, now also confused along with Burt and Eli. After telling her who he was she almost fainted from the shock. Burt caught Petra before she could fully black out from the shock. Who knew walk-in closets could lead to such a crisis? Burt didn't know what to do. He felt a strong bond to both of them that was impossible to describe but he knew they were both his and they both deserved a chance, at least to Burt. What could he do for them, he had to choose one of them... didn't he? It would be impossible to pick between two kids he didn't know but loved equally, they could both be saviors of the world or the next Stalin or a faceless citizen. Burt let Petra go after she recovered from the shock and ran off the platform, he didn't know how it worked but he just wanted to land back in his closet and be home. Burt had barricaded the door after he got home and decided to do nothing. He heard the humming sound not long after he got back and sure enough Petra and Eli were at the door, pleading and knocking relentlessly. It was a few days before the knocking stopped and the weight of his decision weighed heavily on his conscious for the last few moments before he'd died. Burt had gone into the bathroom and cut his wrists, he couldn't live knowing he'd killed one child in place of another.
	[WP] Humans have unknowingly always had access to some superpower, but the steps to access this ability are extremely complicated and seemingly arbitrary. Now, for the first time, someone has managed to do so.	At last, it had begun. This would be the day of the Awakening. As the High Priest began the incantation for the ritual, he could barely contain his excitement. "Place your hand within the circle, and begin to feel The Power within you." For all of recorded history, Mankind had been certain that within each person lay extraordinary hidden abilities. If, they reasoned, they could just discover how to unlock that potential, they would be as gods. The Order was founded to seek out a way by which this might be done. Now, the day had finally come to fulfill The Order's grand purpose. "Remove your hand from the circle. You have known but a taste of The Power; soon you will know it in full. Remember this moment, brothers. It is your last as the frail creatures you are now." The Order had spent thousands of years trying to piece together the answer to this mystery, with little success. Much had been tried in the pursuit. Gigantic monuments were built to harness the energies of the Cosmos, medical experiments were performed in the hopes of discovering how to unlock these supposed abilities, and untold masses had perished in pursuit of what had come to be known only as The Power. "Return your hand now to the circle, and shake away your weaknesses. Discard them and leave them in the circle, to be replaced within your form by immeasurable strength. The Power is within you, as it always was. It is rising, but it has not yet been fully awakened." Not so long ago, The Order thought they had found the secret. A ritual had been performed then, one not very different from this one. When at the end of that ritual the ring of men fell to the ash covered ground, they were dismayed to discover that The Power had not been awoken within them. This time, however, the High Priest knew they had it right. Even if he had not known before, he could feel The Power growing within him as he prepared for the final step in the ritual. "Now turn in a full circle while performing the ancient motion! Once the circle is complete, we will all be wielders of The Power!" The Order, several hundred strong, all did as they had been instructed. Each among them started to emit a glow, which steadily grew as the turn progressed. By the time they came around to face the center once again, the glow had grown into a blinding light, which immediately disappeared. The Power that had been hidden within Mankind for so long was now unleashed. As the High Priest began to levitate above his place in the circle, he addressed the room full of new gods before him. The ritual of Hok Ipoki was complete. "That, brothers... is what it is all about!"	He could lift entire islands. He made North Korea back down from nuking the world single handedly. We all called him the 15th. It was a strange name, but when somebody can swallow a nuke and survive you call him whatever he wants. So far none of his enemies could find a weakness. They tried super viruses, mech suits, even magic. None of it worked, he was unstoppable. Some thought he was a God, others a devil. And yet he protected us, selflessly. Eventually his identity was revealed. He made a mistake, destroyed a drug deal the US was busy infiltrating. And the government in retaliation released his secret identity. He was just an average Joe Schmoe, no superpowers before he became a hero, no evidence of one. He even had a hospital bill from when he was shot, so he clearly developed them later. So a press conference was held. How exactly did he get his powers? He didn't reveal to them, but he did to me. I was someone he saved, I had a good heart. I asked him this question, and for some reason he didn't refuse me or fly away. "So 15th, how did you get your powers?" I asked. "Well this may sound strange, but it all started with a club I joined. They asked me to write the club's name on my forehead, something nobody had ever done before. I did, I was a bit drunk at the time, but I did it anyway. Looked ridiculous, but I got superpowers". "What club is it?" "I'll show you." He grabs a sharpie, and starts writing on my forehead. He hands me a mirror. "Congratulations, on joining the PEN15 club".
	[WP] Two royals who dislike each other, but are engaged for political reasons try and get a wizard to make love potions for them.	He hated everything about her. Her optimism, her naiveté. She hated everything about him. His ruthlessness, his coldness. They only had one thing in common, that they would put the happiness of their people over their own. And thus, they met in secret with an alchemist. He brewed them a potion, a love potion if you will. This was the only they, they told each other. They were married before the day ended. They consummated their marriage on the second day, and by the third their kingdoms were united. Her people were simple, but there were many and were eager to learn. His people were few, but well trained and willing to teach. The people saw their King and Queen, once enemies, united as one. They set their difference aside and fought fiercely against the invaders, repelling them. He wished to chase them, to make them pay. She wished to let them leave, as their people had payed enough. He had drunk the potion. She had not. And that is how your grandmother brought peace to this continent. My lesson to you dear, is to find a man who can run this country, then run that man. It's much easier that way.	"I never signed up for this," muttered Nicholas. "I can't believe we're actually doing this. I can't believe it." "Well I never signed up to date such a horrible lad as you," retorted Anne, rolling her eyes. With a flip of her thick hair, the princess glanced at the boy sitting next to her. "Besides, do you want to get along with me or not?" At this, the excited wizard zoomed out from his lab, two beakers in hand. "It's complete, Your Highness." The princess clasped her hands together as Prince Nicholas snatched one of the glass vials. He shook the pink contents, swooshing the liquid on all sides with discouragement. "This is it?" asked Anne. Her eyes were wide with interest as she gazed at the resplendent potion. The wizard's head bobbed up and down. "So you're saying that this will make me fall in love with that pig?" Nick raised an eyebrow with a questioning look. "Who are you calling a pig, Nicholas? I was the one who came up with this brilliant idea," replied Anne boastingly. Nicholas snorted in disbelief. "Brilliant? More like absolute garbage." "Just try it, Your Highness. You won't be let down," explained the wizard. "It contains a sprinkle of hair, some roses, rotten eggs, four fried frogs—" "That's enough, that's enough," spoke up Anne. She turned to look her future husband in the eye. "Shall we?" Nick grimaced. "Fine, fine. Let us try it." Anne held up her glass. "To a better future!" she said cheerfully, happiness plastered all over her face. As she held the vial to her lips however, Nicholas held back. His fingers slipped from the beakers, dismissing the wizard's cries. "There is no way I will ever drink that mess," taunted Nicholas, stepping over the shards of broken glass. Anne's own drink splattered across the floor like a blotch of paint, tainting the cabin wood. Tears instantly bursted from the princess's eyes. "I cannot believe you, you horrible monster! I have tried everything to please you, and all you do is hurt me!" Anne dashed from the cottage, tracing her way back to her palace. With a smirk, the selfish prince watched as Anne's silhouette gradually faded into the distance. Dusting his hands off, his grin grew wider. "Good riddance." He turned around to face the wizard, but his massive smile instantly faded; Nicholas hadn't considered the consequences of defying a powerful sorcerer.
	[WP] Two royals who dislike each other, but are engaged for political reasons try and get a wizard to make love potions for them.	"Wizard! Come here, your kingdom has need of you." Ugh, this again. It'd been nice, at first, all the respect and the assumption that I had tons of forbidden knowledge. I could still say whatever I wanted to anyone I wanted and get away with it, which was fortunate because I hated them all. It wasn't really their fault they didn't understand anything I said, but still, the king didn't make any effort and neither did anyone else. "Yes, my liege?" I said, butchering the pronunciation of this godforsaken language that mine had allegedly come from. "Wizard," the king started, "I'm not a wizard." I said. "Wizard," the king continued, "you will create for us a love potion." "Okay, again, I'm not a wizard. I'm a time traveler who got stuck here. You know this because I tell you every time we have this conversation." The king nodded as though he was considering this. "Did a wise man not say that sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic?" I grit my teeth. "No, because the man who said that hasn't been born yet. You only know that quote because I said it." "Indeed." The king responded, as though I'd conceded his point. "So, do your wizard thing and create the potion." "It doesn't work like that, okay! I was an aerospace engineer, I don't know anything about 'potions'!" I said. "'aerospace engineer'" the queen said, mangling the pronunciation of the words as badly as I'd been treating her language. "I do not know either of those words." "I made things fly." I said. "And thus you are a wizard." The king said. "Less talk, more potion!" "Why?" I asked. It was a pointless question, but I knew he wasn't going to let this go so I at least needed to know what they were going to do with whatever I came up with. The king looked at the queen, who looked back at him. They shared a moment of squeamish unease. Finally the queen spoke. "His lordship is... uncomfortable with nudity." "What." The king squirmed in his chair. "I do not wish to become un-dressed. It is unseemly." "You've got to be naked sometime." I pointed out. "What about baths?" They weren't a concept I'd introduced, but I was trying to get them to catch on because I didn't want to die of the plague. The king, at least, should have been able to afford them. His continued squirming and unwillingness to meet my eyes told me that he'd chosen to forgo that particular luxury. The queen's look of disgust confirmed it. "Okay, fine." I said. "I'll make your stupid potion." I knew by giving in I was only encouraging them, but I needed to remain useful or else I'd end up on the streets and die of the plague. Besides, I had something in mind. I went back to my 'laboratory'. I'd had to do some importing, and quite a few tricks, but I'd set up something here that'd been a personal hobby of mine back home. It was already mostly complete, all it would need was a little more work.... And thus, a week later, I presented to the king and queen their 'potions', which they quaffed and then disappeared to their chambers. The sounds of - I wouldn't call it 'lovemaking' - echoed through the keep, an acoustic touch that I'd also been made to design for some damn reason. Oh well, at least it had worked. I'd probably need to start the fermentation full time. Making booze wasn't something I'd invented in this timeline, but I had - not to be humble - perfected it. Anyone could make wine. I'd created the wine cooler!	The stagecoach rattled over every bump, crevice and hump on the cobblestone path, but unlike the Pendletons inside, the transport managed to stay in one piece and not fall apart. Edward Pendleton's father was a rich royal who owned most of the docks and harbors up and down the coastline of Preya, whose ships were forced to trek the long way around to deliver their goods to Sakarnos. The reason for this was because Minerva Stranner's mother refused to let the trading ships into the Black River, for fear of spreading the plague. Of course, the beautifully named Black River was the fastest way to Sakarnos, trimming down travel time by a whopping seven days. From there, Edward met Minerva and were coerced into an arranged marriage to satisfy each of their parent's goals. Were they happy? Their parents certainly were. Edward's father got his route. Minerva's mother received some compensation as they passed her blockade. And what did Edward and Minerva get? Definitely not a new trade route. ... "Sir, are we there yet?" asks Minerva, dressed in a elaborate outfit that only served to make her sweat a bit more at the cost of squeezing her breasts together. The coachman replies in a tone drier than a corpse in the desert. "We're nearly there, your ladyship. Just like I said five minutes ago." Edward is donning a suit that doesn't seem to fit his lanky proportions. The aristocrat folds his arms, glaring at Minerva. "Leave him alone. We'll get there when we get there." She scoffs. "This wasn't my idea, was it now?" "I'm trying to find a solution-" "By going through the land of the poor? The land where there's no fresh water?" "You're a bitch." "You're an asshole." "You're horrid in bed." "Because you're so dreadfully unattractive, I can't get it up! It's like pushing rope down there-" "You take that back!" "You just lay there and sweat!" The stagecoach grinds to a halt. Sighing, the coachman opens the blinds behind him. "We're here, your lordship. Please put that down. That doesn't go there, your ladyship. No, ma'am...please don't...that's every expensive. My lord, please remove your hands from her throat. You will kill her, please strangle her gently, like we practiced...No, it's all right, I can replace it with two months pay. Sigh. Yes, your lordship, I will clean all of this up. Sigh." ... "No." Edward and Minerva stared at the wizard as if he just defecated on their shoes. "Len, I had very reliable sources that you would be able to make this!" exclaims Edward. Minerva elbows him. "You idiot. Now we're out in this blasted town. I want my servants, now." "I am a wizard, not an alchemist." responds the bearded man, who's not even maintaining eye contact with the two royals. In his hands is a piece of paper, in which he has sketched the bottom of a squirrel. "Well, where can we find one?" asks Minerva. "You can't. He's dead." "Dead?" "Dead. As in unalived." responded Len. "How?" "He was involved in a freak accident involving some candles and a jump rope." "Can't you make one? A love potion?" "I can. But I won't." "Why?" "Because it's illegal and outlawed across the four nations." "So?" "So I could lose my life. Or even worse...lose my job." Edward places a sack full of coin on Len's desk, knocking over a tray of feather pens. "We'll pay you. Whatever it takes. We need to love each other. We need to be in love." "What a surprise." "It's 2000 coin. Just make us a batch. Just one batch." "The last time I made one, the whole town had a massive orgy." Len shudders. "I miscalculated the concentrations. I saw things...positions I have never seen before, liquids in different shades...ugh. The smell lasted for days. The townsfolk did it everywhere. The roofs, the kitchens, the stables, the gallows, the jails, in the seats where you two are sitting. My apprentice and I had to create a mindwash elixir for everyone to forget what happened. Then there's this one time where I put a lady in a coma. Almost killed her. Probably would've killed her if I added a drop more." Edward smiles. "Sounds perfect to me." Minerva shoots her fiancee a look. "You bastard." Len intertwines his fingers together, his patience depleting as quickly as Edward's chances at reclaiming a happy life. "I'm sorry, but I'm afraid you two will have to talk to each other and-" Then Len's head explodes, splattering all over the paintings behind him. Edward looks in horror, his eyes wandering to the flintlock in Minerva's hand. "Minerva, honey...what did you do...how did you get that..." His ears were ringing loudly. "I...I don't know! I don't know, oh god, is he okay-" Edward points to the smoldering bloody stump where Len's head used to be. "DOES HE LOOK OKAY, MINERVA? DOES HE LOOK LIKE HE'S IN GOOD HEALTH? DOES HE? DOES HE?" "Don't yell at me! You know it makes me gassy..." "Oh god, I married a murderer. I'm going to the courts! I'm going to the slave camps! I'm too handsome for hard labor!" Minerva just cries obnoxiously. "How in the blazes did you get your hands on that gun..." asks a panicking Edward. "I took it from the coachman (Hiccup). I was scared of the townsfolk and thought they were going to have their way with me." "Minerva, you just murdered an innocent citizen of the kingdom. You could get your ladyship revoked-" Meanwhile, his sobbing wife to be dives into Len's laboratory, and starts mixing liquids together into a potion vial. "There's a recipe! There's a recipe on the table! It (Hiccups) says its the infatuation potion...I think, it's too worn out to see clearly." Edward facepalms. "Minerva, you don't know what we're doing. We need to get out of here-" "Quickly, we can still make this work..." pleads Minerva, her tears smearing her makeup. "I thought you didn't agree to this." "Now I do. Hey, why is this vial getting so warm-" The shack promptly exploded, much like Len's unusually shiny head. Minerva had misread the incineration potion ad the 'infatuation' potion. She was never good at reading. Near the stagecoach was the coachman watching the whole thing unfold. He simply lights himself a pipe, merely blinking at the burning pieces of wood and rubble. "Till death do them part."
	[WP] Two royals who dislike each other, but are engaged for political reasons try and get a wizard to make love potions for them.	"Well, I was wondering when you two would show up." the witch leaned back against her velvet chair. "You know we were coming?" the woman asked. "I did write her, after all." the man informed the woman. "Oh, shut it. You sent that letter yesterday. Everyone knows the postal system is terrible, there's no way she could have gotten it so quickly!" "Well whose fault would that be?! Your father introduced the trade routes to this land!" "And yours was in charge of maintaining the highway! My Posen would move twice as fast if there wasn't great big potholes everywhere!" "WELL MAYBE WE'D MAINTAIN THEM BETTER IF YOU GAVE US MORE POSTMEN." "MAYBE WE'D GIVEN YOU MORE POSTMEN IF YOU WPULD MAINTAIN THE ROADS!" "BOTH OF YOU, ENOUGH!" the witch cried. "My gods, you're getting on my nerves already." "Sorry." the couple apologized in unison, looked at each other, and glared. "Let me guess. Political marriage? You don't love each other? One of you is flamboyantly homosexual?" "I'm into men." the woman told the witch. "I can't speak for him, though. Have you seen how much time he spends on his hair?" "That's a stereotype!" the man retorted. "And a king should always look his best." "It's under a crown all day!" The witch groaned. "Okay, here's what we're going to do." she began to write. "Let's see... I'll be needing this, and this... one of these... there!" the witch held out a note to them. "Find these ingredients and I'll make you a love potion." "Wait... we have to do your GROCERY list?" the woman asked incredulously. "I'm starting to wonder why you're so highly reccomended." the man turned to stare at the witch. "You'll need to go alone, just the two of you. It won't work if there's a third party. Trust me, I let Rasputin bring his friends and now the Kingdom of Russia is a harem." "This seems suspicious." the woman narrowed her eyes. "How do we know that you're not leading us into a trap?" "Then leave your guards here. They can kill me if you're not back by nightfall." The man and the woman began muttering to each other. They both turned to face the witch. "Seems fair enough." the woman nodded. "Good. Now go get those ingredients. There are some weapons in my shed out back." the witch propped her feet up on the table and began leading through a large book written in Hebrew. And with that, the start crossed couple were off. They both armored up. The man chose a broadsword, typical of men in his kingdom. The woman chose the bow. "Do you even know how to use that thing?" the man asked. "For your information, yes, I do." the woman nodded. "My father was a fan of boar hunting. As you know, my elder brother is quite sickly, so he took me instead." "Interesting. Is that why you have calluses all over your hands, like a man?" The woman started to open her mouth to protest, but she stopped. "You know what? Let's just focus on finding these ingredients." "Good plan." the man nodded, and unfolded the parchment. "let's see here..." One leaf from a bitter plant in the middle of the forest One skein filled with the brown water from the giant's barrell Nectar from a beehive "Oh look, she included a map!" the woman grabbed the paper. "Can you read maps?" the man asked her. "Boar hunting, remember? Hunters read maps." "Right. I say we look for the plant first. We would be least likely to find such a plant in the dark." the man decided. "Fine by me. Let's be off." The couple travelled mostly in silence. After about an hour, they reached the center of the forest. "Okay, we're here." the woman nodded. "But I see a lot of plants here. Which one is the bitter plant? Did the witch include a drawing?" "It seems not." the man sighed. "They all are plants. We certainly can't run around tasting them- we'll get poisoned!" "What if she knew that? Think of the context... 'a bitter plant'..." "You mean like what else does bitter entail? It's a flavor!" "No, it's also a word! It can come from anger, resentment... loneliness..." "Ah, it's a riddle! We should find a plant that fits that!" "Exactly." "How do we find a plant that fits that?" The man scanned the area. "Ah!" he pointed. "Do you see that cluster of plants!" "Yes?" "There isn't anything growing by it! Even the grass doesn't grow at its roots!" "Then that's our plant?" the woman asked. "Indeed! It has to be." They plucked a handful of leaves from the bunch and consulted the map. "Okay, one down. I think we should try to find the nectar next." the woman nodded. "Why?" Instead of answering, she pointed at a bee resting on a flower. "He'll bee our guide!" "That was a terrible joke." "You're a terrible human beeing." "Shut up." "Fine." They followed the bee in silence for quite some time. They reached a hive, large and buzzing. "Okay, how do we get this bee nectar?" the woman asked. "I don't like the idea of being stung." The man thought for a moment. "My road workers usually use smoke to make the bees leave when they want to chop down the first trees." "Okay, but if we use fire, the nest will burn down or if we get too close they'll sting us." "We don't have to get close. You said you can shoot, right? There's no grass under the hive. If we shot a flaming arrow, then there would be nothing to catch fire." "Okay, but how do we shoot a flaming arrow, genius?" "Simple." Just wrap some grass in a cloth, make a bag, tie i t to the arrow and light it. You fire, there's a little smoke, and hopefully the bees will leave." The woman frowned, but nodded. The plan went off perfectly! The smoke seemed to scare off the bees, and the man was able to scoop out some honeycomb and wrap it in his kerchief. He sprinted back to the woman, seeing as the smoke was dying out. "You have nectar in your hair." the woman pointed out. "It's sticky!" the man tried to comb it out. "Hm... this would make a lovely hair gel!" The woman smiled. "Now the giant?" "Oh dear. I'm a bit worried about this one." The two travelled yet again. By the time the sun was starting to wane, they were in some sort of abandoned town. "So, a giant must have a large barrel in which to store this brown liquid?" the woman asked. "Looks like it." the man nodded to their left. Sure enough, there was a large barrel in the center of town. "This is too easy..." the woman muttered as she climbed onto the barrel to fill a skein. "WHO GOES THERE?!" a deep voiced boomed. "Uh oh." the man gulped. There was a giant lumbering towards them, at least eight feet tall. "WHO DARES TAKE MY SPEACIAL BREW?!" "Speacial brew? You mean this is simply... alcohol?" the woman asked. "I MAKE MY OWN. I CAN'T AFFORD THE INSANE LIQUOR PRICES IN TOWN DURING THIS ECONOMY!" "Um... could we maybe have a little?" the woman asked. "just a skein." "GET YOUR OWN!" the giant roared. Without thinking, the man rushed him and stabbed the giant's foot. "GAHHHHHHHH!" the giant cried. "RUN!" the woman shouted as she jumped from the barrel. The took off at a sprint, with the giant limipng closely behind. By them time the sun was setting, they had lost the giant and were approaching the witch's hut. They entered without knocking to find their guards and the witch playing cards. "You're back. I was almost worried that you wouldn't make it." "WE ALMOST DIED, YOU STUPID WITCH." the woman screamed. "If I hadn't stabbed that giant, we'd be dead!" "He wasn't actually a giant, you know. Simply a very large man." "Just make us the potion." the man sighed. "I want to go home." The witch sighed and took the ingredients. She stirred them into a mug, and took a sip. "That's good." She then pulled out a small vial of red liquid, and handed it to them. "Drink half of this each and you'll be hearing wedding bells before you know it." The couple chugged down the vial. "Odd. I wasn't expecting it to taste so... bland."the man frowned. "And this doesn't have any of the ingredients we brought!" "Yes it does. I just needed you to replenish my stock for the next stash. I had a vial of it all along." The man and the woman glared at the witch, and sighed. "Let's... go home now." the woman nodded, too tired to argue. She put an arm around her fiance's shoulder, and they dragged their feet back to the carriage. "I think you and I should spend the day inside together tomorrow. "That love potion must be working, because I actually agree with you for once." the man nodded. The soldiers stayed for a moment to clean up. "Oy, mind if I try some of the fresh love potion?" a soldier asked the witch. "Hm? Oh, this isn't a love potion, dearie! It's just a mixed drink." "You had 'em go all that way to get you sumthin' so you could be drunk?!" "Pretty much!" the witch cackled. "Why?!" "Have you seen the price of liquor in this economy?" "Well what was in the vial?!" "Some water and red dye." "But how do you know if they'll-" "Look at them." The soldier looked out the window. The couple were laughing in the carriage, and the woman was trying to comb something out of his master's hair. "I'll be..." "The best cures are the natural ones. Sometimes you just have to give love time and it'll happen on it's own." As they left, the witch waved goodbye, sipping her drink. All of a sudden she froze. "Shit." she sighed. "They stabbed my landlord. There goes my low rent prices this month."	The stagecoach rattled over every bump, crevice and hump on the cobblestone path, but unlike the Pendletons inside, the transport managed to stay in one piece and not fall apart. Edward Pendleton's father was a rich royal who owned most of the docks and harbors up and down the coastline of Preya, whose ships were forced to trek the long way around to deliver their goods to Sakarnos. The reason for this was because Minerva Stranner's mother refused to let the trading ships into the Black River, for fear of spreading the plague. Of course, the beautifully named Black River was the fastest way to Sakarnos, trimming down travel time by a whopping seven days. From there, Edward met Minerva and were coerced into an arranged marriage to satisfy each of their parent's goals. Were they happy? Their parents certainly were. Edward's father got his route. Minerva's mother received some compensation as they passed her blockade. And what did Edward and Minerva get? Definitely not a new trade route. ... "Sir, are we there yet?" asks Minerva, dressed in a elaborate outfit that only served to make her sweat a bit more at the cost of squeezing her breasts together. The coachman replies in a tone drier than a corpse in the desert. "We're nearly there, your ladyship. Just like I said five minutes ago." Edward is donning a suit that doesn't seem to fit his lanky proportions. The aristocrat folds his arms, glaring at Minerva. "Leave him alone. We'll get there when we get there." She scoffs. "This wasn't my idea, was it now?" "I'm trying to find a solution-" "By going through the land of the poor? The land where there's no fresh water?" "You're a bitch." "You're an asshole." "You're horrid in bed." "Because you're so dreadfully unattractive, I can't get it up! It's like pushing rope down there-" "You take that back!" "You just lay there and sweat!" The stagecoach grinds to a halt. Sighing, the coachman opens the blinds behind him. "We're here, your lordship. Please put that down. That doesn't go there, your ladyship. No, ma'am...please don't...that's every expensive. My lord, please remove your hands from her throat. You will kill her, please strangle her gently, like we practiced...No, it's all right, I can replace it with two months pay. Sigh. Yes, your lordship, I will clean all of this up. Sigh." ... "No." Edward and Minerva stared at the wizard as if he just defecated on their shoes. "Len, I had very reliable sources that you would be able to make this!" exclaims Edward. Minerva elbows him. "You idiot. Now we're out in this blasted town. I want my servants, now." "I am a wizard, not an alchemist." responds the bearded man, who's not even maintaining eye contact with the two royals. In his hands is a piece of paper, in which he has sketched the bottom of a squirrel. "Well, where can we find one?" asks Minerva. "You can't. He's dead." "Dead?" "Dead. As in unalived." responded Len. "How?" "He was involved in a freak accident involving some candles and a jump rope." "Can't you make one? A love potion?" "I can. But I won't." "Why?" "Because it's illegal and outlawed across the four nations." "So?" "So I could lose my life. Or even worse...lose my job." Edward places a sack full of coin on Len's desk, knocking over a tray of feather pens. "We'll pay you. Whatever it takes. We need to love each other. We need to be in love." "What a surprise." "It's 2000 coin. Just make us a batch. Just one batch." "The last time I made one, the whole town had a massive orgy." Len shudders. "I miscalculated the concentrations. I saw things...positions I have never seen before, liquids in different shades...ugh. The smell lasted for days. The townsfolk did it everywhere. The roofs, the kitchens, the stables, the gallows, the jails, in the seats where you two are sitting. My apprentice and I had to create a mindwash elixir for everyone to forget what happened. Then there's this one time where I put a lady in a coma. Almost killed her. Probably would've killed her if I added a drop more." Edward smiles. "Sounds perfect to me." Minerva shoots her fiancee a look. "You bastard." Len intertwines his fingers together, his patience depleting as quickly as Edward's chances at reclaiming a happy life. "I'm sorry, but I'm afraid you two will have to talk to each other and-" Then Len's head explodes, splattering all over the paintings behind him. Edward looks in horror, his eyes wandering to the flintlock in Minerva's hand. "Minerva, honey...what did you do...how did you get that..." His ears were ringing loudly. "I...I don't know! I don't know, oh god, is he okay-" Edward points to the smoldering bloody stump where Len's head used to be. "DOES HE LOOK OKAY, MINERVA? DOES HE LOOK LIKE HE'S IN GOOD HEALTH? DOES HE? DOES HE?" "Don't yell at me! You know it makes me gassy..." "Oh god, I married a murderer. I'm going to the courts! I'm going to the slave camps! I'm too handsome for hard labor!" Minerva just cries obnoxiously. "How in the blazes did you get your hands on that gun..." asks a panicking Edward. "I took it from the coachman (Hiccup). I was scared of the townsfolk and thought they were going to have their way with me." "Minerva, you just murdered an innocent citizen of the kingdom. You could get your ladyship revoked-" Meanwhile, his sobbing wife to be dives into Len's laboratory, and starts mixing liquids together into a potion vial. "There's a recipe! There's a recipe on the table! It (Hiccups) says its the infatuation potion...I think, it's too worn out to see clearly." Edward facepalms. "Minerva, you don't know what we're doing. We need to get out of here-" "Quickly, we can still make this work..." pleads Minerva, her tears smearing her makeup. "I thought you didn't agree to this." "Now I do. Hey, why is this vial getting so warm-" The shack promptly exploded, much like Len's unusually shiny head. Minerva had misread the incineration potion ad the 'infatuation' potion. She was never good at reading. Near the stagecoach was the coachman watching the whole thing unfold. He simply lights himself a pipe, merely blinking at the burning pieces of wood and rubble. "Till death do them part."
	[WP] Two royals who dislike each other, but are engaged for political reasons try and get a wizard to make love potions for them.	"Well, I was wondering when you two would show up." the witch leaned back against her velvet chair. "You know we were coming?" the woman asked. "I did write her, after all." the man informed the woman. "Oh, shut it. You sent that letter yesterday. Everyone knows the postal system is terrible, there's no way she could have gotten it so quickly!" "Well whose fault would that be?! Your father introduced the trade routes to this land!" "And yours was in charge of maintaining the highway! My Posen would move twice as fast if there wasn't great big potholes everywhere!" "WELL MAYBE WE'D MAINTAIN THEM BETTER IF YOU GAVE US MORE POSTMEN." "MAYBE WE'D GIVEN YOU MORE POSTMEN IF YOU WPULD MAINTAIN THE ROADS!" "BOTH OF YOU, ENOUGH!" the witch cried. "My gods, you're getting on my nerves already." "Sorry." the couple apologized in unison, looked at each other, and glared. "Let me guess. Political marriage? You don't love each other? One of you is flamboyantly homosexual?" "I'm into men." the woman told the witch. "I can't speak for him, though. Have you seen how much time he spends on his hair?" "That's a stereotype!" the man retorted. "And a king should always look his best." "It's under a crown all day!" The witch groaned. "Okay, here's what we're going to do." she began to write. "Let's see... I'll be needing this, and this... one of these... there!" the witch held out a note to them. "Find these ingredients and I'll make you a love potion." "Wait... we have to do your GROCERY list?" the woman asked incredulously. "I'm starting to wonder why you're so highly reccomended." the man turned to stare at the witch. "You'll need to go alone, just the two of you. It won't work if there's a third party. Trust me, I let Rasputin bring his friends and now the Kingdom of Russia is a harem." "This seems suspicious." the woman narrowed her eyes. "How do we know that you're not leading us into a trap?" "Then leave your guards here. They can kill me if you're not back by nightfall." The man and the woman began muttering to each other. They both turned to face the witch. "Seems fair enough." the woman nodded. "Good. Now go get those ingredients. There are some weapons in my shed out back." the witch propped her feet up on the table and began leading through a large book written in Hebrew. And with that, the start crossed couple were off. They both armored up. The man chose a broadsword, typical of men in his kingdom. The woman chose the bow. "Do you even know how to use that thing?" the man asked. "For your information, yes, I do." the woman nodded. "My father was a fan of boar hunting. As you know, my elder brother is quite sickly, so he took me instead." "Interesting. Is that why you have calluses all over your hands, like a man?" The woman started to open her mouth to protest, but she stopped. "You know what? Let's just focus on finding these ingredients." "Good plan." the man nodded, and unfolded the parchment. "let's see here..." One leaf from a bitter plant in the middle of the forest One skein filled with the brown water from the giant's barrell Nectar from a beehive "Oh look, she included a map!" the woman grabbed the paper. "Can you read maps?" the man asked her. "Boar hunting, remember? Hunters read maps." "Right. I say we look for the plant first. We would be least likely to find such a plant in the dark." the man decided. "Fine by me. Let's be off." The couple travelled mostly in silence. After about an hour, they reached the center of the forest. "Okay, we're here." the woman nodded. "But I see a lot of plants here. Which one is the bitter plant? Did the witch include a drawing?" "It seems not." the man sighed. "They all are plants. We certainly can't run around tasting them- we'll get poisoned!" "What if she knew that? Think of the context... 'a bitter plant'..." "You mean like what else does bitter entail? It's a flavor!" "No, it's also a word! It can come from anger, resentment... loneliness..." "Ah, it's a riddle! We should find a plant that fits that!" "Exactly." "How do we find a plant that fits that?" The man scanned the area. "Ah!" he pointed. "Do you see that cluster of plants!" "Yes?" "There isn't anything growing by it! Even the grass doesn't grow at its roots!" "Then that's our plant?" the woman asked. "Indeed! It has to be." They plucked a handful of leaves from the bunch and consulted the map. "Okay, one down. I think we should try to find the nectar next." the woman nodded. "Why?" Instead of answering, she pointed at a bee resting on a flower. "He'll bee our guide!" "That was a terrible joke." "You're a terrible human beeing." "Shut up." "Fine." They followed the bee in silence for quite some time. They reached a hive, large and buzzing. "Okay, how do we get this bee nectar?" the woman asked. "I don't like the idea of being stung." The man thought for a moment. "My road workers usually use smoke to make the bees leave when they want to chop down the first trees." "Okay, but if we use fire, the nest will burn down or if we get too close they'll sting us." "We don't have to get close. You said you can shoot, right? There's no grass under the hive. If we shot a flaming arrow, then there would be nothing to catch fire." "Okay, but how do we shoot a flaming arrow, genius?" "Simple." Just wrap some grass in a cloth, make a bag, tie i t to the arrow and light it. You fire, there's a little smoke, and hopefully the bees will leave." The woman frowned, but nodded. The plan went off perfectly! The smoke seemed to scare off the bees, and the man was able to scoop out some honeycomb and wrap it in his kerchief. He sprinted back to the woman, seeing as the smoke was dying out. "You have nectar in your hair." the woman pointed out. "It's sticky!" the man tried to comb it out. "Hm... this would make a lovely hair gel!" The woman smiled. "Now the giant?" "Oh dear. I'm a bit worried about this one." The two travelled yet again. By the time the sun was starting to wane, they were in some sort of abandoned town. "So, a giant must have a large barrel in which to store this brown liquid?" the woman asked. "Looks like it." the man nodded to their left. Sure enough, there was a large barrel in the center of town. "This is too easy..." the woman muttered as she climbed onto the barrel to fill a skein. "WHO GOES THERE?!" a deep voiced boomed. "Uh oh." the man gulped. There was a giant lumbering towards them, at least eight feet tall. "WHO DARES TAKE MY SPEACIAL BREW?!" "Speacial brew? You mean this is simply... alcohol?" the woman asked. "I MAKE MY OWN. I CAN'T AFFORD THE INSANE LIQUOR PRICES IN TOWN DURING THIS ECONOMY!" "Um... could we maybe have a little?" the woman asked. "just a skein." "GET YOUR OWN!" the giant roared. Without thinking, the man rushed him and stabbed the giant's foot. "GAHHHHHHHH!" the giant cried. "RUN!" the woman shouted as she jumped from the barrel. The took off at a sprint, with the giant limipng closely behind. By them time the sun was setting, they had lost the giant and were approaching the witch's hut. They entered without knocking to find their guards and the witch playing cards. "You're back. I was almost worried that you wouldn't make it." "WE ALMOST DIED, YOU STUPID WITCH." the woman screamed. "If I hadn't stabbed that giant, we'd be dead!" "He wasn't actually a giant, you know. Simply a very large man." "Just make us the potion." the man sighed. "I want to go home." The witch sighed and took the ingredients. She stirred them into a mug, and took a sip. "That's good." She then pulled out a small vial of red liquid, and handed it to them. "Drink half of this each and you'll be hearing wedding bells before you know it." The couple chugged down the vial. "Odd. I wasn't expecting it to taste so... bland."the man frowned. "And this doesn't have any of the ingredients we brought!" "Yes it does. I just needed you to replenish my stock for the next stash. I had a vial of it all along." The man and the woman glared at the witch, and sighed. "Let's... go home now." the woman nodded, too tired to argue. She put an arm around her fiance's shoulder, and they dragged their feet back to the carriage. "I think you and I should spend the day inside together tomorrow. "That love potion must be working, because I actually agree with you for once." the man nodded. The soldiers stayed for a moment to clean up. "Oy, mind if I try some of the fresh love potion?" a soldier asked the witch. "Hm? Oh, this isn't a love potion, dearie! It's just a mixed drink." "You had 'em go all that way to get you sumthin' so you could be drunk?!" "Pretty much!" the witch cackled. "Why?!" "Have you seen the price of liquor in this economy?" "Well what was in the vial?!" "Some water and red dye." "But how do you know if they'll-" "Look at them." The soldier looked out the window. The couple were laughing in the carriage, and the woman was trying to comb something out of his master's hair. "I'll be..." "The best cures are the natural ones. Sometimes you just have to give love time and it'll happen on it's own." As they left, the witch waved goodbye, sipping her drink. All of a sudden she froze. "Shit." she sighed. "They stabbed my landlord. There goes my low rent prices this month."	"Wizard! Come here, your kingdom has need of you." Ugh, this again. It'd been nice, at first, all the respect and the assumption that I had tons of forbidden knowledge. I could still say whatever I wanted to anyone I wanted and get away with it, which was fortunate because I hated them all. It wasn't really their fault they didn't understand anything I said, but still, the king didn't make any effort and neither did anyone else. "Yes, my liege?" I said, butchering the pronunciation of this godforsaken language that mine had allegedly come from. "Wizard," the king started, "I'm not a wizard." I said. "Wizard," the king continued, "you will create for us a love potion." "Okay, again, I'm not a wizard. I'm a time traveler who got stuck here. You know this because I tell you every time we have this conversation." The king nodded as though he was considering this. "Did a wise man not say that sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic?" I grit my teeth. "No, because the man who said that hasn't been born yet. You only know that quote because I said it." "Indeed." The king responded, as though I'd conceded his point. "So, do your wizard thing and create the potion." "It doesn't work like that, okay! I was an aerospace engineer, I don't know anything about 'potions'!" I said. "'aerospace engineer'" the queen said, mangling the pronunciation of the words as badly as I'd been treating her language. "I do not know either of those words." "I made things fly." I said. "And thus you are a wizard." The king said. "Less talk, more potion!" "Why?" I asked. It was a pointless question, but I knew he wasn't going to let this go so I at least needed to know what they were going to do with whatever I came up with. The king looked at the queen, who looked back at him. They shared a moment of squeamish unease. Finally the queen spoke. "His lordship is... uncomfortable with nudity." "What." The king squirmed in his chair. "I do not wish to become un-dressed. It is unseemly." "You've got to be naked sometime." I pointed out. "What about baths?" They weren't a concept I'd introduced, but I was trying to get them to catch on because I didn't want to die of the plague. The king, at least, should have been able to afford them. His continued squirming and unwillingness to meet my eyes told me that he'd chosen to forgo that particular luxury. The queen's look of disgust confirmed it. "Okay, fine." I said. "I'll make your stupid potion." I knew by giving in I was only encouraging them, but I needed to remain useful or else I'd end up on the streets and die of the plague. Besides, I had something in mind. I went back to my 'laboratory'. I'd had to do some importing, and quite a few tricks, but I'd set up something here that'd been a personal hobby of mine back home. It was already mostly complete, all it would need was a little more work.... And thus, a week later, I presented to the king and queen their 'potions', which they quaffed and then disappeared to their chambers. The sounds of - I wouldn't call it 'lovemaking' - echoed through the keep, an acoustic touch that I'd also been made to design for some damn reason. Oh well, at least it had worked. I'd probably need to start the fermentation full time. Making booze wasn't something I'd invented in this timeline, but I had - not to be humble - perfected it. Anyone could make wine. I'd created the wine cooler!
	[WP] "Before I write this, I must warn you, I am not a good person"	Before I write this, I must warn you, I am not a good person. That's how it started. I was numb. --- When we had met, I thought little of him. He was charming, sure. Made me laugh. But we were different. So friends it was. For years, while we spent our time with others, our friendship grew. But then it happened. The lines on his face, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, the way he walked, every so slightly with his toes turned in, the skinny jeans, the t-shirts, the way he could go on and on about his favorite things and how his eyes lit up when he did. I was hopeless. I was trapped. In those grey-green eyes with the wrinkles at the side. When he kissed me for the first time. I knew. I knew he was the one. The one I would spend the rest of my life with. He was good. He would be good. To me. Nothing could hurt me. --- Before I write this, I must warn you, I am not a good person. I sat on the couch. Our couch. --- Things weren't always perfect. I was never deluded into thinking things had to be. But. I believed in us. With the friendship we had.. There was no reason he would lie to me about anything. I already knew his secrets. I knew what I was going to get. I knew we could work through anything. We always had. --- The words on the page were getting blurry now. A few, though. A few I could make out. lied guilty sorry forgive me --- Some bumps were bigger than others. I knew I could be hard to deal with sometimes. My own head betrayed me so often it was sometimes hard to tell what was real and what wasn't. But I was getting help. I was trying. --- I don't know when I stopped crying. You can't cry forever though, I supposed. Now. Now I had a choice to make. --- When things were good, though.. Even then they were just okay. --- I packed my bags. And left.	"Before I write this, I must warn you - I am not a good person." He sat back in the armchair, reading that sentence through in his head once more. He'd spoken it aloud before writing it down, while writing it, and now, having written it and looking at it on the page, it hurt him almost physically. He knew it was true. He didn't want to know, he didn't want to believe. Why did that one thing about him have to erase everything else he had put his blood, sweat and tears into? "Certainly not in the opinion of those who once called me friends or acquaintances. I'm calling myself Melmoth now. Sebastian Melmoth. I believe you know who that is, Reginald. Regardless, I have shed my skin but the layer beneath is the same. The gloved hand and the bare hand are identical." Above all else, he felt sadness. He was being, and had been, persecuted for something out of his control. He knew he wasn't alone, there were hundreds, if not thousands, with the same feelings and the same problems. But that thought gave him little joy. "I try to write. I honestly do. But it just doesn't feel the same any more. Nothing does." He knew he was moping, but couldn't help feeling incredibly depressed. And quite understandably, too, he thought to himself, after falling from where I was to where I am because of mere subconscious desires. "It's better out here than it was in prison, although there still exists a vast yawning chasm between by current situation and my life before that whole debacle." He looked around the room, and out of the window. He had four walls and a roof to call his own, and tools with which to write - the latter, to him, infinitely more useful than the former. But he still recognised his works would mean little if they didn't travel, like he once did. "I fear that the wallpaper will indeed outlive me. That nightmare still haunts me - sometimes I wake, and take a moment to appreciate the fact that I am alive." But for how much longer? He could feel that the curtains would fall sooner rather than later. He was sure that he was good. Pure, God-loving, and kind at heart. But he had sinned. And sinners were not good. "There is little else to say. I hope you are well - and if not, at least better than I. That should be an easy state to achieve. Oscar"
	[WP] "Before I write this, I must warn you, I am not a good person"	Before I write this, I must warn you, I am not a good person. That's how it started. I was numb. --- When we had met, I thought little of him. He was charming, sure. Made me laugh. But we were different. So friends it was. For years, while we spent our time with others, our friendship grew. But then it happened. The lines on his face, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, the way he walked, every so slightly with his toes turned in, the skinny jeans, the t-shirts, the way he could go on and on about his favorite things and how his eyes lit up when he did. I was hopeless. I was trapped. In those grey-green eyes with the wrinkles at the side. When he kissed me for the first time. I knew. I knew he was the one. The one I would spend the rest of my life with. He was good. He would be good. To me. Nothing could hurt me. --- Before I write this, I must warn you, I am not a good person. I sat on the couch. Our couch. --- Things weren't always perfect. I was never deluded into thinking things had to be. But. I believed in us. With the friendship we had.. There was no reason he would lie to me about anything. I already knew his secrets. I knew what I was going to get. I knew we could work through anything. We always had. --- The words on the page were getting blurry now. A few, though. A few I could make out. lied guilty sorry forgive me --- Some bumps were bigger than others. I knew I could be hard to deal with sometimes. My own head betrayed me so often it was sometimes hard to tell what was real and what wasn't. But I was getting help. I was trying. --- I don't know when I stopped crying. You can't cry forever though, I supposed. Now. Now I had a choice to make. --- When things were good, though.. Even then they were just okay. --- I packed my bags. And left.	i'm not a good person in the slightest bit. I'm more of a Casanova, if I brought brides to hell with me. I am a serial manipulator, which meant that I could bring destruction to the world without really causing mass hysteria. I was brought into this world because I was brought of it. I was a part of social dogma, as soon as I brought peace upon it. Who was I? I was Jack the Ripper. I was the man, the myth, the lenged/ I was the snake hidden in the rebel, I was the cause because there seemed no other pause in my bretheren. My blood boiled when clots seemed no bigger show than reverence. I have it. I have the knife, and today son I give it to you. Open the envelope next given with this letter "I'll do you proud father"
	[WP] "Before I write this, I must warn you, I am not a good person"	Before I write this, I must warn you, I am not a good person. That's how it started. I was numb. --- When we had met, I thought little of him. He was charming, sure. Made me laugh. But we were different. So friends it was. For years, while we spent our time with others, our friendship grew. But then it happened. The lines on his face, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, the way he walked, every so slightly with his toes turned in, the skinny jeans, the t-shirts, the way he could go on and on about his favorite things and how his eyes lit up when he did. I was hopeless. I was trapped. In those grey-green eyes with the wrinkles at the side. When he kissed me for the first time. I knew. I knew he was the one. The one I would spend the rest of my life with. He was good. He would be good. To me. Nothing could hurt me. --- Before I write this, I must warn you, I am not a good person. I sat on the couch. Our couch. --- Things weren't always perfect. I was never deluded into thinking things had to be. But. I believed in us. With the friendship we had.. There was no reason he would lie to me about anything. I already knew his secrets. I knew what I was going to get. I knew we could work through anything. We always had. --- The words on the page were getting blurry now. A few, though. A few I could make out. lied guilty sorry forgive me --- Some bumps were bigger than others. I knew I could be hard to deal with sometimes. My own head betrayed me so often it was sometimes hard to tell what was real and what wasn't. But I was getting help. I was trying. --- I don't know when I stopped crying. You can't cry forever though, I supposed. Now. Now I had a choice to make. --- When things were good, though.. Even then they were just okay. --- I packed my bags. And left.	Before I write this, I must warn you, I am not a good person. Ever wonder why djinn never allow for the extension of ones own life without trying to mess you over. It would be because their agents of the devil. Ever wonder why the devil won't allow immortality. I'm that reason. I was the first person to ask for it. I sold my soul to the devil, and in return gained immortality. This was back before anyone else ever thought to think about it. This was back before the word immortality even existed. I asked for life forever. And I got it. Now what does one do with an everlasting life. Being immortal tends to remove the fear of God from a person. No devine judgement in death for those who cannot die. Ever wonder why death was considered a man in a black cloak weilding a scythe. Ever wonder why in 1300AD the population was 360 million and I'm 1400AD the population dropped to 350 million. Ever wonder what the biggest calamity to ever strike humanity was called the black death. I'm that reason. The holy crusades. They were trying to hunt me down. The great fire of London. Not even that sorry. Chernobyl. Suside attempt. I will admit that one nearly worked too. However God refused to take me because of the sins I had committed. And the devil sent me back because of our contract. The four horsemen of the apocalypse, I inspired three of them. The seven sins, five of those. I've done every crime you can think of and more, to every type of person you can think of, of the order of 1,000s of times at least. Ever hear of people serving multiple life sentences. I'd be why they exist. How many generations should pass before my crime is forgotten and out of pity I'm set free again. Take the most horrible thing you can possibly think of, make it around 10 times worse chances are I've done that to women and their children simultaneously. I won't say I'm sorry. My words have little weight in that regard. It's hard to say anything with any meaning without a soul. All I'll say is that I am in no way shape or form a good person. I'm just bored, bone idle, being evil gave me a kick for a few centuries. Now I've run out of bad things to do. It's dulled on me. Perhaps I'll start doing good deeds. Attempt to negate my eons of sin. However many eons more that may take. Make no mistake I am not a good person. Just one that's got bored of living.
	[WP] "Before I write this, I must warn you, I am not a good person"	Before I write this, I must warn you, I am not a good person. That's how it started. I was numb. --- When we had met, I thought little of him. He was charming, sure. Made me laugh. But we were different. So friends it was. For years, while we spent our time with others, our friendship grew. But then it happened. The lines on his face, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, the way he walked, every so slightly with his toes turned in, the skinny jeans, the t-shirts, the way he could go on and on about his favorite things and how his eyes lit up when he did. I was hopeless. I was trapped. In those grey-green eyes with the wrinkles at the side. When he kissed me for the first time. I knew. I knew he was the one. The one I would spend the rest of my life with. He was good. He would be good. To me. Nothing could hurt me. --- Before I write this, I must warn you, I am not a good person. I sat on the couch. Our couch. --- Things weren't always perfect. I was never deluded into thinking things had to be. But. I believed in us. With the friendship we had.. There was no reason he would lie to me about anything. I already knew his secrets. I knew what I was going to get. I knew we could work through anything. We always had. --- The words on the page were getting blurry now. A few, though. A few I could make out. lied guilty sorry forgive me --- Some bumps were bigger than others. I knew I could be hard to deal with sometimes. My own head betrayed me so often it was sometimes hard to tell what was real and what wasn't. But I was getting help. I was trying. --- I don't know when I stopped crying. You can't cry forever though, I supposed. Now. Now I had a choice to make. --- When things were good, though.. Even then they were just okay. --- I packed my bags. And left.	"...in a sort of poetic way, I'd like to know if you've ever seen the man I described, because that man is me. Before I write the rest, I must warn you: I am not a good person. Here, I have committed a massive genocide of entire countries. I have brought nations to their knees, seemingly for fun. I fucked up. At first I was trying to find a way to write back to myself, to be a sort of psychic in the past. My project snowballed out of control and military ventures protecting my work did their job far too well. If you're reading this, I finally did it. And that means I can prevent this tragedy from happening. Right now, my wife lies dead beside me, and even after what I've done, only that has put me out of commission. I want you to kill her. Find me and kill my dear wife. It's the only way to stop me. I've included the blueprints I used to build this device, you and me will live like kings. Thanks, I suppose, hero." I stood up and looked out the window, the sky a deeper blue than years ago. I grabbed the gun from my wife's had and followed her, knowing some piece of me will live.
	[WP] You are the main character in a videogame. The person controlling you is an easily distracted person and doesn't pause the game.	There was a time when my limbs had movement, a time when life passed through my digital veins. I waited, waited for another movement, if not just the tap of a foot. Watching the scenery, another lifeless soul passing by. It's been 12 hours since Matt left, 12 hours since I've moved.	It has been 3 days since I have last moved. 3 days I have watched the sun set and rise. 3 days I have seen carts drawn by horses pass to and fro before me. 3 days since I've eaten anything. 3 days since I've slept. 3 days I have stood here and been buffeted by the elements. 3. Days. I've been waiting so long that it has nearly become second nature at this point. Most would have gone mad. Most would have cried or wailed or made some kind of racket in order to voice their discomfort, but I, I could not even blink on command. Believe me I've tried. I say that "I" have not moved and I truly mean that for "I" have no control over what movements my body may or may not make. To be sure "I" have not moved a muscle voluntarily since my journey began ohh so long ago. I don't even know what "I" am. I just suddenly "Was". I have no memory you see. Nothing from before "This". I awoke is closer to the point at hand. I am you see what I am. The people of this world greet me as one of them. Amicably for the most part I've spoken with them, interacted with them, learned from them, been loved by them, hated by them, amusing to them...but "I" was not in control in any of those situations. Not one time. I've seen the slaves led around by their collars and manacles speaking of how they lack freedom. I'd laugh if I were able, they can speak, they can move, they can walk, run, swim, laugh, cry, love. I am unable to do these things not because I don't want to no. But because I am a true slave. I am nothing without "He that moves". I am mute without "He that speaks". I am insignificant to "He that controls" and until he returns I shall remain. Like a good slave because I don't have a choice...I never had a choice.
	[WP] You are the main character in a videogame. The person controlling you is an easily distracted person and doesn't pause the game.	"...Okay, talk to you later. Yeah, bye. What was I doing? Okay! Back to Legends of... Wait, I don't remember going into a bar." (Don't move. Don't move a fucking muscle. I can still pull this off.) "Where was I... Must have just slipped my mind. Oh, well, back to business!" (Phew.) "Wait a minute, I definitely wasn't in this town before." (Fuuuuuuck.) "How did... Did Jimmy play my game while I was on the phone? HEY! JIMMY!" "It's a new feature!" "--What?" "Uh-- When left inactive for long periods of time, your characters will now go about their business using-- um-- state-of-the-art AI, allowing you to play even when you're not playing!" "Uh... That's cool... But how is my character telling me this?" "...Immersion!" "...Okay, that's-- What? WHAT? NO, JIMMY, I THOUGHT YOU-- WHAT? HOLD ON, I'M COMING..." (Way too close. All I wanted was a damn beer because the idiot left me in the sun all afternoon.)	It has been 3 days since I have last moved. 3 days I have watched the sun set and rise. 3 days I have seen carts drawn by horses pass to and fro before me. 3 days since I've eaten anything. 3 days since I've slept. 3 days I have stood here and been buffeted by the elements. 3. Days. I've been waiting so long that it has nearly become second nature at this point. Most would have gone mad. Most would have cried or wailed or made some kind of racket in order to voice their discomfort, but I, I could not even blink on command. Believe me I've tried. I say that "I" have not moved and I truly mean that for "I" have no control over what movements my body may or may not make. To be sure "I" have not moved a muscle voluntarily since my journey began ohh so long ago. I don't even know what "I" am. I just suddenly "Was". I have no memory you see. Nothing from before "This". I awoke is closer to the point at hand. I am you see what I am. The people of this world greet me as one of them. Amicably for the most part I've spoken with them, interacted with them, learned from them, been loved by them, hated by them, amusing to them...but "I" was not in control in any of those situations. Not one time. I've seen the slaves led around by their collars and manacles speaking of how they lack freedom. I'd laugh if I were able, they can speak, they can move, they can walk, run, swim, laugh, cry, love. I am unable to do these things not because I don't want to no. But because I am a true slave. I am nothing without "He that moves". I am mute without "He that speaks". I am insignificant to "He that controls" and until he returns I shall remain. Like a good slave because I don't have a choice...I never had a choice.
	[WP] You are the main character in a videogame. The person controlling you is an easily distracted person and doesn't pause the game.	It's a strange thing, Sancho, but at moments a certain lethargy overtakes me. This is no mere tiredness, no desire to rest my limbs. I remain standing, my weapon clutched in my hand, to all appearances perfectly alert and eager to do battle. But my will, Sancho, my will deserts me entirely. I may be out in the open, my enemies advancing on me, and yet I feel no fear. They strike at me, the cowards, and I accept their blows. Oh, there is pain, Sancho. I bleed, I cry out, I recoil from their blows. But never for a moment do I desire to fight back! There are occasions when the mood lifts from me in time, and I spring into action and dispatch these vagabonds. But more often they surround me and deal me blow after blow until it is far too late. And what happens next? Why, I die, of course! What else would you expect? You mock me, Sancho, as you have mocked me before. I have told you of this before, of dying and reawakening moments before going into battle, and you have dismissed these as dreams, or fearful imaginings. But these moments of divine lethargy prove otherwise. At first, I regarded my deaths as failures, and grew frustrated at having to repeat the same battles. But now I have been blessed with divine understanding. My enemies are nothing before me, Sancho! Let them strike! Let them paint their wounds on my yielding flesh! I shall rise again, and again, and again, for they are but ghosts to me. There is no world permitted to exist in which they defeat me, and thus I have already conquered them. This is no madness, Sancho, no wasting disease. This an unmerited victory granted to me from above. This is mercy given understanding. This is Grace.	I was staring into the eyes of the love of my life. Finally, we met after years of combat and fighting bosses after bosses. She laughed and said,"Yeah I can relate. I work in marketing" I mean she was perfect. I wanted to look at the moonlight and just put my forehead against hers, and smile. Rub my nose on hers, and hug her like there's no tomorrow. I wanted the Eifel tower to make our love enlighten itself through its beauty. Just when I was about to caress her cheek and kiss her. I froze. Or crashed. Or something. I couldn't move. Hey Gary i said, breaking the fourth wall. Yeah Luke WTF man Sorry man, hooking up on Tinder Swipes Right
	[WP] Humanity cheers as the first Terran interstellar vessel reaches the beginning of the Oort Cloud. The pioneers on the vessel are far from jubilant, as sensors begin to relay a terrifying discovery: The Oort cloud is a barrier, and it marks the boundary of the "Sol System Quarantine Zone".	The void. That is what we have looked up at night for millennium, wondering who was up there, if anyone at all. We should have looked at ourselves. DECEMBER 31, 2099 The UNJSA Vernes flew towards the Oort Cloud, a large white mass amid the black and grey. Captain Eberhart stood at the bridge, viewing the comets and stars. But, something caught his eye. With a worried expression, he turned to the second in command and nodded. The second sent out two messages, one to the President, and one to another, one who lived much darker down below. ---- Dr. Saab sighed as she walked to the deck. "Captain, I've-" She caught his worried expression, and followed his eyes to where they lay. A ship, impossibly sharp, floated in front of them. It was massive, looking able to hold thousands of people. Or weapons, she noted. "Do we have any idea what it is?" "None." The captain said gravely, sighing. A blue light lit up on the dashboard, and Comms Officer Cathedral pressed a button, bringing an insectoid face onto screen. "So the parasites have finally found their way to space, have they?" stepped up, her blue jumpsuit reflecting the light from the bridge. "My name is Dr. Akilah Saab. I am this ship's chief medical officer. What do you mean by parasites?" "Interesting. It appears you have still retained your immunity to it. Very well." It did what could only be likened to clearing it's throat. "Many eons ago, an asteroid crashed to your planet of Sol-03. It wiped out the native inhabitants of large reptilian creatures. But, it also contained a parasite." A picture of a human brain appeared on screen. "That's the human brain!" "You believe so. But the parasite, Nerousis, has hooked into your body, and has been there when you were first concived." "How are we not affected?" "The human body has evolved a defense mechanism, one that is connected to your digestive system. With it, you fight off it's influence, and you have free will." "What is it?" "The appendix." "A-and if it is gone?" "Nerousis has full control." A memory came to her, of the captain's medical report. He had his appendix removed at eight. His appendix... The click of a safety turned off rang through her ears, and she fearfully turned around. Captain Eberhart gave a toothy grin, and shrugged. "It doesn't matter any more. We have control of this planet. We will be free." The last thing Dr. Saab saw was the flash of a gun, as it slammed into her stomach and through her appendix, obliterating it. ---- On Earth, the same happened to billions of others, an unwitting army of mindless drones serving their queen. They took to ships, to military and civilian vessels alike. And they spread across the galaxy. Only a few humans remain, staying on Earth. It's empty, even the animals gone in the mass exodus of brains. We are the ones who remain, the ones who will fight, and breed, and bring back humanity's golden age. And we will extinguish every last one of those Nerousis before they consume us again.	Divine Reach had been underway for about a year. The world watched as it's cumulative technological prowess made its way to the farthest reaches of the solar system. Tomorrow would be a national holiday as Divine Reach crossed into the Oort Cloud, and humanity would proudly claim it's first interstellar trip into the void. The world watched and counted down. 10 billion citizens all in front of holo screens watching the counter at the top left of the screen. Divine reach was was less than 1000km from officially crossing over into the cloud. Then, it disappeared. The world collectively held its breath, the following minutes would be comprised of confusion, shock, and panic. Twenty five minutes lapsed still no sign of the Divine Reach. All of the holo screens went dark and flickered back on. The following message displayed in 90 languages across the world. "Congratulations on your achievement of Interstellar technology, it is with the greatest regret we inform you that the Divine Reach has been commandeered and the crew purged. You reside in the Sol Containment System and we discourage any further ventures outside of it boundaries. If you do, be warned, repeat violations will be met with force." The world mourned the loss of the ship and its crew, but would not for long. Military enlistments shot up 67% across the globe. Nations pooled their funds into research and development. The world leaders met in a dark confetence room in Geneva 122 days after Divine Reach disappeared. "Gentleman" said a tall muscled figure at the head of the table. "As of right now, we are at war."
	[WP] The gritty realistic R-rated movie adaption of your favourite show as a kid.	Not sure if this is R rated per se, but certainly gritty and realistic. After Harry Potter's Parents died under mysterious circumstances, he was sent to live in an orphanage. Sadly the Dursley memorial home for Boys was one of the poorer in England, and Harry grew up Cynical, isolated, and always willing to put up a fight. On the eve of his eleventh birthday he is approached by a man named Arthur Dumbledore, who claims that Harry is a wizard and that he will take him to attend school at the Hogwarts school of Magic. Harry is initially skeptical, until Dumbledore can prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that Magic is in fact real. While at Hogwarts Harry discovers that the Magical world is not only real but coming a part at the seams. The Pureblood Wizard aristocracy's hold is waning, and the half-bloods and mudane-born, magical races such as Goblins and centaurs, and the lesser clans such as the Creeveys, Weasleys and the LongBottoms are demanding more and more representation and power in the British Magical government. Harry's quick temper and stand offish nature does not earn him many friends, as he makes enemies of the powerful Malfoy family as well as the progressive Weasley Clan. However, after a fight with the youngest Weasley, Roland, in which a troll is accidentally drawn towards the castle the two drive it off with the help of a bookish Mudane born witch named Jane Granger. After this the three form a grudging respect, and eventually a distant friendship over the year. However beneath the surface problems there are even more issues going on at Hogwarts. Whispers of a powerful magical artifact being moved to Hogwarts for study, one that many people of various intent may try and get their hands on.	I'd been searching for it for years: the last relics left from the Reign of Bao. I was finally at the entrance, ready as ever to turn the page on my journey. I press the talisman into the slot in the door and the gem flashes a bright prism of colors. I have to shield my eyes from the brightness, and as the giant stone gateway shudders to life, I hear the voice of my nemesis, Igor Nance. "Thanks for doing all the hard work, Burt! Now then, if you'll kindly step aside." A gun. He's always got a gun, the lazy bastard. "Igor, buddy. How'd you know I was here?" "I followed you, of course. You have knowledge, and I can take advantage of that." He chuckles. "Now step away. I'm sure you'll understand why I can't let you be the first to enter the temple, right?" He waves me away with the pistol. Behind him, a small army of meatheads gather, all wearing SWAT gear and wielding automatic rifles. I give them all a cheeky smirk. "Igor, you forget. I can go anywhere!" And with that, I fire up my jetpack, launching myself into the temple in a blur of colored smoke. I hear gunshots, but it's too late. I'm in. I fly down the tunnels, screaming laughter as I dodge traps I know are there. I barely hear Igor's henchmen running into various spikes, pitfalls, and spiked logs. The fools. My jetpack shudders and dies, leaving me a few yards from the exit. I move forward carefully, nearing the final resting place of all I have searched for. But the henchmen who survived are not far. One gets hit with an axe that falls from the ceiling. Another gets slammed into the wall by a rotating stone. The few who remain look at me and raise their weapons, unsure of how to move forward. I stare them dead in the eyes. "Take a look," I offer, tossing them the ancient tome that got me that far. "It's in a book," I finish, the text landing on a trap that sets the hallway on fire. I dodge into the room as a door slams shut behind me without so much as a scratch. I did it. I take a look around at the intricately carved, multi-colored tapestries that line the walls. In the center of the room lies a sword. The mystic object I've been searching for. Literally translated, The Reddening from the Reign of Bao. Loosely translated? The Reading Rainbow. ******************* For more like this, check out /r/Zchxz. Be warned, though, most of what I write is horror.
	[WP] The gritty realistic R-rated movie adaption of your favourite show as a kid.	An ad blared on the TV while a grimy faced woman sat behind a computer desk trying to figure out where the strange readings coming from her scanning equipment were coming from. She clicked around several different monitoring pages telling them to search for a specific energy pattern. There wasn't supposed to be anything else here but their team. That was the whole point of this expedition. The ads were just displaying a more recent ad about the new revolutionary type of electricity, which she had seen hundreds of times through the last week alone, when the door to her office opened, a middle-aged man with a yellow hard-hat and mud across his face entering. "How long are you going to be searching for that signal? You've been here for hours. You know they're not going to pay you for screwing with the sensors. It's not part of our job." He said, trying hard not to get any dirt within the office. "A little longer, I've almost found out where this strange signal is coming from." She said back, altering the parameters of the sensors once again. And just like that... She had found it. "I've got it!" She stood up suddenly, looking at the man with excitement. "The signals are coming from the mountain range towards the south. Many of them-" She trailed off, staring at the screen. "What is it?" "They're several signatures towards the north, and they're getting closer." She looked out the window, seeing the mining equipment outside, all fully manned. A warning sound came from her computer and she looked back to see the screen displaying a large warning. Massive Energon readings detected. Evacuate immediately. "Get everyone out of here now!" She screamed at the man. "Spike, we need everyone to get out of here now! Sound the emergency alarm!" "But why? Energon is the safest form of energy around." "Not when used in these machines." She said back, "Get them out NOW!" But is was already too late. A screaming sound overhead signaled the arrival of their doom. Spike watched in amazement as the jet that rapidly approached them seemed the change it's shape.. No, it DID change it's shape, and land heavily amidst the mining equipment, crushing two people who happened to be standing near it at the time. A loud, booming voice echoed across the field. "This Energon is now under the control of the Decepticons. All humans are to be killed on sight!" Spike had a moment of panic as he watched several people get mowed down under fire from the mostrosity of metal before several more burst into the area, crushing, throwing and toying with the people in the area. "Spike!" He heard his supervisor yell before he came to his senses enough to run. He ran for the only hope he thought of... The group of Energon readings towards the mountain in the south.	I'd been searching for it for years: the last relics left from the Reign of Bao. I was finally at the entrance, ready as ever to turn the page on my journey. I press the talisman into the slot in the door and the gem flashes a bright prism of colors. I have to shield my eyes from the brightness, and as the giant stone gateway shudders to life, I hear the voice of my nemesis, Igor Nance. "Thanks for doing all the hard work, Burt! Now then, if you'll kindly step aside." A gun. He's always got a gun, the lazy bastard. "Igor, buddy. How'd you know I was here?" "I followed you, of course. You have knowledge, and I can take advantage of that." He chuckles. "Now step away. I'm sure you'll understand why I can't let you be the first to enter the temple, right?" He waves me away with the pistol. Behind him, a small army of meatheads gather, all wearing SWAT gear and wielding automatic rifles. I give them all a cheeky smirk. "Igor, you forget. I can go anywhere!" And with that, I fire up my jetpack, launching myself into the temple in a blur of colored smoke. I hear gunshots, but it's too late. I'm in. I fly down the tunnels, screaming laughter as I dodge traps I know are there. I barely hear Igor's henchmen running into various spikes, pitfalls, and spiked logs. The fools. My jetpack shudders and dies, leaving me a few yards from the exit. I move forward carefully, nearing the final resting place of all I have searched for. But the henchmen who survived are not far. One gets hit with an axe that falls from the ceiling. Another gets slammed into the wall by a rotating stone. The few who remain look at me and raise their weapons, unsure of how to move forward. I stare them dead in the eyes. "Take a look," I offer, tossing them the ancient tome that got me that far. "It's in a book," I finish, the text landing on a trap that sets the hallway on fire. I dodge into the room as a door slams shut behind me without so much as a scratch. I did it. I take a look around at the intricately carved, multi-colored tapestries that line the walls. In the center of the room lies a sword. The mystic object I've been searching for. Literally translated, The Reddening from the Reign of Bao. Loosely translated? The Reading Rainbow. ******************* For more like this, check out /r/Zchxz. Be warned, though, most of what I write is horror.
	[WP] The gritty realistic R-rated movie adaption of your favourite show as a kid.	It's been twenty years. His friends are dead, his neighbors are dead, his beloved pet dog, dead. He came to this country with one goal: To escape his past. But he never thought he'd face a foe like this. "I can't take it any more. There's nothing left for me here. I can't let them get away with this. But I've waited too long. I need HIS help..." He'll do whatever it takes to secure his revenge. He'll even go to Hell... "I need your help." "What?! Are you serious? You doomed me to this ... this ... "Heck"! "Heck?" "Damnit ... What's the point anymore? I mean HELL!" "But Heffer, we both want the same thing, to destroy "THEM". "You mean...?" "Yes Heffer. We need to take them out once and for all." "But ... we can't fight City Hall! Are you mad?!" "Maybe not, but we can fight ... Conglom-O ... and yes, I am mad!" This summer see your favorite wallaby as you've never seen him before in... Rocko's Modern Life: Outback Slaughterhouse "Slaughter Day ... is a very dangerous day."	I'd been searching for it for years: the last relics left from the Reign of Bao. I was finally at the entrance, ready as ever to turn the page on my journey. I press the talisman into the slot in the door and the gem flashes a bright prism of colors. I have to shield my eyes from the brightness, and as the giant stone gateway shudders to life, I hear the voice of my nemesis, Igor Nance. "Thanks for doing all the hard work, Burt! Now then, if you'll kindly step aside." A gun. He's always got a gun, the lazy bastard. "Igor, buddy. How'd you know I was here?" "I followed you, of course. You have knowledge, and I can take advantage of that." He chuckles. "Now step away. I'm sure you'll understand why I can't let you be the first to enter the temple, right?" He waves me away with the pistol. Behind him, a small army of meatheads gather, all wearing SWAT gear and wielding automatic rifles. I give them all a cheeky smirk. "Igor, you forget. I can go anywhere!" And with that, I fire up my jetpack, launching myself into the temple in a blur of colored smoke. I hear gunshots, but it's too late. I'm in. I fly down the tunnels, screaming laughter as I dodge traps I know are there. I barely hear Igor's henchmen running into various spikes, pitfalls, and spiked logs. The fools. My jetpack shudders and dies, leaving me a few yards from the exit. I move forward carefully, nearing the final resting place of all I have searched for. But the henchmen who survived are not far. One gets hit with an axe that falls from the ceiling. Another gets slammed into the wall by a rotating stone. The few who remain look at me and raise their weapons, unsure of how to move forward. I stare them dead in the eyes. "Take a look," I offer, tossing them the ancient tome that got me that far. "It's in a book," I finish, the text landing on a trap that sets the hallway on fire. I dodge into the room as a door slams shut behind me without so much as a scratch. I did it. I take a look around at the intricately carved, multi-colored tapestries that line the walls. In the center of the room lies a sword. The mystic object I've been searching for. Literally translated, The Reddening from the Reign of Bao. Loosely translated? The Reading Rainbow. ******************* For more like this, check out /r/Zchxz. Be warned, though, most of what I write is horror.
	[WP] The gritty realistic R-rated movie adaption of your favourite show as a kid.	Fade in on a young boy, crying in a clearing in the woods. An owl lands on his shoulder "Whooo are you?" The owl asks "C-C-C-Chris." The boy says, wiping the tears from his eyes. "Why are you here?" The owl asks "I... I don't know. I don't even know where I am." Flash to a little boy's bedroom, light from a street lamp filters in the window around the closed curtain. A man stands facing the bed, a bottle in one hand and belt in the other "No, Charles, no! Please, not little Chris!" A woman pleads "Get outta the way, Marissa!" The man growls, his speech slurred. "That little twat needs to grow up! Be a man! And I'm gonna teach him how!" Flash back to the clearing The boy is accompanied now by the owl and a rabbit "And you have a garden?" The boy is asking "Why, yes! And my carrots are simply marvellous this year!" The rabbit said. "I've always wanted a garden!" The boy says excitedly. Can I come visit your homes?" The owl and rabbit both nod and smile. Flash to the bedroom A woman can be heard whimpering, a young boy screaming in the background. The screams are punctuated by rhythmic slaps of leather on skin. "NO SON OF MINE IS GONNA SPEND HIS DAY PLAYING WITH FUCKING DOLLS!" An engaged man pulls back the belt again Flash to the forest, the boy is surrounded by animals. "I wish I could live here." He says "But my dad doesn't like it when I visit y'all." A bear walks up to him with a pot of honey. "I've always found that a little honey makes bad situations not so bad. When you have a little something sweet to taste, the bitter is better." A tiger walks up to the boy as well and says "Don't worry about what your dad thinks. We're all a little different here. I'm bouncy, trouncy, flouncy, fun-fun-fun-fun-fun, but the most wonderful thing about me is I'm the only one! Name's Tigger, tee I double-guh err! Tigger!	I'd been searching for it for years: the last relics left from the Reign of Bao. I was finally at the entrance, ready as ever to turn the page on my journey. I press the talisman into the slot in the door and the gem flashes a bright prism of colors. I have to shield my eyes from the brightness, and as the giant stone gateway shudders to life, I hear the voice of my nemesis, Igor Nance. "Thanks for doing all the hard work, Burt! Now then, if you'll kindly step aside." A gun. He's always got a gun, the lazy bastard. "Igor, buddy. How'd you know I was here?" "I followed you, of course. You have knowledge, and I can take advantage of that." He chuckles. "Now step away. I'm sure you'll understand why I can't let you be the first to enter the temple, right?" He waves me away with the pistol. Behind him, a small army of meatheads gather, all wearing SWAT gear and wielding automatic rifles. I give them all a cheeky smirk. "Igor, you forget. I can go anywhere!" And with that, I fire up my jetpack, launching myself into the temple in a blur of colored smoke. I hear gunshots, but it's too late. I'm in. I fly down the tunnels, screaming laughter as I dodge traps I know are there. I barely hear Igor's henchmen running into various spikes, pitfalls, and spiked logs. The fools. My jetpack shudders and dies, leaving me a few yards from the exit. I move forward carefully, nearing the final resting place of all I have searched for. But the henchmen who survived are not far. One gets hit with an axe that falls from the ceiling. Another gets slammed into the wall by a rotating stone. The few who remain look at me and raise their weapons, unsure of how to move forward. I stare them dead in the eyes. "Take a look," I offer, tossing them the ancient tome that got me that far. "It's in a book," I finish, the text landing on a trap that sets the hallway on fire. I dodge into the room as a door slams shut behind me without so much as a scratch. I did it. I take a look around at the intricately carved, multi-colored tapestries that line the walls. In the center of the room lies a sword. The mystic object I've been searching for. Literally translated, The Reddening from the Reign of Bao. Loosely translated? The Reading Rainbow. ******************* For more like this, check out /r/Zchxz. Be warned, though, most of what I write is horror.
	[WP] The gritty realistic R-rated movie adaption of your favourite show as a kid.	The walls are dull and grey they seem to simmer sightly when illuminated by the bright florescent light overhead. There are brown oak chairs, a large table in the center of the room, water glasses half full. This would be a rather unremarkable conference room if it wasn't for the director of the FBI, CIA, and several other high ranking members of homeland security silently sitting before me. I can faintly hear the security and military personal scrambling through the hallways, we are at Defcon 2. They may seem calm or stern but I can see fear and worry in their eyes. My partner clicks the computer to begin the slideshow. "Ladys and Gentlemen at about 9:23 pm a week ago today a disease research facility in Washington state was attacked. Of the 15 researchers, 27 guards, and 34 other staff members on call at that time only one survived." The slide changes to an id photo of one of guards. He is a Latino man in his late twenties. The slide clicks once more to show the same man in the hospital. The side of his face that was torn off is covered in bandages. His jaw is dislocated and the good side of face is purple and black from internal bleeding. The table in front of me recoils in disgust. "This man Derrick Parèze barely survived the attack. He was in a coma for almost 4 days, sustained heavy organ damage, and lost two limbs and an Eye. When I met with him for his account of the events that had transpired that night he told me quite a vivid imaginative tale. A tale so odd, abnormal, and unreal I should have dismissed it as lunacy from head trauma." I pause. " He told me that he was at the guard shack and it was just a normal night until he heard his partners head cave in. After dragging the corpse back inside in the vain attempt at reviving the man he noticed a baseball lodged in the mans forehead. Then every guard outside began to scream in agony as they were assaulted with a variety of unconventional weaponry. He saw one guard electrocuted by power cord whip, another had her arm cleaved by a giant rubber band, and one unfortunate sole was melted by a high pressure stream of acid. Then in all the chaos and confusion the door a small masked figure enter the door. The last thing Derrick saw was a rabid skunk launched toward him by an unwieldy slingshot." I pause to take a drink of water. "But oddly enough this story is supported by our forensics.” The slide changes once more to reveal the carnage on the ground. Caved in heads, mangled corpses, all damage caused obviously by unconventional weaponry. The slide cuts once more to some projectiles found including a gore covered base ball. “Your saying that a security unit of highly trained men were killed by hooligans with potato guns and slingshots!” Shouts the CIA director in disbelief. “I am not saying that, the evidence in front of you perfectly shows that.” “You have finger prints DNA something right from all that evidence, right?” Asks the FBI director. “Unfortunately no. The DNA and finger prints on the various projectiles were to mixed with the DNA of the assailants or was washed away in the rainstorm that followed." I calmly take another sip of water. I look into the terrified eyes of the crowed board room. “So were fighting an unknown enemy that now has the potential to make a stockpile of hundreds of different types of bio weapons?” A general barks. His face is red and he is the most exasperated of the crowd. I chuckle a little bit. “Thats the odd thing they only took one pathogen with them.” “Which one anthrax, smallpox, ebola?” "No a little known virus called Endopoxmajor. Its a quite an interesting virus. Similar to ebola it can only spread through fluids or direct contact. Once inside the body it primarily attacks hormonal and immune cells in the endocrine system. The process is slow taking a couple of months but one by one necessary bodily function fail usually causing a slow agonizing death. It has 95% chance of fatality among its victims. The other five percent have severe hormonal medial conditions and permanently atrophied muscles, and more unfortunately remain carriers their whole life. With long incubation period of the virus, we could have several unaware infected walking the streets as we speak.” “There must be a vaccine!” Shouts the Director of the DEA. “No however almost 19.4% percent of the population is immune. The virus only attacks a developed or developing endocrine systems during puberty meaning that most people under the age of thirteen are completely immune.” “So they chose the virus that doesn’t kill kids? If there willing to kill close to 80% of the population what do kids matter to them.” The CIA director replies back. “You see director were fighting a new kind of enemy. One of the most disturbing in our history. My suggested course of action will shock you but it is a necessary evil. This new enemy could be anywhere. In our neighborhoods, in our schools, and possibly even in your very home. They go by the code name: Kids Next Door."	I'd been searching for it for years: the last relics left from the Reign of Bao. I was finally at the entrance, ready as ever to turn the page on my journey. I press the talisman into the slot in the door and the gem flashes a bright prism of colors. I have to shield my eyes from the brightness, and as the giant stone gateway shudders to life, I hear the voice of my nemesis, Igor Nance. "Thanks for doing all the hard work, Burt! Now then, if you'll kindly step aside." A gun. He's always got a gun, the lazy bastard. "Igor, buddy. How'd you know I was here?" "I followed you, of course. You have knowledge, and I can take advantage of that." He chuckles. "Now step away. I'm sure you'll understand why I can't let you be the first to enter the temple, right?" He waves me away with the pistol. Behind him, a small army of meatheads gather, all wearing SWAT gear and wielding automatic rifles. I give them all a cheeky smirk. "Igor, you forget. I can go anywhere!" And with that, I fire up my jetpack, launching myself into the temple in a blur of colored smoke. I hear gunshots, but it's too late. I'm in. I fly down the tunnels, screaming laughter as I dodge traps I know are there. I barely hear Igor's henchmen running into various spikes, pitfalls, and spiked logs. The fools. My jetpack shudders and dies, leaving me a few yards from the exit. I move forward carefully, nearing the final resting place of all I have searched for. But the henchmen who survived are not far. One gets hit with an axe that falls from the ceiling. Another gets slammed into the wall by a rotating stone. The few who remain look at me and raise their weapons, unsure of how to move forward. I stare them dead in the eyes. "Take a look," I offer, tossing them the ancient tome that got me that far. "It's in a book," I finish, the text landing on a trap that sets the hallway on fire. I dodge into the room as a door slams shut behind me without so much as a scratch. I did it. I take a look around at the intricately carved, multi-colored tapestries that line the walls. In the center of the room lies a sword. The mystic object I've been searching for. Literally translated, The Reddening from the Reign of Bao. Loosely translated? The Reading Rainbow. ******************* For more like this, check out /r/Zchxz. Be warned, though, most of what I write is horror.
	[WP] The gritty realistic R-rated movie adaption of your favourite show as a kid.	Not sure if this is R rated per se, but certainly gritty and realistic. After Harry Potter's Parents died under mysterious circumstances, he was sent to live in an orphanage. Sadly the Dursley memorial home for Boys was one of the poorer in England, and Harry grew up Cynical, isolated, and always willing to put up a fight. On the eve of his eleventh birthday he is approached by a man named Arthur Dumbledore, who claims that Harry is a wizard and that he will take him to attend school at the Hogwarts school of Magic. Harry is initially skeptical, until Dumbledore can prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that Magic is in fact real. While at Hogwarts Harry discovers that the Magical world is not only real but coming a part at the seams. The Pureblood Wizard aristocracy's hold is waning, and the half-bloods and mudane-born, magical races such as Goblins and centaurs, and the lesser clans such as the Creeveys, Weasleys and the LongBottoms are demanding more and more representation and power in the British Magical government. Harry's quick temper and stand offish nature does not earn him many friends, as he makes enemies of the powerful Malfoy family as well as the progressive Weasley Clan. However, after a fight with the youngest Weasley, Roland, in which a troll is accidentally drawn towards the castle the two drive it off with the help of a bookish Mudane born witch named Jane Granger. After this the three form a grudging respect, and eventually a distant friendship over the year. However beneath the surface problems there are even more issues going on at Hogwarts. Whispers of a powerful magical artifact being moved to Hogwarts for study, one that many people of various intent may try and get their hands on.	EXT. MOUNTAIN VILLAGE - MORNING BIRDSEYE SHOT An old man walking through the vast nature he lives in. Leaves and grass and stone. The breeze, the sky dotted with stars... moonlight through the foliage. CLOSER SHOT On the old man's back is an infant boy, swaddled in blankets, sucking his thumb. The old man gets to a more open area, with less trees. The full moon shines down on the baby, who cannot help but look up at what he does not yet know. His eyes change. CUT TO BLACK THE BOY IS NOW A GIANT FUCKING APE, ATTACKING THIS POOR OLD MAN. IT PICKS HIM UP LIKE A FEATHER, HOLDING HIM UP TO LOOK AT HIM LIKE A CHILD EXAMINES A BUG. CUT TO BLACK With a toss, a hammerfist and a godlike roar, the ape reduces the man to a mere plaything, a ragdoll. He dies a horrible death at the hands of this colossal monkey. CUT TO BLACK FADE IN TOP-DOWN CLOSEUP ON CRYING BABY LYING ON THE GROUND IN THE EARLY MORNING, SLOWLY ZOOMING OUT TO SHOW HE IS A FEW YARDS AWAY FROM THE DECEASED OLD MAN, WHO IS FACE DOWN IN HIS OWN BLOOD. (V.O.) GRANDPA GOHAN I always knew you would be great, Goku. EXT. VILLAGE - YEARS LATER A young boy cuts down trees with his bare hands. He leaps and runs and does cool flips and parkour and shit. (V.O.) GRANDPA GOHAN I knew I wouldn't be around to see you become the man you are destined to be. INT. GOHAN'S COTTAGE The young boy finds an absolutely gorgeous sphere with a star on it. It glows an alien yellow light. (V.O.) GRANDPA GOHAN Find out what brought you here, to me, to the world. You cannot stop searching, you cannot stop fighting, Goku. I know you will find your purpose. EXT. GOHAN'S COTTAGE A teenage girl creeps up around the house to an opening in the back, discovering young Goku blissfully asleep in a hammock. (V.O.) GRANDPA GOHAN I know you are not of this planet. I can see it in your eyes. INT. COTTAGE Goku falling out of the hammock, the intruder having startled him. He quickly gets to his feet and on guard to fight. The girl is not even remotely intimidated. She pats him on the head and offers a smile. GIRL Hi...I'm Bulma. EXT. BATTLEFIELD An enormous fleet of tanks and expendable men, adorned with Red Ribbons, and a logo that simply reads "RR" (V.O.) GRANDPA GOHAN Do not forget me, Goku. I have not forgotten you. REALLY FAST PACED MONTAGE OF SCENES like Goku punching people and Bulma taking a sexy shower and Yamcha and Bulma having sex. Goku training with a little bald kid. An old man with a turtleshell strapped to his back. Violence and sex and fighting and blood. Loud, pulsing music. Then it gets real quiet. Cut to black. Fade in, rising shot of Goku. (V.O.) GRANDPA GOHAN You must never forget...the ones that you love. GOKU GRABS HIS HUGE STAFF AND LAUNCHES HIMSELF AT THE ARMY, FUCKING EVERYTHING UP DOOMDOOM THIS SUMMER DOOMDOOM DRAGONBALL
	[WP] The gritty realistic R-rated movie adaption of your favourite show as a kid.	An ad blared on the TV while a grimy faced woman sat behind a computer desk trying to figure out where the strange readings coming from her scanning equipment were coming from. She clicked around several different monitoring pages telling them to search for a specific energy pattern. There wasn't supposed to be anything else here but their team. That was the whole point of this expedition. The ads were just displaying a more recent ad about the new revolutionary type of electricity, which she had seen hundreds of times through the last week alone, when the door to her office opened, a middle-aged man with a yellow hard-hat and mud across his face entering. "How long are you going to be searching for that signal? You've been here for hours. You know they're not going to pay you for screwing with the sensors. It's not part of our job." He said, trying hard not to get any dirt within the office. "A little longer, I've almost found out where this strange signal is coming from." She said back, altering the parameters of the sensors once again. And just like that... She had found it. "I've got it!" She stood up suddenly, looking at the man with excitement. "The signals are coming from the mountain range towards the south. Many of them-" She trailed off, staring at the screen. "What is it?" "They're several signatures towards the north, and they're getting closer." She looked out the window, seeing the mining equipment outside, all fully manned. A warning sound came from her computer and she looked back to see the screen displaying a large warning. Massive Energon readings detected. Evacuate immediately. "Get everyone out of here now!" She screamed at the man. "Spike, we need everyone to get out of here now! Sound the emergency alarm!" "But why? Energon is the safest form of energy around." "Not when used in these machines." She said back, "Get them out NOW!" But is was already too late. A screaming sound overhead signaled the arrival of their doom. Spike watched in amazement as the jet that rapidly approached them seemed the change it's shape.. No, it DID change it's shape, and land heavily amidst the mining equipment, crushing two people who happened to be standing near it at the time. A loud, booming voice echoed across the field. "This Energon is now under the control of the Decepticons. All humans are to be killed on sight!" Spike had a moment of panic as he watched several people get mowed down under fire from the mostrosity of metal before several more burst into the area, crushing, throwing and toying with the people in the area. "Spike!" He heard his supervisor yell before he came to his senses enough to run. He ran for the only hope he thought of... The group of Energon readings towards the mountain in the south.	EXT. MOUNTAIN VILLAGE - MORNING BIRDSEYE SHOT An old man walking through the vast nature he lives in. Leaves and grass and stone. The breeze, the sky dotted with stars... moonlight through the foliage. CLOSER SHOT On the old man's back is an infant boy, swaddled in blankets, sucking his thumb. The old man gets to a more open area, with less trees. The full moon shines down on the baby, who cannot help but look up at what he does not yet know. His eyes change. CUT TO BLACK THE BOY IS NOW A GIANT FUCKING APE, ATTACKING THIS POOR OLD MAN. IT PICKS HIM UP LIKE A FEATHER, HOLDING HIM UP TO LOOK AT HIM LIKE A CHILD EXAMINES A BUG. CUT TO BLACK With a toss, a hammerfist and a godlike roar, the ape reduces the man to a mere plaything, a ragdoll. He dies a horrible death at the hands of this colossal monkey. CUT TO BLACK FADE IN TOP-DOWN CLOSEUP ON CRYING BABY LYING ON THE GROUND IN THE EARLY MORNING, SLOWLY ZOOMING OUT TO SHOW HE IS A FEW YARDS AWAY FROM THE DECEASED OLD MAN, WHO IS FACE DOWN IN HIS OWN BLOOD. (V.O.) GRANDPA GOHAN I always knew you would be great, Goku. EXT. VILLAGE - YEARS LATER A young boy cuts down trees with his bare hands. He leaps and runs and does cool flips and parkour and shit. (V.O.) GRANDPA GOHAN I knew I wouldn't be around to see you become the man you are destined to be. INT. GOHAN'S COTTAGE The young boy finds an absolutely gorgeous sphere with a star on it. It glows an alien yellow light. (V.O.) GRANDPA GOHAN Find out what brought you here, to me, to the world. You cannot stop searching, you cannot stop fighting, Goku. I know you will find your purpose. EXT. GOHAN'S COTTAGE A teenage girl creeps up around the house to an opening in the back, discovering young Goku blissfully asleep in a hammock. (V.O.) GRANDPA GOHAN I know you are not of this planet. I can see it in your eyes. INT. COTTAGE Goku falling out of the hammock, the intruder having startled him. He quickly gets to his feet and on guard to fight. The girl is not even remotely intimidated. She pats him on the head and offers a smile. GIRL Hi...I'm Bulma. EXT. BATTLEFIELD An enormous fleet of tanks and expendable men, adorned with Red Ribbons, and a logo that simply reads "RR" (V.O.) GRANDPA GOHAN Do not forget me, Goku. I have not forgotten you. REALLY FAST PACED MONTAGE OF SCENES like Goku punching people and Bulma taking a sexy shower and Yamcha and Bulma having sex. Goku training with a little bald kid. An old man with a turtleshell strapped to his back. Violence and sex and fighting and blood. Loud, pulsing music. Then it gets real quiet. Cut to black. Fade in, rising shot of Goku. (V.O.) GRANDPA GOHAN You must never forget...the ones that you love. GOKU GRABS HIS HUGE STAFF AND LAUNCHES HIMSELF AT THE ARMY, FUCKING EVERYTHING UP DOOMDOOM THIS SUMMER DOOMDOOM DRAGONBALL
	[WP] The gritty realistic R-rated movie adaption of your favourite show as a kid.	It's been twenty years. His friends are dead, his neighbors are dead, his beloved pet dog, dead. He came to this country with one goal: To escape his past. But he never thought he'd face a foe like this. "I can't take it any more. There's nothing left for me here. I can't let them get away with this. But I've waited too long. I need HIS help..." He'll do whatever it takes to secure his revenge. He'll even go to Hell... "I need your help." "What?! Are you serious? You doomed me to this ... this ... "Heck"! "Heck?" "Damnit ... What's the point anymore? I mean HELL!" "But Heffer, we both want the same thing, to destroy "THEM". "You mean...?" "Yes Heffer. We need to take them out once and for all." "But ... we can't fight City Hall! Are you mad?!" "Maybe not, but we can fight ... Conglom-O ... and yes, I am mad!" This summer see your favorite wallaby as you've never seen him before in... Rocko's Modern Life: Outback Slaughterhouse "Slaughter Day ... is a very dangerous day."	EXT. MOUNTAIN VILLAGE - MORNING BIRDSEYE SHOT An old man walking through the vast nature he lives in. Leaves and grass and stone. The breeze, the sky dotted with stars... moonlight through the foliage. CLOSER SHOT On the old man's back is an infant boy, swaddled in blankets, sucking his thumb. The old man gets to a more open area, with less trees. The full moon shines down on the baby, who cannot help but look up at what he does not yet know. His eyes change. CUT TO BLACK THE BOY IS NOW A GIANT FUCKING APE, ATTACKING THIS POOR OLD MAN. IT PICKS HIM UP LIKE A FEATHER, HOLDING HIM UP TO LOOK AT HIM LIKE A CHILD EXAMINES A BUG. CUT TO BLACK With a toss, a hammerfist and a godlike roar, the ape reduces the man to a mere plaything, a ragdoll. He dies a horrible death at the hands of this colossal monkey. CUT TO BLACK FADE IN TOP-DOWN CLOSEUP ON CRYING BABY LYING ON THE GROUND IN THE EARLY MORNING, SLOWLY ZOOMING OUT TO SHOW HE IS A FEW YARDS AWAY FROM THE DECEASED OLD MAN, WHO IS FACE DOWN IN HIS OWN BLOOD. (V.O.) GRANDPA GOHAN I always knew you would be great, Goku. EXT. VILLAGE - YEARS LATER A young boy cuts down trees with his bare hands. He leaps and runs and does cool flips and parkour and shit. (V.O.) GRANDPA GOHAN I knew I wouldn't be around to see you become the man you are destined to be. INT. GOHAN'S COTTAGE The young boy finds an absolutely gorgeous sphere with a star on it. It glows an alien yellow light. (V.O.) GRANDPA GOHAN Find out what brought you here, to me, to the world. You cannot stop searching, you cannot stop fighting, Goku. I know you will find your purpose. EXT. GOHAN'S COTTAGE A teenage girl creeps up around the house to an opening in the back, discovering young Goku blissfully asleep in a hammock. (V.O.) GRANDPA GOHAN I know you are not of this planet. I can see it in your eyes. INT. COTTAGE Goku falling out of the hammock, the intruder having startled him. He quickly gets to his feet and on guard to fight. The girl is not even remotely intimidated. She pats him on the head and offers a smile. GIRL Hi...I'm Bulma. EXT. BATTLEFIELD An enormous fleet of tanks and expendable men, adorned with Red Ribbons, and a logo that simply reads "RR" (V.O.) GRANDPA GOHAN Do not forget me, Goku. I have not forgotten you. REALLY FAST PACED MONTAGE OF SCENES like Goku punching people and Bulma taking a sexy shower and Yamcha and Bulma having sex. Goku training with a little bald kid. An old man with a turtleshell strapped to his back. Violence and sex and fighting and blood. Loud, pulsing music. Then it gets real quiet. Cut to black. Fade in, rising shot of Goku. (V.O.) GRANDPA GOHAN You must never forget...the ones that you love. GOKU GRABS HIS HUGE STAFF AND LAUNCHES HIMSELF AT THE ARMY, FUCKING EVERYTHING UP DOOMDOOM THIS SUMMER DOOMDOOM DRAGONBALL
	[WP] The gritty realistic R-rated movie adaption of your favourite show as a kid.	Fade in on a young boy, crying in a clearing in the woods. An owl lands on his shoulder "Whooo are you?" The owl asks "C-C-C-Chris." The boy says, wiping the tears from his eyes. "Why are you here?" The owl asks "I... I don't know. I don't even know where I am." Flash to a little boy's bedroom, light from a street lamp filters in the window around the closed curtain. A man stands facing the bed, a bottle in one hand and belt in the other "No, Charles, no! Please, not little Chris!" A woman pleads "Get outta the way, Marissa!" The man growls, his speech slurred. "That little twat needs to grow up! Be a man! And I'm gonna teach him how!" Flash back to the clearing The boy is accompanied now by the owl and a rabbit "And you have a garden?" The boy is asking "Why, yes! And my carrots are simply marvellous this year!" The rabbit said. "I've always wanted a garden!" The boy says excitedly. Can I come visit your homes?" The owl and rabbit both nod and smile. Flash to the bedroom A woman can be heard whimpering, a young boy screaming in the background. The screams are punctuated by rhythmic slaps of leather on skin. "NO SON OF MINE IS GONNA SPEND HIS DAY PLAYING WITH FUCKING DOLLS!" An engaged man pulls back the belt again Flash to the forest, the boy is surrounded by animals. "I wish I could live here." He says "But my dad doesn't like it when I visit y'all." A bear walks up to him with a pot of honey. "I've always found that a little honey makes bad situations not so bad. When you have a little something sweet to taste, the bitter is better." A tiger walks up to the boy as well and says "Don't worry about what your dad thinks. We're all a little different here. I'm bouncy, trouncy, flouncy, fun-fun-fun-fun-fun, but the most wonderful thing about me is I'm the only one! Name's Tigger, tee I double-guh err! Tigger!	EXT. MOUNTAIN VILLAGE - MORNING BIRDSEYE SHOT An old man walking through the vast nature he lives in. Leaves and grass and stone. The breeze, the sky dotted with stars... moonlight through the foliage. CLOSER SHOT On the old man's back is an infant boy, swaddled in blankets, sucking his thumb. The old man gets to a more open area, with less trees. The full moon shines down on the baby, who cannot help but look up at what he does not yet know. His eyes change. CUT TO BLACK THE BOY IS NOW A GIANT FUCKING APE, ATTACKING THIS POOR OLD MAN. IT PICKS HIM UP LIKE A FEATHER, HOLDING HIM UP TO LOOK AT HIM LIKE A CHILD EXAMINES A BUG. CUT TO BLACK With a toss, a hammerfist and a godlike roar, the ape reduces the man to a mere plaything, a ragdoll. He dies a horrible death at the hands of this colossal monkey. CUT TO BLACK FADE IN TOP-DOWN CLOSEUP ON CRYING BABY LYING ON THE GROUND IN THE EARLY MORNING, SLOWLY ZOOMING OUT TO SHOW HE IS A FEW YARDS AWAY FROM THE DECEASED OLD MAN, WHO IS FACE DOWN IN HIS OWN BLOOD. (V.O.) GRANDPA GOHAN I always knew you would be great, Goku. EXT. VILLAGE - YEARS LATER A young boy cuts down trees with his bare hands. He leaps and runs and does cool flips and parkour and shit. (V.O.) GRANDPA GOHAN I knew I wouldn't be around to see you become the man you are destined to be. INT. GOHAN'S COTTAGE The young boy finds an absolutely gorgeous sphere with a star on it. It glows an alien yellow light. (V.O.) GRANDPA GOHAN Find out what brought you here, to me, to the world. You cannot stop searching, you cannot stop fighting, Goku. I know you will find your purpose. EXT. GOHAN'S COTTAGE A teenage girl creeps up around the house to an opening in the back, discovering young Goku blissfully asleep in a hammock. (V.O.) GRANDPA GOHAN I know you are not of this planet. I can see it in your eyes. INT. COTTAGE Goku falling out of the hammock, the intruder having startled him. He quickly gets to his feet and on guard to fight. The girl is not even remotely intimidated. She pats him on the head and offers a smile. GIRL Hi...I'm Bulma. EXT. BATTLEFIELD An enormous fleet of tanks and expendable men, adorned with Red Ribbons, and a logo that simply reads "RR" (V.O.) GRANDPA GOHAN Do not forget me, Goku. I have not forgotten you. REALLY FAST PACED MONTAGE OF SCENES like Goku punching people and Bulma taking a sexy shower and Yamcha and Bulma having sex. Goku training with a little bald kid. An old man with a turtleshell strapped to his back. Violence and sex and fighting and blood. Loud, pulsing music. Then it gets real quiet. Cut to black. Fade in, rising shot of Goku. (V.O.) GRANDPA GOHAN You must never forget...the ones that you love. GOKU GRABS HIS HUGE STAFF AND LAUNCHES HIMSELF AT THE ARMY, FUCKING EVERYTHING UP DOOMDOOM THIS SUMMER DOOMDOOM DRAGONBALL
	[WP] The gritty realistic R-rated movie adaption of your favourite show as a kid.	The walls are dull and grey they seem to simmer sightly when illuminated by the bright florescent light overhead. There are brown oak chairs, a large table in the center of the room, water glasses half full. This would be a rather unremarkable conference room if it wasn't for the director of the FBI, CIA, and several other high ranking members of homeland security silently sitting before me. I can faintly hear the security and military personal scrambling through the hallways, we are at Defcon 2. They may seem calm or stern but I can see fear and worry in their eyes. My partner clicks the computer to begin the slideshow. "Ladys and Gentlemen at about 9:23 pm a week ago today a disease research facility in Washington state was attacked. Of the 15 researchers, 27 guards, and 34 other staff members on call at that time only one survived." The slide changes to an id photo of one of guards. He is a Latino man in his late twenties. The slide clicks once more to show the same man in the hospital. The side of his face that was torn off is covered in bandages. His jaw is dislocated and the good side of face is purple and black from internal bleeding. The table in front of me recoils in disgust. "This man Derrick Parèze barely survived the attack. He was in a coma for almost 4 days, sustained heavy organ damage, and lost two limbs and an Eye. When I met with him for his account of the events that had transpired that night he told me quite a vivid imaginative tale. A tale so odd, abnormal, and unreal I should have dismissed it as lunacy from head trauma." I pause. " He told me that he was at the guard shack and it was just a normal night until he heard his partners head cave in. After dragging the corpse back inside in the vain attempt at reviving the man he noticed a baseball lodged in the mans forehead. Then every guard outside began to scream in agony as they were assaulted with a variety of unconventional weaponry. He saw one guard electrocuted by power cord whip, another had her arm cleaved by a giant rubber band, and one unfortunate sole was melted by a high pressure stream of acid. Then in all the chaos and confusion the door a small masked figure enter the door. The last thing Derrick saw was a rabid skunk launched toward him by an unwieldy slingshot." I pause to take a drink of water. "But oddly enough this story is supported by our forensics.” The slide changes once more to reveal the carnage on the ground. Caved in heads, mangled corpses, all damage caused obviously by unconventional weaponry. The slide cuts once more to some projectiles found including a gore covered base ball. “Your saying that a security unit of highly trained men were killed by hooligans with potato guns and slingshots!” Shouts the CIA director in disbelief. “I am not saying that, the evidence in front of you perfectly shows that.” “You have finger prints DNA something right from all that evidence, right?” Asks the FBI director. “Unfortunately no. The DNA and finger prints on the various projectiles were to mixed with the DNA of the assailants or was washed away in the rainstorm that followed." I calmly take another sip of water. I look into the terrified eyes of the crowed board room. “So were fighting an unknown enemy that now has the potential to make a stockpile of hundreds of different types of bio weapons?” A general barks. His face is red and he is the most exasperated of the crowd. I chuckle a little bit. “Thats the odd thing they only took one pathogen with them.” “Which one anthrax, smallpox, ebola?” "No a little known virus called Endopoxmajor. Its a quite an interesting virus. Similar to ebola it can only spread through fluids or direct contact. Once inside the body it primarily attacks hormonal and immune cells in the endocrine system. The process is slow taking a couple of months but one by one necessary bodily function fail usually causing a slow agonizing death. It has 95% chance of fatality among its victims. The other five percent have severe hormonal medial conditions and permanently atrophied muscles, and more unfortunately remain carriers their whole life. With long incubation period of the virus, we could have several unaware infected walking the streets as we speak.” “There must be a vaccine!” Shouts the Director of the DEA. “No however almost 19.4% percent of the population is immune. The virus only attacks a developed or developing endocrine systems during puberty meaning that most people under the age of thirteen are completely immune.” “So they chose the virus that doesn’t kill kids? If there willing to kill close to 80% of the population what do kids matter to them.” The CIA director replies back. “You see director were fighting a new kind of enemy. One of the most disturbing in our history. My suggested course of action will shock you but it is a necessary evil. This new enemy could be anywhere. In our neighborhoods, in our schools, and possibly even in your very home. They go by the code name: Kids Next Door."	EXT. MOUNTAIN VILLAGE - MORNING BIRDSEYE SHOT An old man walking through the vast nature he lives in. Leaves and grass and stone. The breeze, the sky dotted with stars... moonlight through the foliage. CLOSER SHOT On the old man's back is an infant boy, swaddled in blankets, sucking his thumb. The old man gets to a more open area, with less trees. The full moon shines down on the baby, who cannot help but look up at what he does not yet know. His eyes change. CUT TO BLACK THE BOY IS NOW A GIANT FUCKING APE, ATTACKING THIS POOR OLD MAN. IT PICKS HIM UP LIKE A FEATHER, HOLDING HIM UP TO LOOK AT HIM LIKE A CHILD EXAMINES A BUG. CUT TO BLACK With a toss, a hammerfist and a godlike roar, the ape reduces the man to a mere plaything, a ragdoll. He dies a horrible death at the hands of this colossal monkey. CUT TO BLACK FADE IN TOP-DOWN CLOSEUP ON CRYING BABY LYING ON THE GROUND IN THE EARLY MORNING, SLOWLY ZOOMING OUT TO SHOW HE IS A FEW YARDS AWAY FROM THE DECEASED OLD MAN, WHO IS FACE DOWN IN HIS OWN BLOOD. (V.O.) GRANDPA GOHAN I always knew you would be great, Goku. EXT. VILLAGE - YEARS LATER A young boy cuts down trees with his bare hands. He leaps and runs and does cool flips and parkour and shit. (V.O.) GRANDPA GOHAN I knew I wouldn't be around to see you become the man you are destined to be. INT. GOHAN'S COTTAGE The young boy finds an absolutely gorgeous sphere with a star on it. It glows an alien yellow light. (V.O.) GRANDPA GOHAN Find out what brought you here, to me, to the world. You cannot stop searching, you cannot stop fighting, Goku. I know you will find your purpose. EXT. GOHAN'S COTTAGE A teenage girl creeps up around the house to an opening in the back, discovering young Goku blissfully asleep in a hammock. (V.O.) GRANDPA GOHAN I know you are not of this planet. I can see it in your eyes. INT. COTTAGE Goku falling out of the hammock, the intruder having startled him. He quickly gets to his feet and on guard to fight. The girl is not even remotely intimidated. She pats him on the head and offers a smile. GIRL Hi...I'm Bulma. EXT. BATTLEFIELD An enormous fleet of tanks and expendable men, adorned with Red Ribbons, and a logo that simply reads "RR" (V.O.) GRANDPA GOHAN Do not forget me, Goku. I have not forgotten you. REALLY FAST PACED MONTAGE OF SCENES like Goku punching people and Bulma taking a sexy shower and Yamcha and Bulma having sex. Goku training with a little bald kid. An old man with a turtleshell strapped to his back. Violence and sex and fighting and blood. Loud, pulsing music. Then it gets real quiet. Cut to black. Fade in, rising shot of Goku. (V.O.) GRANDPA GOHAN You must never forget...the ones that you love. GOKU GRABS HIS HUGE STAFF AND LAUNCHES HIMSELF AT THE ARMY, FUCKING EVERYTHING UP DOOMDOOM THIS SUMMER DOOMDOOM DRAGONBALL
	[WP] The gritty realistic R-rated movie adaption of your favourite show as a kid.	She's been up there, alone, for so long, ever since her fiance was shipped off to war to lose his life to a cause that wasn't his own. All she wanted was loyalty, love and pride, those three simple things where what drove her to madness. The house itself was nothing special and from the outside looked like a quaint little getaway, with a blossoming garden and small gravel path leading to the cottage style archway. To anyone walking past it looked like somewhere one could hang his hat, but in the basement something inhuman was lurking. After months of grieving the woman decided she needed to move on, the despair she felt by being left by her fiance was one she never wanted again, feeling like she had to give what love she had left in to her to something the work began. It all started out very innocent in trying to create a companion for someone who had lost so much, but the more experiments that failed, the more sinister her work started to become. It was her last try, she couldn't deal with the disappointment anymore, with the last few stitches done and everything wired up she decided it was time to flick the switch, she began to pray, asking for god to give her a second chance to love, her hand grasped firmly on the level she pulled down hard, clicking in into place while saying the final amen. She looked on, smiling, leaning over the stacks of equipment like a small girl glaring at puppies in a kennel, after the initial excitement passed she thought it had been another failure. But then the creature began to make a noises, like the start of a kitten purr, soft and delicate, but soon that changed to a sound like no other, a whining of pain on the highest level, It dawned on her what she had done. In a quest for happiness she'd created an abomination of both man and god, she began to despise what she'd made and hated what she's become. Now knowing she would never be able to love this thing and nothing could ever replace the love she lost, she started to cry. She put a blanket over the beast which was still whelping and went upstairs into the kitchen. She didn't have it in her to kill the thing but she knew it wouldn't live much longer. On the table was a large carving knife, the light shinning off the blade, almost calling to her like a siren at sea, she walked over to it and grabbed it by the handle. She looked at herself on the mirror like knife and saw her tearful eyes, she was a shell of a woman and with one swift movement there was only minutes left to live. Blood began pooling on the floor, the crimson spill began seeping through the floorboards and landing on the creature below. This slow dripping began to wake the monstrosity of man, a horrible thing that would never have a place in society and would be ridiculed for its creation, alone in the world, was a little CATDOG.	A masked man awakes in the desert with no memory. The only thoughts that fill is large head, are those of the city. Disgusted with the recent crime spree he decides to take vigilante justice into his own big blue hands. Coming this summer: The Tick: Big Blue Destiny. Staring: Patrick Warburton Music by: Spoon Rated – R : For graphic violence, offensive language and graphic Sex (Bat Manuel).
	[WP] The gritty realistic R-rated movie adaption of your favourite show as a kid.	The walls are dull and grey they seem to simmer sightly when illuminated by the bright florescent light overhead. There are brown oak chairs, a large table in the center of the room, water glasses half full. This would be a rather unremarkable conference room if it wasn't for the director of the FBI, CIA, and several other high ranking members of homeland security silently sitting before me. I can faintly hear the security and military personal scrambling through the hallways, we are at Defcon 2. They may seem calm or stern but I can see fear and worry in their eyes. My partner clicks the computer to begin the slideshow. "Ladys and Gentlemen at about 9:23 pm a week ago today a disease research facility in Washington state was attacked. Of the 15 researchers, 27 guards, and 34 other staff members on call at that time only one survived." The slide changes to an id photo of one of guards. He is a Latino man in his late twenties. The slide clicks once more to show the same man in the hospital. The side of his face that was torn off is covered in bandages. His jaw is dislocated and the good side of face is purple and black from internal bleeding. The table in front of me recoils in disgust. "This man Derrick Parèze barely survived the attack. He was in a coma for almost 4 days, sustained heavy organ damage, and lost two limbs and an Eye. When I met with him for his account of the events that had transpired that night he told me quite a vivid imaginative tale. A tale so odd, abnormal, and unreal I should have dismissed it as lunacy from head trauma." I pause. " He told me that he was at the guard shack and it was just a normal night until he heard his partners head cave in. After dragging the corpse back inside in the vain attempt at reviving the man he noticed a baseball lodged in the mans forehead. Then every guard outside began to scream in agony as they were assaulted with a variety of unconventional weaponry. He saw one guard electrocuted by power cord whip, another had her arm cleaved by a giant rubber band, and one unfortunate sole was melted by a high pressure stream of acid. Then in all the chaos and confusion the door a small masked figure enter the door. The last thing Derrick saw was a rabid skunk launched toward him by an unwieldy slingshot." I pause to take a drink of water. "But oddly enough this story is supported by our forensics.” The slide changes once more to reveal the carnage on the ground. Caved in heads, mangled corpses, all damage caused obviously by unconventional weaponry. The slide cuts once more to some projectiles found including a gore covered base ball. “Your saying that a security unit of highly trained men were killed by hooligans with potato guns and slingshots!” Shouts the CIA director in disbelief. “I am not saying that, the evidence in front of you perfectly shows that.” “You have finger prints DNA something right from all that evidence, right?” Asks the FBI director. “Unfortunately no. The DNA and finger prints on the various projectiles were to mixed with the DNA of the assailants or was washed away in the rainstorm that followed." I calmly take another sip of water. I look into the terrified eyes of the crowed board room. “So were fighting an unknown enemy that now has the potential to make a stockpile of hundreds of different types of bio weapons?” A general barks. His face is red and he is the most exasperated of the crowd. I chuckle a little bit. “Thats the odd thing they only took one pathogen with them.” “Which one anthrax, smallpox, ebola?” "No a little known virus called Endopoxmajor. Its a quite an interesting virus. Similar to ebola it can only spread through fluids or direct contact. Once inside the body it primarily attacks hormonal and immune cells in the endocrine system. The process is slow taking a couple of months but one by one necessary bodily function fail usually causing a slow agonizing death. It has 95% chance of fatality among its victims. The other five percent have severe hormonal medial conditions and permanently atrophied muscles, and more unfortunately remain carriers their whole life. With long incubation period of the virus, we could have several unaware infected walking the streets as we speak.” “There must be a vaccine!” Shouts the Director of the DEA. “No however almost 19.4% percent of the population is immune. The virus only attacks a developed or developing endocrine systems during puberty meaning that most people under the age of thirteen are completely immune.” “So they chose the virus that doesn’t kill kids? If there willing to kill close to 80% of the population what do kids matter to them.” The CIA director replies back. “You see director were fighting a new kind of enemy. One of the most disturbing in our history. My suggested course of action will shock you but it is a necessary evil. This new enemy could be anywhere. In our neighborhoods, in our schools, and possibly even in your very home. They go by the code name: Kids Next Door."	A masked man awakes in the desert with no memory. The only thoughts that fill is large head, are those of the city. Disgusted with the recent crime spree he decides to take vigilante justice into his own big blue hands. Coming this summer: The Tick: Big Blue Destiny. Staring: Patrick Warburton Music by: Spoon Rated – R : For graphic violence, offensive language and graphic Sex (Bat Manuel).
	[WP] The gritty realistic R-rated movie adaption of your favourite show as a kid.	We've been trapped on this Island for nearly a month, my brother and I. We were the lucky ones. Most of the people on the plane were lost to the sea. The remaining twelve all washed up on this secluded island. No one knew we were here. No communication with the outside world. I was lucky enough to have David with me. He used to love camping and hiking and would often do so in tropical areas -- we'd grown up in Florida, he could never get away. The others... The others on the island, we'd only see on a full moon. When we were summoned. We can't control him being in our heads, but when Olmec speaks... with the chance to leave the Island by surviving his temple of traps and death... well... the Giant Stone bastard puts it best, "The choices are yours, and yours alone! Who's going first?"	A masked man awakes in the desert with no memory. The only thoughts that fill is large head, are those of the city. Disgusted with the recent crime spree he decides to take vigilante justice into his own big blue hands. Coming this summer: The Tick: Big Blue Destiny. Staring: Patrick Warburton Music by: Spoon Rated – R : For graphic violence, offensive language and graphic Sex (Bat Manuel).
	[WP] The gritty realistic R-rated movie adaption of your favourite show as a kid.	"Please," he whispered, every breath feeling like it engulfed his lungs in flame. "I can't take anymore." The smile from the shadows grew wider, no longer amused but threatening. In his hands he held another syringe, though it was empty for the moment. "Oh, I'm sorry Carl. But you keep skewing the results of the experiments. You know I can't have that. Fortunately this next solution should permanently fry the nerve endings on your skin. So you better hold still if you know what's good for you. After all, I don't want to give Sheen another companion to play with." Carl looked over at the cage on the other side of the room, shivering once his eyes connected with the inhuman gaze coming from the animal that was one his friend. Though he knew he could say the same thing as he looked back over at the man in the lab coat. He now held the syringe filled to the brim with a strange liquid. "Oh, my scapula..." he whispered, shutting his eyes as tightly as he could to await the pain from Jimmy Neutron's needle.	A masked man awakes in the desert with no memory. The only thoughts that fill is large head, are those of the city. Disgusted with the recent crime spree he decides to take vigilante justice into his own big blue hands. Coming this summer: The Tick: Big Blue Destiny. Staring: Patrick Warburton Music by: Spoon Rated – R : For graphic violence, offensive language and graphic Sex (Bat Manuel).
	[WP] The gritty realistic R-rated movie adaption of your favourite show as a kid.	She was running down the halls. "Ha Ha" a voice laughed down the hall. "There's the exit, if I could just get there" Suddenly the floor gave out underneath her, and she broke her legs when she hit the ground. "Ha Ha" The voiced cackled again A large, bloody mouse emerged from the shadows, knife in hand "Ha Ha" Mickey, in theaters this summer Rated R	A masked man awakes in the desert with no memory. The only thoughts that fill is large head, are those of the city. Disgusted with the recent crime spree he decides to take vigilante justice into his own big blue hands. Coming this summer: The Tick: Big Blue Destiny. Staring: Patrick Warburton Music by: Spoon Rated – R : For graphic violence, offensive language and graphic Sex (Bat Manuel).
	[WP] The gritty realistic R-rated movie adaption of your favourite show as a kid.	Fade in on a boy, beat to hell and bleeding from a head wound, stumbling up a hill. He can’t be older than 10. He’s gripping a tattered baseball cap in one hand and clutches his side with the other. He trips, cries out in pain and drops the hat. The wind catches the red hat and it gets carried off into the smoke and dust. He bites his hand to keep from crying out. He draws blood. He reaches out toward the vanishing hat, tears streaming down his face. Suddenly the red hat, after vanishing completely, seem to circle back. The boy pauses. Then jumps in alarm and scrambles for something on his belt. A bird with a ten foot wing span and claws like meat hooks swoops down at the boy- the boy ducks. The bird racks its talons along his back, eliciting a scream from the boy. Overhead, the demonic bird circles around for another attack. Close up on the boy, climbing forward, snatching the red hat off the ground. Close up on the hat being jammed onto the boys hat, brim facing forward. He pulls the brim around to face his back. Pan out to show his eyes, gleaming with a new ferocity. In his hand half cocked hand rests a half red, half white sphere. The bird, a fearow, screeches above. The boy’s shout sounds of primal rage. He throws the pokeball, it blossoms with a crack of blue light. Fade to black. White text fades in. “Gotta catch ‘em all…”	A masked man awakes in the desert with no memory. The only thoughts that fill is large head, are those of the city. Disgusted with the recent crime spree he decides to take vigilante justice into his own big blue hands. Coming this summer: The Tick: Big Blue Destiny. Staring: Patrick Warburton Music by: Spoon Rated – R : For graphic violence, offensive language and graphic Sex (Bat Manuel).
	[WP] The gritty realistic R-rated movie adaption of your favourite show as a kid.	“Oh Jesus…” Henry uttered before vomiting into a nearby bush. “You’re still green, rook. Trust me, you get used to it” The two men stared down at the shredded remains of what Chuck believed to be a fallen Clefairy. With a pair of forceps he kept in his front pocket, Chuck reached down and grasped a chunk of charred pink flesh still smoking to inspect it. “This was definitely an electric attack. Judging from the radius and intensity of the blast, I’d say this was the product of a Thunderbolt.” Henry’s eyes grew wide, “You don’t think…” “I do think, asshole! I think all the time!” Henry looked puzzled. "Uh.. no, I mean-" “In fact, right now I’m thinking we’re hot on the trail of El Asesino himself. Ash fucking "don't mind if I do" Ketchum.”	A masked man awakes in the desert with no memory. The only thoughts that fill is large head, are those of the city. Disgusted with the recent crime spree he decides to take vigilante justice into his own big blue hands. Coming this summer: The Tick: Big Blue Destiny. Staring: Patrick Warburton Music by: Spoon Rated – R : For graphic violence, offensive language and graphic Sex (Bat Manuel).
	[WP] The gritty realistic R-rated movie adaption of your favourite show as a kid.	He thought he was done. After thirty years of madness fighting crime on the streets, he was finally able to lay down his badge, and looked forward to a quiet retirement. He thought he was finally out for good. But they wouldn't let him rest. They went after his family, and now he's going to make them pay. "If you're looking for ransom, I can tell you that I don't have any money. What I do have is a particular set of gadgets. Gadgets implanted in my body over a long career. Gadgets that make me a nightmare for people like you. Return my niece now, and that will be the end of it. I won't come looking for you. If you don't, I will look for you. I will find you, and I will go-go kill you." This summer, one retired cop returns for one last caper, and this time, it's personal. "Where's Penny?" "You think you can make me talk? You're a joke, a washed-up publicity stunt." "That was a long time ago. Things have changed. Go-go gadget blow torch." Come see your favorite detective like you've never seen him before. This summer, Jeff Goldblum is.... Inspector Gadget.	A masked man awakes in the desert with no memory. The only thoughts that fill is large head, are those of the city. Disgusted with the recent crime spree he decides to take vigilante justice into his own big blue hands. Coming this summer: The Tick: Big Blue Destiny. Staring: Patrick Warburton Music by: Spoon Rated – R : For graphic violence, offensive language and graphic Sex (Bat Manuel).
	[WP] The gritty realistic R-rated movie adaption of your favourite show as a kid.	She's been up there, alone, for so long, ever since her fiance was shipped off to war to lose his life to a cause that wasn't his own. All she wanted was loyalty, love and pride, those three simple things where what drove her to madness. The house itself was nothing special and from the outside looked like a quaint little getaway, with a blossoming garden and small gravel path leading to the cottage style archway. To anyone walking past it looked like somewhere one could hang his hat, but in the basement something inhuman was lurking. After months of grieving the woman decided she needed to move on, the despair she felt by being left by her fiance was one she never wanted again, feeling like she had to give what love she had left in to her to something the work began. It all started out very innocent in trying to create a companion for someone who had lost so much, but the more experiments that failed, the more sinister her work started to become. It was her last try, she couldn't deal with the disappointment anymore, with the last few stitches done and everything wired up she decided it was time to flick the switch, she began to pray, asking for god to give her a second chance to love, her hand grasped firmly on the level she pulled down hard, clicking in into place while saying the final amen. She looked on, smiling, leaning over the stacks of equipment like a small girl glaring at puppies in a kennel, after the initial excitement passed she thought it had been another failure. But then the creature began to make a noises, like the start of a kitten purr, soft and delicate, but soon that changed to a sound like no other, a whining of pain on the highest level, It dawned on her what she had done. In a quest for happiness she'd created an abomination of both man and god, she began to despise what she'd made and hated what she's become. Now knowing she would never be able to love this thing and nothing could ever replace the love she lost, she started to cry. She put a blanket over the beast which was still whelping and went upstairs into the kitchen. She didn't have it in her to kill the thing but she knew it wouldn't live much longer. On the table was a large carving knife, the light shinning off the blade, almost calling to her like a siren at sea, she walked over to it and grabbed it by the handle. She looked at herself on the mirror like knife and saw her tearful eyes, she was a shell of a woman and with one swift movement there was only minutes left to live. Blood began pooling on the floor, the crimson spill began seeping through the floorboards and landing on the creature below. This slow dripping began to wake the monstrosity of man, a horrible thing that would never have a place in society and would be ridiculed for its creation, alone in the world, was a little CATDOG.	"Come here, Max," Emmy shouted. Max ran hurriedly down the hall and into the room where Emmy was waiting. "Are you ready?" Emmy asked. "I don't know if I could wait another second!" Max whispered, his voice quivering with excitement. As Emmy held out the dragon scale, Max reached his tiny hand out to grasp it alongside her. I wonder what we'll see this time, he thought, his mind bursting with possibilities. "I wish, I wish, with all my heart," they began in unison, "to fly with dragons in a land--" Just as the children arrived at the last word, they felt a strange, sharp pain shooting up from the dragon scale. "Emmy," Max said fearfully, his voice quivering for an entirely new reason, "what's going on?" He tried his hardest to loosen his grip on the scale, but his hand would not come free. The scale grew hotter and hotter, but still the children could not remove their hands. All at once, it burst into a white ball of flames, propelling both children backwards and hurling Emmy into the wall behind her. "Emmy!" Max shouted as he raced to her side. "Emmy, get up!" Max grabbed his sister by her shoulders, his small hands barely able to grasp her lifeless body. He shook and shook, but his sister did not stir. As Max sobbed over his sister's lifeless body, he heard a deep rumbling from the opposite corner of the room. Max turned around to investigate the source of the noise, and at that moment his adrenaline-induced panic evolved into a crippling fear. "Hello, Max," Ord said, his mouth curving into a villainous grin. "I thought that since you've come to visit us so many times, we might just come and say hello as well." "We?" Max questioned, seeing only one dragon. "Yes, we," Ord whispered. At the moment he finished his sentence, the dragon scale, now lying motionless on the ground, burst into flame once more as Cassie, Zak and Wheezie, and Quetzal spouted out of the fire. "Why hello, Max!" Cassie said. "Yes, hello!" Quetzal said, his voice much more frightening than usual. Before Max could say anything in response to his unexpected guests, Ord lunged towards the wall where Emmy laid, shooting a small burst of flame towards the girl's motionless body. "EMMY!" Max shouted, but it was already too late. In one fast motion, the dragon gripped Emmy's waist with his razor-sharp teeth and ripped her legs clean off as a pool of blood formed around her severed torso. Ord tossed Emmy's legs one by one up into the air, spraying more flames onto the limbs before they landed in his open mouth. Max stared, mouth agape, at the remains of his sister, wondering why on earth these dragons he befriended would ever commit such an atrocity. His mind flashed to the fond memories he had of Ord, the countless hours he had spent with Zak and Wheezie, and the valuable lessons he'd learned from Quetzal, but before he could reminisce any further, he knew he needed to spring into action. Max leapt up from his spot in the corner where he had been cowering and quickly darted out the door and down the hallway, shouting for help. But just as Max reached the front door, he heard a loud crash as Quetzal thundered through the bedroom wall and into the hallway. "Don't run, boy. You will only make it worse."
	[WP] The gritty realistic R-rated movie adaption of your favourite show as a kid.	The walls are dull and grey they seem to simmer sightly when illuminated by the bright florescent light overhead. There are brown oak chairs, a large table in the center of the room, water glasses half full. This would be a rather unremarkable conference room if it wasn't for the director of the FBI, CIA, and several other high ranking members of homeland security silently sitting before me. I can faintly hear the security and military personal scrambling through the hallways, we are at Defcon 2. They may seem calm or stern but I can see fear and worry in their eyes. My partner clicks the computer to begin the slideshow. "Ladys and Gentlemen at about 9:23 pm a week ago today a disease research facility in Washington state was attacked. Of the 15 researchers, 27 guards, and 34 other staff members on call at that time only one survived." The slide changes to an id photo of one of guards. He is a Latino man in his late twenties. The slide clicks once more to show the same man in the hospital. The side of his face that was torn off is covered in bandages. His jaw is dislocated and the good side of face is purple and black from internal bleeding. The table in front of me recoils in disgust. "This man Derrick Parèze barely survived the attack. He was in a coma for almost 4 days, sustained heavy organ damage, and lost two limbs and an Eye. When I met with him for his account of the events that had transpired that night he told me quite a vivid imaginative tale. A tale so odd, abnormal, and unreal I should have dismissed it as lunacy from head trauma." I pause. " He told me that he was at the guard shack and it was just a normal night until he heard his partners head cave in. After dragging the corpse back inside in the vain attempt at reviving the man he noticed a baseball lodged in the mans forehead. Then every guard outside began to scream in agony as they were assaulted with a variety of unconventional weaponry. He saw one guard electrocuted by power cord whip, another had her arm cleaved by a giant rubber band, and one unfortunate sole was melted by a high pressure stream of acid. Then in all the chaos and confusion the door a small masked figure enter the door. The last thing Derrick saw was a rabid skunk launched toward him by an unwieldy slingshot." I pause to take a drink of water. "But oddly enough this story is supported by our forensics.” The slide changes once more to reveal the carnage on the ground. Caved in heads, mangled corpses, all damage caused obviously by unconventional weaponry. The slide cuts once more to some projectiles found including a gore covered base ball. “Your saying that a security unit of highly trained men were killed by hooligans with potato guns and slingshots!” Shouts the CIA director in disbelief. “I am not saying that, the evidence in front of you perfectly shows that.” “You have finger prints DNA something right from all that evidence, right?” Asks the FBI director. “Unfortunately no. The DNA and finger prints on the various projectiles were to mixed with the DNA of the assailants or was washed away in the rainstorm that followed." I calmly take another sip of water. I look into the terrified eyes of the crowed board room. “So were fighting an unknown enemy that now has the potential to make a stockpile of hundreds of different types of bio weapons?” A general barks. His face is red and he is the most exasperated of the crowd. I chuckle a little bit. “Thats the odd thing they only took one pathogen with them.” “Which one anthrax, smallpox, ebola?” "No a little known virus called Endopoxmajor. Its a quite an interesting virus. Similar to ebola it can only spread through fluids or direct contact. Once inside the body it primarily attacks hormonal and immune cells in the endocrine system. The process is slow taking a couple of months but one by one necessary bodily function fail usually causing a slow agonizing death. It has 95% chance of fatality among its victims. The other five percent have severe hormonal medial conditions and permanently atrophied muscles, and more unfortunately remain carriers their whole life. With long incubation period of the virus, we could have several unaware infected walking the streets as we speak.” “There must be a vaccine!” Shouts the Director of the DEA. “No however almost 19.4% percent of the population is immune. The virus only attacks a developed or developing endocrine systems during puberty meaning that most people under the age of thirteen are completely immune.” “So they chose the virus that doesn’t kill kids? If there willing to kill close to 80% of the population what do kids matter to them.” The CIA director replies back. “You see director were fighting a new kind of enemy. One of the most disturbing in our history. My suggested course of action will shock you but it is a necessary evil. This new enemy could be anywhere. In our neighborhoods, in our schools, and possibly even in your very home. They go by the code name: Kids Next Door."	"Come here, Max," Emmy shouted. Max ran hurriedly down the hall and into the room where Emmy was waiting. "Are you ready?" Emmy asked. "I don't know if I could wait another second!" Max whispered, his voice quivering with excitement. As Emmy held out the dragon scale, Max reached his tiny hand out to grasp it alongside her. I wonder what we'll see this time, he thought, his mind bursting with possibilities. "I wish, I wish, with all my heart," they began in unison, "to fly with dragons in a land--" Just as the children arrived at the last word, they felt a strange, sharp pain shooting up from the dragon scale. "Emmy," Max said fearfully, his voice quivering for an entirely new reason, "what's going on?" He tried his hardest to loosen his grip on the scale, but his hand would not come free. The scale grew hotter and hotter, but still the children could not remove their hands. All at once, it burst into a white ball of flames, propelling both children backwards and hurling Emmy into the wall behind her. "Emmy!" Max shouted as he raced to her side. "Emmy, get up!" Max grabbed his sister by her shoulders, his small hands barely able to grasp her lifeless body. He shook and shook, but his sister did not stir. As Max sobbed over his sister's lifeless body, he heard a deep rumbling from the opposite corner of the room. Max turned around to investigate the source of the noise, and at that moment his adrenaline-induced panic evolved into a crippling fear. "Hello, Max," Ord said, his mouth curving into a villainous grin. "I thought that since you've come to visit us so many times, we might just come and say hello as well." "We?" Max questioned, seeing only one dragon. "Yes, we," Ord whispered. At the moment he finished his sentence, the dragon scale, now lying motionless on the ground, burst into flame once more as Cassie, Zak and Wheezie, and Quetzal spouted out of the fire. "Why hello, Max!" Cassie said. "Yes, hello!" Quetzal said, his voice much more frightening than usual. Before Max could say anything in response to his unexpected guests, Ord lunged towards the wall where Emmy laid, shooting a small burst of flame towards the girl's motionless body. "EMMY!" Max shouted, but it was already too late. In one fast motion, the dragon gripped Emmy's waist with his razor-sharp teeth and ripped her legs clean off as a pool of blood formed around her severed torso. Ord tossed Emmy's legs one by one up into the air, spraying more flames onto the limbs before they landed in his open mouth. Max stared, mouth agape, at the remains of his sister, wondering why on earth these dragons he befriended would ever commit such an atrocity. His mind flashed to the fond memories he had of Ord, the countless hours he had spent with Zak and Wheezie, and the valuable lessons he'd learned from Quetzal, but before he could reminisce any further, he knew he needed to spring into action. Max leapt up from his spot in the corner where he had been cowering and quickly darted out the door and down the hallway, shouting for help. But just as Max reached the front door, he heard a loud crash as Quetzal thundered through the bedroom wall and into the hallway. "Don't run, boy. You will only make it worse."
	[WP] The gritty realistic R-rated movie adaption of your favourite show as a kid.	We've been trapped on this Island for nearly a month, my brother and I. We were the lucky ones. Most of the people on the plane were lost to the sea. The remaining twelve all washed up on this secluded island. No one knew we were here. No communication with the outside world. I was lucky enough to have David with me. He used to love camping and hiking and would often do so in tropical areas -- we'd grown up in Florida, he could never get away. The others... The others on the island, we'd only see on a full moon. When we were summoned. We can't control him being in our heads, but when Olmec speaks... with the chance to leave the Island by surviving his temple of traps and death... well... the Giant Stone bastard puts it best, "The choices are yours, and yours alone! Who's going first?"	"Come here, Max," Emmy shouted. Max ran hurriedly down the hall and into the room where Emmy was waiting. "Are you ready?" Emmy asked. "I don't know if I could wait another second!" Max whispered, his voice quivering with excitement. As Emmy held out the dragon scale, Max reached his tiny hand out to grasp it alongside her. I wonder what we'll see this time, he thought, his mind bursting with possibilities. "I wish, I wish, with all my heart," they began in unison, "to fly with dragons in a land--" Just as the children arrived at the last word, they felt a strange, sharp pain shooting up from the dragon scale. "Emmy," Max said fearfully, his voice quivering for an entirely new reason, "what's going on?" He tried his hardest to loosen his grip on the scale, but his hand would not come free. The scale grew hotter and hotter, but still the children could not remove their hands. All at once, it burst into a white ball of flames, propelling both children backwards and hurling Emmy into the wall behind her. "Emmy!" Max shouted as he raced to her side. "Emmy, get up!" Max grabbed his sister by her shoulders, his small hands barely able to grasp her lifeless body. He shook and shook, but his sister did not stir. As Max sobbed over his sister's lifeless body, he heard a deep rumbling from the opposite corner of the room. Max turned around to investigate the source of the noise, and at that moment his adrenaline-induced panic evolved into a crippling fear. "Hello, Max," Ord said, his mouth curving into a villainous grin. "I thought that since you've come to visit us so many times, we might just come and say hello as well." "We?" Max questioned, seeing only one dragon. "Yes, we," Ord whispered. At the moment he finished his sentence, the dragon scale, now lying motionless on the ground, burst into flame once more as Cassie, Zak and Wheezie, and Quetzal spouted out of the fire. "Why hello, Max!" Cassie said. "Yes, hello!" Quetzal said, his voice much more frightening than usual. Before Max could say anything in response to his unexpected guests, Ord lunged towards the wall where Emmy laid, shooting a small burst of flame towards the girl's motionless body. "EMMY!" Max shouted, but it was already too late. In one fast motion, the dragon gripped Emmy's waist with his razor-sharp teeth and ripped her legs clean off as a pool of blood formed around her severed torso. Ord tossed Emmy's legs one by one up into the air, spraying more flames onto the limbs before they landed in his open mouth. Max stared, mouth agape, at the remains of his sister, wondering why on earth these dragons he befriended would ever commit such an atrocity. His mind flashed to the fond memories he had of Ord, the countless hours he had spent with Zak and Wheezie, and the valuable lessons he'd learned from Quetzal, but before he could reminisce any further, he knew he needed to spring into action. Max leapt up from his spot in the corner where he had been cowering and quickly darted out the door and down the hallway, shouting for help. But just as Max reached the front door, he heard a loud crash as Quetzal thundered through the bedroom wall and into the hallway. "Don't run, boy. You will only make it worse."
	[WP] The gritty realistic R-rated movie adaption of your favourite show as a kid.	"Please," he whispered, every breath feeling like it engulfed his lungs in flame. "I can't take anymore." The smile from the shadows grew wider, no longer amused but threatening. In his hands he held another syringe, though it was empty for the moment. "Oh, I'm sorry Carl. But you keep skewing the results of the experiments. You know I can't have that. Fortunately this next solution should permanently fry the nerve endings on your skin. So you better hold still if you know what's good for you. After all, I don't want to give Sheen another companion to play with." Carl looked over at the cage on the other side of the room, shivering once his eyes connected with the inhuman gaze coming from the animal that was one his friend. Though he knew he could say the same thing as he looked back over at the man in the lab coat. He now held the syringe filled to the brim with a strange liquid. "Oh, my scapula..." he whispered, shutting his eyes as tightly as he could to await the pain from Jimmy Neutron's needle.	"Come here, Max," Emmy shouted. Max ran hurriedly down the hall and into the room where Emmy was waiting. "Are you ready?" Emmy asked. "I don't know if I could wait another second!" Max whispered, his voice quivering with excitement. As Emmy held out the dragon scale, Max reached his tiny hand out to grasp it alongside her. I wonder what we'll see this time, he thought, his mind bursting with possibilities. "I wish, I wish, with all my heart," they began in unison, "to fly with dragons in a land--" Just as the children arrived at the last word, they felt a strange, sharp pain shooting up from the dragon scale. "Emmy," Max said fearfully, his voice quivering for an entirely new reason, "what's going on?" He tried his hardest to loosen his grip on the scale, but his hand would not come free. The scale grew hotter and hotter, but still the children could not remove their hands. All at once, it burst into a white ball of flames, propelling both children backwards and hurling Emmy into the wall behind her. "Emmy!" Max shouted as he raced to her side. "Emmy, get up!" Max grabbed his sister by her shoulders, his small hands barely able to grasp her lifeless body. He shook and shook, but his sister did not stir. As Max sobbed over his sister's lifeless body, he heard a deep rumbling from the opposite corner of the room. Max turned around to investigate the source of the noise, and at that moment his adrenaline-induced panic evolved into a crippling fear. "Hello, Max," Ord said, his mouth curving into a villainous grin. "I thought that since you've come to visit us so many times, we might just come and say hello as well." "We?" Max questioned, seeing only one dragon. "Yes, we," Ord whispered. At the moment he finished his sentence, the dragon scale, now lying motionless on the ground, burst into flame once more as Cassie, Zak and Wheezie, and Quetzal spouted out of the fire. "Why hello, Max!" Cassie said. "Yes, hello!" Quetzal said, his voice much more frightening than usual. Before Max could say anything in response to his unexpected guests, Ord lunged towards the wall where Emmy laid, shooting a small burst of flame towards the girl's motionless body. "EMMY!" Max shouted, but it was already too late. In one fast motion, the dragon gripped Emmy's waist with his razor-sharp teeth and ripped her legs clean off as a pool of blood formed around her severed torso. Ord tossed Emmy's legs one by one up into the air, spraying more flames onto the limbs before they landed in his open mouth. Max stared, mouth agape, at the remains of his sister, wondering why on earth these dragons he befriended would ever commit such an atrocity. His mind flashed to the fond memories he had of Ord, the countless hours he had spent with Zak and Wheezie, and the valuable lessons he'd learned from Quetzal, but before he could reminisce any further, he knew he needed to spring into action. Max leapt up from his spot in the corner where he had been cowering and quickly darted out the door and down the hallway, shouting for help. But just as Max reached the front door, he heard a loud crash as Quetzal thundered through the bedroom wall and into the hallway. "Don't run, boy. You will only make it worse."
	[WP] The gritty realistic R-rated movie adaption of your favourite show as a kid.	Fade in on a boy, beat to hell and bleeding from a head wound, stumbling up a hill. He can’t be older than 10. He’s gripping a tattered baseball cap in one hand and clutches his side with the other. He trips, cries out in pain and drops the hat. The wind catches the red hat and it gets carried off into the smoke and dust. He bites his hand to keep from crying out. He draws blood. He reaches out toward the vanishing hat, tears streaming down his face. Suddenly the red hat, after vanishing completely, seem to circle back. The boy pauses. Then jumps in alarm and scrambles for something on his belt. A bird with a ten foot wing span and claws like meat hooks swoops down at the boy- the boy ducks. The bird racks its talons along his back, eliciting a scream from the boy. Overhead, the demonic bird circles around for another attack. Close up on the boy, climbing forward, snatching the red hat off the ground. Close up on the hat being jammed onto the boys hat, brim facing forward. He pulls the brim around to face his back. Pan out to show his eyes, gleaming with a new ferocity. In his hand half cocked hand rests a half red, half white sphere. The bird, a fearow, screeches above. The boy’s shout sounds of primal rage. He throws the pokeball, it blossoms with a crack of blue light. Fade to black. White text fades in. “Gotta catch ‘em all…”	"Come here, Max," Emmy shouted. Max ran hurriedly down the hall and into the room where Emmy was waiting. "Are you ready?" Emmy asked. "I don't know if I could wait another second!" Max whispered, his voice quivering with excitement. As Emmy held out the dragon scale, Max reached his tiny hand out to grasp it alongside her. I wonder what we'll see this time, he thought, his mind bursting with possibilities. "I wish, I wish, with all my heart," they began in unison, "to fly with dragons in a land--" Just as the children arrived at the last word, they felt a strange, sharp pain shooting up from the dragon scale. "Emmy," Max said fearfully, his voice quivering for an entirely new reason, "what's going on?" He tried his hardest to loosen his grip on the scale, but his hand would not come free. The scale grew hotter and hotter, but still the children could not remove their hands. All at once, it burst into a white ball of flames, propelling both children backwards and hurling Emmy into the wall behind her. "Emmy!" Max shouted as he raced to her side. "Emmy, get up!" Max grabbed his sister by her shoulders, his small hands barely able to grasp her lifeless body. He shook and shook, but his sister did not stir. As Max sobbed over his sister's lifeless body, he heard a deep rumbling from the opposite corner of the room. Max turned around to investigate the source of the noise, and at that moment his adrenaline-induced panic evolved into a crippling fear. "Hello, Max," Ord said, his mouth curving into a villainous grin. "I thought that since you've come to visit us so many times, we might just come and say hello as well." "We?" Max questioned, seeing only one dragon. "Yes, we," Ord whispered. At the moment he finished his sentence, the dragon scale, now lying motionless on the ground, burst into flame once more as Cassie, Zak and Wheezie, and Quetzal spouted out of the fire. "Why hello, Max!" Cassie said. "Yes, hello!" Quetzal said, his voice much more frightening than usual. Before Max could say anything in response to his unexpected guests, Ord lunged towards the wall where Emmy laid, shooting a small burst of flame towards the girl's motionless body. "EMMY!" Max shouted, but it was already too late. In one fast motion, the dragon gripped Emmy's waist with his razor-sharp teeth and ripped her legs clean off as a pool of blood formed around her severed torso. Ord tossed Emmy's legs one by one up into the air, spraying more flames onto the limbs before they landed in his open mouth. Max stared, mouth agape, at the remains of his sister, wondering why on earth these dragons he befriended would ever commit such an atrocity. His mind flashed to the fond memories he had of Ord, the countless hours he had spent with Zak and Wheezie, and the valuable lessons he'd learned from Quetzal, but before he could reminisce any further, he knew he needed to spring into action. Max leapt up from his spot in the corner where he had been cowering and quickly darted out the door and down the hallway, shouting for help. But just as Max reached the front door, he heard a loud crash as Quetzal thundered through the bedroom wall and into the hallway. "Don't run, boy. You will only make it worse."
	[WP] The gritty realistic R-rated movie adaption of your favourite show as a kid.	“Oh Jesus…” Henry uttered before vomiting into a nearby bush. “You’re still green, rook. Trust me, you get used to it” The two men stared down at the shredded remains of what Chuck believed to be a fallen Clefairy. With a pair of forceps he kept in his front pocket, Chuck reached down and grasped a chunk of charred pink flesh still smoking to inspect it. “This was definitely an electric attack. Judging from the radius and intensity of the blast, I’d say this was the product of a Thunderbolt.” Henry’s eyes grew wide, “You don’t think…” “I do think, asshole! I think all the time!” Henry looked puzzled. "Uh.. no, I mean-" “In fact, right now I’m thinking we’re hot on the trail of El Asesino himself. Ash fucking "don't mind if I do" Ketchum.”	"Come here, Max," Emmy shouted. Max ran hurriedly down the hall and into the room where Emmy was waiting. "Are you ready?" Emmy asked. "I don't know if I could wait another second!" Max whispered, his voice quivering with excitement. As Emmy held out the dragon scale, Max reached his tiny hand out to grasp it alongside her. I wonder what we'll see this time, he thought, his mind bursting with possibilities. "I wish, I wish, with all my heart," they began in unison, "to fly with dragons in a land--" Just as the children arrived at the last word, they felt a strange, sharp pain shooting up from the dragon scale. "Emmy," Max said fearfully, his voice quivering for an entirely new reason, "what's going on?" He tried his hardest to loosen his grip on the scale, but his hand would not come free. The scale grew hotter and hotter, but still the children could not remove their hands. All at once, it burst into a white ball of flames, propelling both children backwards and hurling Emmy into the wall behind her. "Emmy!" Max shouted as he raced to her side. "Emmy, get up!" Max grabbed his sister by her shoulders, his small hands barely able to grasp her lifeless body. He shook and shook, but his sister did not stir. As Max sobbed over his sister's lifeless body, he heard a deep rumbling from the opposite corner of the room. Max turned around to investigate the source of the noise, and at that moment his adrenaline-induced panic evolved into a crippling fear. "Hello, Max," Ord said, his mouth curving into a villainous grin. "I thought that since you've come to visit us so many times, we might just come and say hello as well." "We?" Max questioned, seeing only one dragon. "Yes, we," Ord whispered. At the moment he finished his sentence, the dragon scale, now lying motionless on the ground, burst into flame once more as Cassie, Zak and Wheezie, and Quetzal spouted out of the fire. "Why hello, Max!" Cassie said. "Yes, hello!" Quetzal said, his voice much more frightening than usual. Before Max could say anything in response to his unexpected guests, Ord lunged towards the wall where Emmy laid, shooting a small burst of flame towards the girl's motionless body. "EMMY!" Max shouted, but it was already too late. In one fast motion, the dragon gripped Emmy's waist with his razor-sharp teeth and ripped her legs clean off as a pool of blood formed around her severed torso. Ord tossed Emmy's legs one by one up into the air, spraying more flames onto the limbs before they landed in his open mouth. Max stared, mouth agape, at the remains of his sister, wondering why on earth these dragons he befriended would ever commit such an atrocity. His mind flashed to the fond memories he had of Ord, the countless hours he had spent with Zak and Wheezie, and the valuable lessons he'd learned from Quetzal, but before he could reminisce any further, he knew he needed to spring into action. Max leapt up from his spot in the corner where he had been cowering and quickly darted out the door and down the hallway, shouting for help. But just as Max reached the front door, he heard a loud crash as Quetzal thundered through the bedroom wall and into the hallway. "Don't run, boy. You will only make it worse."
	[WP] The gritty realistic R-rated movie adaption of your favourite show as a kid.	The walls are dull and grey they seem to simmer sightly when illuminated by the bright florescent light overhead. There are brown oak chairs, a large table in the center of the room, water glasses half full. This would be a rather unremarkable conference room if it wasn't for the director of the FBI, CIA, and several other high ranking members of homeland security silently sitting before me. I can faintly hear the security and military personal scrambling through the hallways, we are at Defcon 2. They may seem calm or stern but I can see fear and worry in their eyes. My partner clicks the computer to begin the slideshow. "Ladys and Gentlemen at about 9:23 pm a week ago today a disease research facility in Washington state was attacked. Of the 15 researchers, 27 guards, and 34 other staff members on call at that time only one survived." The slide changes to an id photo of one of guards. He is a Latino man in his late twenties. The slide clicks once more to show the same man in the hospital. The side of his face that was torn off is covered in bandages. His jaw is dislocated and the good side of face is purple and black from internal bleeding. The table in front of me recoils in disgust. "This man Derrick Parèze barely survived the attack. He was in a coma for almost 4 days, sustained heavy organ damage, and lost two limbs and an Eye. When I met with him for his account of the events that had transpired that night he told me quite a vivid imaginative tale. A tale so odd, abnormal, and unreal I should have dismissed it as lunacy from head trauma." I pause. " He told me that he was at the guard shack and it was just a normal night until he heard his partners head cave in. After dragging the corpse back inside in the vain attempt at reviving the man he noticed a baseball lodged in the mans forehead. Then every guard outside began to scream in agony as they were assaulted with a variety of unconventional weaponry. He saw one guard electrocuted by power cord whip, another had her arm cleaved by a giant rubber band, and one unfortunate sole was melted by a high pressure stream of acid. Then in all the chaos and confusion the door a small masked figure enter the door. The last thing Derrick saw was a rabid skunk launched toward him by an unwieldy slingshot." I pause to take a drink of water. "But oddly enough this story is supported by our forensics.” The slide changes once more to reveal the carnage on the ground. Caved in heads, mangled corpses, all damage caused obviously by unconventional weaponry. The slide cuts once more to some projectiles found including a gore covered base ball. “Your saying that a security unit of highly trained men were killed by hooligans with potato guns and slingshots!” Shouts the CIA director in disbelief. “I am not saying that, the evidence in front of you perfectly shows that.” “You have finger prints DNA something right from all that evidence, right?” Asks the FBI director. “Unfortunately no. The DNA and finger prints on the various projectiles were to mixed with the DNA of the assailants or was washed away in the rainstorm that followed." I calmly take another sip of water. I look into the terrified eyes of the crowed board room. “So were fighting an unknown enemy that now has the potential to make a stockpile of hundreds of different types of bio weapons?” A general barks. His face is red and he is the most exasperated of the crowd. I chuckle a little bit. “Thats the odd thing they only took one pathogen with them.” “Which one anthrax, smallpox, ebola?” "No a little known virus called Endopoxmajor. Its a quite an interesting virus. Similar to ebola it can only spread through fluids or direct contact. Once inside the body it primarily attacks hormonal and immune cells in the endocrine system. The process is slow taking a couple of months but one by one necessary bodily function fail usually causing a slow agonizing death. It has 95% chance of fatality among its victims. The other five percent have severe hormonal medial conditions and permanently atrophied muscles, and more unfortunately remain carriers their whole life. With long incubation period of the virus, we could have several unaware infected walking the streets as we speak.” “There must be a vaccine!” Shouts the Director of the DEA. “No however almost 19.4% percent of the population is immune. The virus only attacks a developed or developing endocrine systems during puberty meaning that most people under the age of thirteen are completely immune.” “So they chose the virus that doesn’t kill kids? If there willing to kill close to 80% of the population what do kids matter to them.” The CIA director replies back. “You see director were fighting a new kind of enemy. One of the most disturbing in our history. My suggested course of action will shock you but it is a necessary evil. This new enemy could be anywhere. In our neighborhoods, in our schools, and possibly even in your very home. They go by the code name: Kids Next Door."	I look up, there they stand 10 meters away. A row of women and children with them to do with what they wish. They beat them as they ask for questions as some of them fight over the hottest ones. I watch as they hold an old woman, ready to slay here in front of the crowd of people that has formed. I can't sit by and watch. I go to move but both of my friends hold me back. I tell them that I need to help, but they explain if I am found it will do more harm than good. I break there grips though and push through the crowd. I don't stop walking towards them until they see me. The man who was about to execute the old woman stops, stunned. I look at his face his burnt eye looking at me. He instantly drops the woman to the ground and yells. I instantly push a column of air at him pushing him into the water. My two new friends follow, one throwing a boomerang at one of them impaling him in the chest. The girl, who is quite good looking, shoots a spear of water out the sea, see forces it to freeze and stabs three solders through the chest. I watch as the blood drips onto the freshly fallen snow. The crowd runs away going as fast as they can. Sadly some aren't fast enough. The four remaining solider fired on the crowd, and a group of kids caught fire the heat burning there body nearly instantly, 2 more caught the surrounding blast, catching fire and burning, as they frantically try and put it out. I call my pet, oppa and he smashes the remaining four. Then the girl and I push the ship away with all our bending. We stopped them now but these people won't stop won't stop till they've killed the avatar.
	[WP] The gritty realistic R-rated movie adaption of your favourite show as a kid.	We've been trapped on this Island for nearly a month, my brother and I. We were the lucky ones. Most of the people on the plane were lost to the sea. The remaining twelve all washed up on this secluded island. No one knew we were here. No communication with the outside world. I was lucky enough to have David with me. He used to love camping and hiking and would often do so in tropical areas -- we'd grown up in Florida, he could never get away. The others... The others on the island, we'd only see on a full moon. When we were summoned. We can't control him being in our heads, but when Olmec speaks... with the chance to leave the Island by surviving his temple of traps and death... well... the Giant Stone bastard puts it best, "The choices are yours, and yours alone! Who's going first?"	She's been up there, alone, for so long, ever since her fiance was shipped off to war to lose his life to a cause that wasn't his own. All she wanted was loyalty, love and pride, those three simple things where what drove her to madness. The house itself was nothing special and from the outside looked like a quaint little getaway, with a blossoming garden and small gravel path leading to the cottage style archway. To anyone walking past it looked like somewhere one could hang his hat, but in the basement something inhuman was lurking. After months of grieving the woman decided she needed to move on, the despair she felt by being left by her fiance was one she never wanted again, feeling like she had to give what love she had left in to her to something the work began. It all started out very innocent in trying to create a companion for someone who had lost so much, but the more experiments that failed, the more sinister her work started to become. It was her last try, she couldn't deal with the disappointment anymore, with the last few stitches done and everything wired up she decided it was time to flick the switch, she began to pray, asking for god to give her a second chance to love, her hand grasped firmly on the level she pulled down hard, clicking in into place while saying the final amen. She looked on, smiling, leaning over the stacks of equipment like a small girl glaring at puppies in a kennel, after the initial excitement passed she thought it had been another failure. But then the creature began to make a noises, like the start of a kitten purr, soft and delicate, but soon that changed to a sound like no other, a whining of pain on the highest level, It dawned on her what she had done. In a quest for happiness she'd created an abomination of both man and god, she began to despise what she'd made and hated what she's become. Now knowing she would never be able to love this thing and nothing could ever replace the love she lost, she started to cry. She put a blanket over the beast which was still whelping and went upstairs into the kitchen. She didn't have it in her to kill the thing but she knew it wouldn't live much longer. On the table was a large carving knife, the light shinning off the blade, almost calling to her like a siren at sea, she walked over to it and grabbed it by the handle. She looked at herself on the mirror like knife and saw her tearful eyes, she was a shell of a woman and with one swift movement there was only minutes left to live. Blood began pooling on the floor, the crimson spill began seeping through the floorboards and landing on the creature below. This slow dripping began to wake the monstrosity of man, a horrible thing that would never have a place in society and would be ridiculed for its creation, alone in the world, was a little CATDOG.
	[WP] The gritty realistic R-rated movie adaption of your favourite show as a kid.	Fade in on a boy, beat to hell and bleeding from a head wound, stumbling up a hill. He can’t be older than 10. He’s gripping a tattered baseball cap in one hand and clutches his side with the other. He trips, cries out in pain and drops the hat. The wind catches the red hat and it gets carried off into the smoke and dust. He bites his hand to keep from crying out. He draws blood. He reaches out toward the vanishing hat, tears streaming down his face. Suddenly the red hat, after vanishing completely, seem to circle back. The boy pauses. Then jumps in alarm and scrambles for something on his belt. A bird with a ten foot wing span and claws like meat hooks swoops down at the boy- the boy ducks. The bird racks its talons along his back, eliciting a scream from the boy. Overhead, the demonic bird circles around for another attack. Close up on the boy, climbing forward, snatching the red hat off the ground. Close up on the hat being jammed onto the boys hat, brim facing forward. He pulls the brim around to face his back. Pan out to show his eyes, gleaming with a new ferocity. In his hand half cocked hand rests a half red, half white sphere. The bird, a fearow, screeches above. The boy’s shout sounds of primal rage. He throws the pokeball, it blossoms with a crack of blue light. Fade to black. White text fades in. “Gotta catch ‘em all…”	She's been up there, alone, for so long, ever since her fiance was shipped off to war to lose his life to a cause that wasn't his own. All she wanted was loyalty, love and pride, those three simple things where what drove her to madness. The house itself was nothing special and from the outside looked like a quaint little getaway, with a blossoming garden and small gravel path leading to the cottage style archway. To anyone walking past it looked like somewhere one could hang his hat, but in the basement something inhuman was lurking. After months of grieving the woman decided she needed to move on, the despair she felt by being left by her fiance was one she never wanted again, feeling like she had to give what love she had left in to her to something the work began. It all started out very innocent in trying to create a companion for someone who had lost so much, but the more experiments that failed, the more sinister her work started to become. It was her last try, she couldn't deal with the disappointment anymore, with the last few stitches done and everything wired up she decided it was time to flick the switch, she began to pray, asking for god to give her a second chance to love, her hand grasped firmly on the level she pulled down hard, clicking in into place while saying the final amen. She looked on, smiling, leaning over the stacks of equipment like a small girl glaring at puppies in a kennel, after the initial excitement passed she thought it had been another failure. But then the creature began to make a noises, like the start of a kitten purr, soft and delicate, but soon that changed to a sound like no other, a whining of pain on the highest level, It dawned on her what she had done. In a quest for happiness she'd created an abomination of both man and god, she began to despise what she'd made and hated what she's become. Now knowing she would never be able to love this thing and nothing could ever replace the love she lost, she started to cry. She put a blanket over the beast which was still whelping and went upstairs into the kitchen. She didn't have it in her to kill the thing but she knew it wouldn't live much longer. On the table was a large carving knife, the light shinning off the blade, almost calling to her like a siren at sea, she walked over to it and grabbed it by the handle. She looked at herself on the mirror like knife and saw her tearful eyes, she was a shell of a woman and with one swift movement there was only minutes left to live. Blood began pooling on the floor, the crimson spill began seeping through the floorboards and landing on the creature below. This slow dripping began to wake the monstrosity of man, a horrible thing that would never have a place in society and would be ridiculed for its creation, alone in the world, was a little CATDOG.
	[WP] The gritty realistic R-rated movie adaption of your favourite show as a kid.	"Please," he whispered, every breath feeling like it engulfed his lungs in flame. "I can't take anymore." The smile from the shadows grew wider, no longer amused but threatening. In his hands he held another syringe, though it was empty for the moment. "Oh, I'm sorry Carl. But you keep skewing the results of the experiments. You know I can't have that. Fortunately this next solution should permanently fry the nerve endings on your skin. So you better hold still if you know what's good for you. After all, I don't want to give Sheen another companion to play with." Carl looked over at the cage on the other side of the room, shivering once his eyes connected with the inhuman gaze coming from the animal that was one his friend. Though he knew he could say the same thing as he looked back over at the man in the lab coat. He now held the syringe filled to the brim with a strange liquid. "Oh, my scapula..." he whispered, shutting his eyes as tightly as he could to await the pain from Jimmy Neutron's needle.	It's been years since he lost the one thing he'd cared about. After weeks of searching, he just couldn't go on any more. His young, frail body couldn't hold up under the stress of life on the road. He'd lied to others, he even lied to himself, but he was not a loner, he was not a rebel, he was just a boy. His friends abandon him. It's hard to love and care for someone who doesn't want your love or care. The loneliness gets to him, just like it would get to anyone over time. He talks to himself at first, mostly admonishing himself, guilt stricken over his carelessness that got him into this mess. He quickly realizes that he hates himself, he'd rather not talk to anyone than have to talk to himself. That's when the voices started. The voices were nice. They didn't know how badly he'd messed up. They were just happy to have someone to play with. Too bad it's tough to play when you're just a voice. The voices needed something, something to cling to, to interact with on that physical level the boy yearned for. Anything. A chair, a floor, a window, anything so he wouldn't be alone. And that's when things got wacky.... at Pee-Wee's Playhouse.
	[WP] The gritty realistic R-rated movie adaption of your favourite show as a kid.	She was running down the halls. "Ha Ha" a voice laughed down the hall. "There's the exit, if I could just get there" Suddenly the floor gave out underneath her, and she broke her legs when she hit the ground. "Ha Ha" The voiced cackled again A large, bloody mouse emerged from the shadows, knife in hand "Ha Ha" Mickey, in theaters this summer Rated R	It's been years since he lost the one thing he'd cared about. After weeks of searching, he just couldn't go on any more. His young, frail body couldn't hold up under the stress of life on the road. He'd lied to others, he even lied to himself, but he was not a loner, he was not a rebel, he was just a boy. His friends abandon him. It's hard to love and care for someone who doesn't want your love or care. The loneliness gets to him, just like it would get to anyone over time. He talks to himself at first, mostly admonishing himself, guilt stricken over his carelessness that got him into this mess. He quickly realizes that he hates himself, he'd rather not talk to anyone than have to talk to himself. That's when the voices started. The voices were nice. They didn't know how badly he'd messed up. They were just happy to have someone to play with. Too bad it's tough to play when you're just a voice. The voices needed something, something to cling to, to interact with on that physical level the boy yearned for. Anything. A chair, a floor, a window, anything so he wouldn't be alone. And that's when things got wacky.... at Pee-Wee's Playhouse.
	[WP] The gritty realistic R-rated movie adaption of your favourite show as a kid.	Fade in on a boy, beat to hell and bleeding from a head wound, stumbling up a hill. He can’t be older than 10. He’s gripping a tattered baseball cap in one hand and clutches his side with the other. He trips, cries out in pain and drops the hat. The wind catches the red hat and it gets carried off into the smoke and dust. He bites his hand to keep from crying out. He draws blood. He reaches out toward the vanishing hat, tears streaming down his face. Suddenly the red hat, after vanishing completely, seem to circle back. The boy pauses. Then jumps in alarm and scrambles for something on his belt. A bird with a ten foot wing span and claws like meat hooks swoops down at the boy- the boy ducks. The bird racks its talons along his back, eliciting a scream from the boy. Overhead, the demonic bird circles around for another attack. Close up on the boy, climbing forward, snatching the red hat off the ground. Close up on the hat being jammed onto the boys hat, brim facing forward. He pulls the brim around to face his back. Pan out to show his eyes, gleaming with a new ferocity. In his hand half cocked hand rests a half red, half white sphere. The bird, a fearow, screeches above. The boy’s shout sounds of primal rage. He throws the pokeball, it blossoms with a crack of blue light. Fade to black. White text fades in. “Gotta catch ‘em all…”	It's been years since he lost the one thing he'd cared about. After weeks of searching, he just couldn't go on any more. His young, frail body couldn't hold up under the stress of life on the road. He'd lied to others, he even lied to himself, but he was not a loner, he was not a rebel, he was just a boy. His friends abandon him. It's hard to love and care for someone who doesn't want your love or care. The loneliness gets to him, just like it would get to anyone over time. He talks to himself at first, mostly admonishing himself, guilt stricken over his carelessness that got him into this mess. He quickly realizes that he hates himself, he'd rather not talk to anyone than have to talk to himself. That's when the voices started. The voices were nice. They didn't know how badly he'd messed up. They were just happy to have someone to play with. Too bad it's tough to play when you're just a voice. The voices needed something, something to cling to, to interact with on that physical level the boy yearned for. Anything. A chair, a floor, a window, anything so he wouldn't be alone. And that's when things got wacky.... at Pee-Wee's Playhouse.
	[WP] The gritty realistic R-rated movie adaption of your favourite show as a kid.	“Oh Jesus…” Henry uttered before vomiting into a nearby bush. “You’re still green, rook. Trust me, you get used to it” The two men stared down at the shredded remains of what Chuck believed to be a fallen Clefairy. With a pair of forceps he kept in his front pocket, Chuck reached down and grasped a chunk of charred pink flesh still smoking to inspect it. “This was definitely an electric attack. Judging from the radius and intensity of the blast, I’d say this was the product of a Thunderbolt.” Henry’s eyes grew wide, “You don’t think…” “I do think, asshole! I think all the time!” Henry looked puzzled. "Uh.. no, I mean-" “In fact, right now I’m thinking we’re hot on the trail of El Asesino himself. Ash fucking "don't mind if I do" Ketchum.”	It's been years since he lost the one thing he'd cared about. After weeks of searching, he just couldn't go on any more. His young, frail body couldn't hold up under the stress of life on the road. He'd lied to others, he even lied to himself, but he was not a loner, he was not a rebel, he was just a boy. His friends abandon him. It's hard to love and care for someone who doesn't want your love or care. The loneliness gets to him, just like it would get to anyone over time. He talks to himself at first, mostly admonishing himself, guilt stricken over his carelessness that got him into this mess. He quickly realizes that he hates himself, he'd rather not talk to anyone than have to talk to himself. That's when the voices started. The voices were nice. They didn't know how badly he'd messed up. They were just happy to have someone to play with. Too bad it's tough to play when you're just a voice. The voices needed something, something to cling to, to interact with on that physical level the boy yearned for. Anything. A chair, a floor, a window, anything so he wouldn't be alone. And that's when things got wacky.... at Pee-Wee's Playhouse.

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