Split (1)

train · 353k rows

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Edit: You guys are freaking great.	[WP] Countdown clocks give the date of death of the owner. It is discovered that everyone's clocks cut off before or on August 26th, 2025. Yours cuts off on the 27th.	The president received the Spreadsheet in an email. To her personal email, not the official one that nobody actually checks. Untraceable, and they tried their best to trace it. Nobody seemed interested in the Spreadsheet itself, not at first, not except the president. She didn't tell anyone at the time, but she was curious and kept an eye on it. A guilty pleasure, she called it in an interview. It was nothing but a list of names and dates, seemingly arbitrary. It was a monstrously long file, and she was really rather busy, so it took weeks before she came across the name of a man she knew. The date next to it was within the next few weeks. She thought little of it, frowned, and moved on. That day, he died. Once was coincidence, but ten times was certainty, as she deduced the next day. From there, her next course of action was obvious, if only born of morbid curiosity. She searched her own name, and there it was. August 26th, 2025. The CIA took over from there. Parsing the Spreadsheet on their machines was quite a bit faster, and within days they had the information. A smattering of dates between then and 2025, distributed more or less uniformly with some amount of concentration on September 11, 2021. But it all changed on August 21st, 2025. Not thousands or even millions, but billions of names were clustered over that day and the next five. By now, you might be wondering what this story has to do with me. They thought it was an error in their calculations at first. As far as they could tell, every single human on Earth was listed on the Spreadsheet, and nearly every last one of them not scheduled to die beforehand would die between August 21st and 26th. All but one. One name was scheduled for a day later, on the 27th. Mine. I was sitting in my room working on some homework when the CIA found me. My door flew open, my carpet was tossed aside, and my head was thrown under a bag, and that was the last time I ever saw bright light. I awoke chained up in a dark room. Literal chains around my arms and legs and a pitch-black room with metal walls. They came in and interrogated me, did things with knives and buckets of water and a branding iron, but all it got them was a screaming kid in a bunker. At least they cleaned up the blood before they left. Maybe the president took pity on me, or maybe someone asked her to do it, but she came to visit some days later, explained everything. They thought I was somehow responsible for the Incident, as they were calling it, and they couldn't take any chances. They would keep me here until August 27th, 2025, and if all went well, they would offer me an apology and enough money to make me rich, and maybe my own island. I asked if I could go home instead, and she left. They let me out of those chains, at least, and my guards were nice, though I never saw or heard them. All the food and drink I got was passed through a crack in the ceiling with a long rod, but the food was always good and they often wrote me encouraging notes. They'd bring me books every few days, and I started stacking them in the corner. I had everything I needed in that cell, except for basic human contact and a life. I had no way to keep track of time, but I suppose it was eight years later when it happened. Sounds of explosions, loud thumping, and something that sounded like a human scream, only loud enough for me to actually hear. I counted, because I knew it mattered. Six days of the noises, and then they stopped. It was nothing but silence from there on out. Whatever it was up there, it hadn't found me. But there was nobody to bring me water, either.	Of course it was me to go last. My biggest connection is that to society, the people I love and care for. My wife, my children, my parents. When the date came out, my job at NASA officially ended. Everybody just sort of... gave up? I mean, no work happened. People even covered the countdown timer just to not be reminded. When they announced a plan to use a black hole to slingshot around, I was first in line, mostly because of my experience, and by that, I mean 20 years of pushing a mop. Turns out, black holes make time run slower. Currently stuck in limbo for.... 27 days? The ship says that they've already died on earth, but the math is a bit.. wonky. See you on the other side I guess.
Edit: You guys are freaking great.	[WP] Countdown clocks give the date of death of the owner. It is discovered that everyone's clocks cut off before or on August 26th, 2025. Yours cuts off on the 27th.	I couldn't stay out of the public eye for weeks on end. Everyone and their mother had the burning question as to why I got to live an extra day longer then everyone else in the vast majority of those whose tombstones were inscribed with the date "August 26, 2025." All of this panic and frenzy was caused by one simple man, Tom Eldon. You see, Tom claimed to be highly skilled in the field of fortune telling, (until later proven true,) but no one truly believed him until family members were dying on the exact days predicted by Tom. Eventually the whole world wanted to know their inevitable deaths, and an entire website was created to showcase everyone's day of death. A few days in, it was plain as day that most people were all going to die on August 26 or earlier. Except me. Most sensible people decided to stay indoors before midnight on the 26th, either getting hammered or spending time with loved ones. Some were more skeptical than others, but everyone stayed in just to make sure. Midnight struck, and the windows of every home across the globe began to glow a fiery red, even mine. A simple peek outside would reveal the entire sky was being engulfed by a flaming comet heading straight towards destination earth. But what most people didn't experience was an alien spacecraft busting through their ceiling. I, however, had the pleasure of meeting said aliens before being pelted with high-tech tranquilizer darts and carried off with them, away from my beloved home planet, or at least what was left of it. I awoke to find myself in a steel dome, surrounded by advanced medical equipment and devices I could only dream of. Suddenly the door directly in front of me opened exactly like how you would expect an alien spaceship door to open, and two grey aliens walked in briskly, both attired with lab coats and stickers that stated loud and proud "I drill ass." "Hello human, we are the ass drilling scientists." Any human wouldn't of been able to say this with a straight face, but this is alien culture we're talking about. The second alien picked up the conversation, continuing in a completely monotone voice. "Yes, precisely. You see, you're planet is in some crazy-ass deep shit right now, and is probably blown to kingdom come or whatever the fuck you savage creatures believe in. Our species, however, is incredibly sympathetic, and in turn we hope to revive yours. This is were you come in. We are going to anal probe you. We are going to drill you so good you'll be feeling it for weeks. Or at least, you would, but we're going to have to kill you after this. You've seen to much. We'll collect your DNA, create some new humans, and drop them off at the nearest sustainable planet. Just like last time. Or, uh, never mind. Point is, you're sacrificing yourself for your planet." I was shocked. Their stone cold faces made it hard to tell whether they were fucking with me or not. I finally got up the nerve to speak. "It's, umm.. it's... it's not really a sacrifice if I, um, don't really have a choice.... Do I have a choice? Can I just live with you guys?" The grey aliens stood rock solid. "Wow, dude, that's like, pretty fucked up. Selfish prick. Also no, you don't have a choice." With that, the aliens turned around and left the room. With nothing to do but sit and wait for my execution/anal exploration, I nonchalantly checked my watch, completely forgetting the whole "death clock" thing. The clock read, "August 27, 2025 / 12:01 a.m." Seconds later came the sound of a whirling drill below my seat. I closed my eyes, wishing I had just died with everyone else, but also somewhat happy there was a chance of new life for the human race. It was bittersweet up until the drill went up my ass. The end.	Of course it was me to go last. My biggest connection is that to society, the people I love and care for. My wife, my children, my parents. When the date came out, my job at NASA officially ended. Everybody just sort of... gave up? I mean, no work happened. People even covered the countdown timer just to not be reminded. When they announced a plan to use a black hole to slingshot around, I was first in line, mostly because of my experience, and by that, I mean 20 years of pushing a mop. Turns out, black holes make time run slower. Currently stuck in limbo for.... 27 days? The ship says that they've already died on earth, but the math is a bit.. wonky. See you on the other side I guess.
Edit: You guys are freaking great.	[WP] Countdown clocks give the date of death of the owner. It is discovered that everyone's clocks cut off before or on August 26th, 2025. Yours cuts off on the 27th.	I sip my coffee and stare at the pictures on the wall. Janie's date written in blue Sharpie just under her face, and Ethan's in black. My third of the portrait remains spotless, but I always had a red marker sitting on the kitchen table, just in case some freak accident should tear me from this world before my time. I stare at my wrist. The chip, embedded beneath my skin, glows red and tells me I have twenty hours left. I'd be lying if I said I didn't try to end it all after Janie and Ethan were gone. Trust me, I've tried. But these chips keep your body pumping blood until the very second you're meant to go. I stand and open the front door. The cherry blossoms are in bloom. I take a bunch from the tree and breathe in deeply, then let them drop to the ground. My street has been deserted for two weeks, and Mr. Morrison was the last to go. I run my hand across his mailbox as I go by, feeling the dust pack itself into the crevices of my fingerprints. I go to the park at the end of the street and shoot three-pointers with the nearly deflated basketball someone left behind. I imagine the shrieks of children behind me on the swings, but they fade away when I turn around. I check my wrist. Fifteen hours. Time goes by quicker than you think when you're used to wandering. I look to the sky. After this day, some race of cosmic beings will set foot on this planet, claiming it as their own. We all woke up with the chips in our wrists one day, but never saw the creatures arrive. How did we not feel this? How did we not sense their presence? Now, it's quite easy to see, as the floating black behemoth comes ever closer to Earth, blotting out Sun and Moon alike. I spend the next fourteen hours doing everything I can think of doing. Pretending to buy things from the corner store. Playing my guitar. Swimming in the lake as my imaginary dog swims behind me. Tossing a Frisbee and letting the wind send it back. When my clock strikes one hour, I walk back to my house. All the lights on the street are off, so as I stare at the sky, I can see every constellation. I point each one out to Ethan and Janie, putting my arms around them, trying to feel them next to me. Two minutes. I wish I knew why I was the last to go. Why did the beings, whoever they are and wherever they came from, leave me here? The agony of living, and the beauty of living, each day for months upon end. I wonder if this was some strange way of showing me mercy. Allowing me to experience a final day on my own terms, while my heart still continued to beat. Surely they'd been observing us for some time. Surely they had some concept of human emotion. Thirty seconds. I lie down on my top step and watch the stars. Six. I am glad that I was the last human to breathe air. Five. I am glad that I used all the time I could. Four. I am glad that I will be joining Janie and Ethan somewhere in the cosmos. Three. Two. One. *** /r/GigaWrites	Of course it was me to go last. My biggest connection is that to society, the people I love and care for. My wife, my children, my parents. When the date came out, my job at NASA officially ended. Everybody just sort of... gave up? I mean, no work happened. People even covered the countdown timer just to not be reminded. When they announced a plan to use a black hole to slingshot around, I was first in line, mostly because of my experience, and by that, I mean 20 years of pushing a mop. Turns out, black holes make time run slower. Currently stuck in limbo for.... 27 days? The ship says that they've already died on earth, but the math is a bit.. wonky. See you on the other side I guess.
Edit: You guys are freaking great.	[WP] Countdown clocks give the date of death of the owner. It is discovered that everyone's clocks cut off before or on August 26th, 2025. Yours cuts off on the 27th.	They made me go on the evening news when it was discovered. They made me sit in stifling lights in face-powder and ponder on the fate of the World. How I thought it was going to happen. Even though I'm a car mechanic, for Christ's sake. An asteroid, I said the first time. An asteroid crashes into Earth while I'm on one of my holidays, and I just happen to be on a far flung part of the planet and I am the last to go. Illness, I said the second time. I've always been pretty hardy. I had bird flu once, and swine flu. I'll just cling onto my fever one day more than everyone else. I don't know, I said the third time. I had become bored of being hauled in front of cameras by then. And I don't know. But I'm sat here on my porch, watching my children playing under the apple tree in the dying light of Autumn, and it's niggling on my mind again. I am a good man. I say thank you when I take my paper from the man outside the station in the morning, I look him in the eye. I stood up to a racist on the bus once. I tell shopkeepers they can keep the change. But if you were told that you were going to outlive everyone, wouldn't you think that maybe, just maybe... you kill them all?	After having barely survived the past 24 hours, the last thought that went through my head as my beleaguered vessel, barely afloat and fast sinking, crept westward through the raging storms across longitude 180 east at midnight was, "Well, that explains that."
Edit: You guys are freaking great.	[WP] Countdown clocks give the date of death of the owner. It is discovered that everyone's clocks cut off before or on August 26th, 2025. Yours cuts off on the 27th.	The president received the Spreadsheet in an email. To her personal email, not the official one that nobody actually checks. Untraceable, and they tried their best to trace it. Nobody seemed interested in the Spreadsheet itself, not at first, not except the president. She didn't tell anyone at the time, but she was curious and kept an eye on it. A guilty pleasure, she called it in an interview. It was nothing but a list of names and dates, seemingly arbitrary. It was a monstrously long file, and she was really rather busy, so it took weeks before she came across the name of a man she knew. The date next to it was within the next few weeks. She thought little of it, frowned, and moved on. That day, he died. Once was coincidence, but ten times was certainty, as she deduced the next day. From there, her next course of action was obvious, if only born of morbid curiosity. She searched her own name, and there it was. August 26th, 2025. The CIA took over from there. Parsing the Spreadsheet on their machines was quite a bit faster, and within days they had the information. A smattering of dates between then and 2025, distributed more or less uniformly with some amount of concentration on September 11, 2021. But it all changed on August 21st, 2025. Not thousands or even millions, but billions of names were clustered over that day and the next five. By now, you might be wondering what this story has to do with me. They thought it was an error in their calculations at first. As far as they could tell, every single human on Earth was listed on the Spreadsheet, and nearly every last one of them not scheduled to die beforehand would die between August 21st and 26th. All but one. One name was scheduled for a day later, on the 27th. Mine. I was sitting in my room working on some homework when the CIA found me. My door flew open, my carpet was tossed aside, and my head was thrown under a bag, and that was the last time I ever saw bright light. I awoke chained up in a dark room. Literal chains around my arms and legs and a pitch-black room with metal walls. They came in and interrogated me, did things with knives and buckets of water and a branding iron, but all it got them was a screaming kid in a bunker. At least they cleaned up the blood before they left. Maybe the president took pity on me, or maybe someone asked her to do it, but she came to visit some days later, explained everything. They thought I was somehow responsible for the Incident, as they were calling it, and they couldn't take any chances. They would keep me here until August 27th, 2025, and if all went well, they would offer me an apology and enough money to make me rich, and maybe my own island. I asked if I could go home instead, and she left. They let me out of those chains, at least, and my guards were nice, though I never saw or heard them. All the food and drink I got was passed through a crack in the ceiling with a long rod, but the food was always good and they often wrote me encouraging notes. They'd bring me books every few days, and I started stacking them in the corner. I had everything I needed in that cell, except for basic human contact and a life. I had no way to keep track of time, but I suppose it was eight years later when it happened. Sounds of explosions, loud thumping, and something that sounded like a human scream, only loud enough for me to actually hear. I counted, because I knew it mattered. Six days of the noises, and then they stopped. It was nothing but silence from there on out. Whatever it was up there, it hadn't found me. But there was nobody to bring me water, either.	After having barely survived the past 24 hours, the last thought that went through my head as my beleaguered vessel, barely afloat and fast sinking, crept westward through the raging storms across longitude 180 east at midnight was, "Well, that explains that."
Edit: You guys are freaking great.	[WP] Countdown clocks give the date of death of the owner. It is discovered that everyone's clocks cut off before or on August 26th, 2025. Yours cuts off on the 27th.	They made me go on the evening news when it was discovered. They made me sit in stifling lights in face-powder and ponder on the fate of the World. How I thought it was going to happen. Even though I'm a car mechanic, for Christ's sake. An asteroid, I said the first time. An asteroid crashes into Earth while I'm on one of my holidays, and I just happen to be on a far flung part of the planet and I am the last to go. Illness, I said the second time. I've always been pretty hardy. I had bird flu once, and swine flu. I'll just cling onto my fever one day more than everyone else. I don't know, I said the third time. I had become bored of being hauled in front of cameras by then. And I don't know. But I'm sat here on my porch, watching my children playing under the apple tree in the dying light of Autumn, and it's niggling on my mind again. I am a good man. I say thank you when I take my paper from the man outside the station in the morning, I look him in the eye. I stood up to a racist on the bus once. I tell shopkeepers they can keep the change. But if you were told that you were going to outlive everyone, wouldn't you think that maybe, just maybe... you kill them all?	#WIP: saving for the night, can't figure where to go after here. CC welcome.# Terry teased the morning's coffee out of his favorite mug, reclined even further into his Laz-E-Boy, and let himself be consumed into the living room much the way an unfortunately curious spider learns of Venus Fly Traps. Terry had never been much of a gardener, though he once babysat an ornamental pepper plant for 6 months while his aunt moved across state. Truth be told, in wasn't strictly speaking an ornamental plant, but Terry did teach the plant to shrivel and hide. Maybe he taught it, or perhaps that pepper plant knew something about Terry the rest of Earth hadn't clued into yet. Who knows? These were the kinds of questions Terry concerned himself with this particular morning. Across from Terry the front door was pregnant with two week's mail. He felt moved to opine on this matter from somewhere within the confines of his devinely overplush throne. "Fuckin' bills anymore these days... probly got a letter sayin' I got a shot at a million bucks - and I don't even have a huntin' license. hehe." Unfortunately, Terry was not a funny man. His gaze traveled from the mail into his lap. Musing to no one in particular "It's funny, y'know, what'ya learn 'bout yourself in the strangest moments... I must drink out of my left hand all the time?" World's ... ... the chintsy punchline hadn't survived three decades of Robinson family breakfasts, which were never complete without a cup of coffee - to the left of the plate, of course. The gleaming print had worn clean off the ocean blue ceramic years ago, leaving bare a metal born canyon scratched out by a wedding ring, most likely. In fact, it was passed along to Terry from his father, so two rings had the privilege to burrow into the lovely blue ceramic. Well, one ring - worn by different Robinsons at different times. Many other things were borrowed in Terry's life. The house was an archive of fashions that even the past had passed. His lime green tabasco sofa? Found wet on the street after a rainstorm. That sexy leg reading lamp? Bought at an estate sale for a bag of loose change. The carpet err... carpets? Terry stalked the neighborhood remodels for scraps. Ten years is a long while to try to cheat laying down new carpet, but the rainbow patchwork brings a sort of diversity to flooring that the bleached white of suburbia, USA can't hope to compete with. The list continues; his favorite book, the neighbor's grill, cable, AA-AC of Encyclopaedia Britanicca. "The things people throw away!" is the refrain. Oh, and one other thing Terry borrows: his time, literally.
Edit: You guys are freaking great.	[WP] Countdown clocks give the date of death of the owner. It is discovered that everyone's clocks cut off before or on August 26th, 2025. Yours cuts off on the 27th.	They made me go on the evening news when it was discovered. They made me sit in stifling lights in face-powder and ponder on the fate of the World. How I thought it was going to happen. Even though I'm a car mechanic, for Christ's sake. An asteroid, I said the first time. An asteroid crashes into Earth while I'm on one of my holidays, and I just happen to be on a far flung part of the planet and I am the last to go. Illness, I said the second time. I've always been pretty hardy. I had bird flu once, and swine flu. I'll just cling onto my fever one day more than everyone else. I don't know, I said the third time. I had become bored of being hauled in front of cameras by then. And I don't know. But I'm sat here on my porch, watching my children playing under the apple tree in the dying light of Autumn, and it's niggling on my mind again. I am a good man. I say thank you when I take my paper from the man outside the station in the morning, I look him in the eye. I stood up to a racist on the bus once. I tell shopkeepers they can keep the change. But if you were told that you were going to outlive everyone, wouldn't you think that maybe, just maybe... you kill them all?	Fuckin' Mondays right? Of course the day everyones clock ends is on a monday. But I had my plans set for the day. I was already pretty alone. My parents clocks hit zero a few years ago and my sisters was cut off last year. The clocks actually are beneficial in a way. They let you prepare for whats going to happen. its always hard saying goodbye, but being emotionally prepared always helps. But, today would be the most difficult goodbye I would have since my sister. I had to say goodbye to the only person I don't think I would ever be prepared to say goodbye to. Vanessa. Even when we broke up I couldn't really say goodbye to her. We stayed good friends. Which was difficult in itself since I still had feelings for her, which, admitingly, remained much stronger then they should have. Of course she didn't know that they did so we hung out anyway every now and then. knowing that she started falling for some one else was heart breaking also but I dealt with it knowing that as long as shes happy. thats all I ever really cared about. Even if I wasnt the one really making her happy, knowing that she was got me through the day. The day dragged on slowly, no one worked because of the clocks. Everyone was at home or out enjoying their last day with the loved ones they still had left. I cleaned my room, took a shower, and waited for Vanessa to call me. She was with her boyfriend then her family and was going to stop by for about an hour when there was about 4 hours left on the clocks. We werent really planning on seeing each other but I had to tell her something. Most people had their clocks counting down for 8:15 On monday night, But mine was for 12 AM on tuesday the 27th. I never told anyone. I dont really know why. Noone ever wanted to show anyone else their clock. it was kind of everyones little secret even though the majority of them knew the real last day. But I wanted to tell her. Something inside of me just needed to let her know. And also I was just looking to find an excuse to see her on her last day. She was late, like always but I didnt mind. I ran to the door when I saw her step out of her car. Opened it before she could even knock. I didnt have anything planned because I was just too concerned with seeing her to think about anything else. When she was inside she went straight to my room and sat on the bed. Her eyes were red and puffy. I feel like alot of people were going through the same today. So we talked. And talked. And talked. I missed her so much already, I couldnt even imagine how it would be when she was really gone. When I told her about my clock she didnt say much. She was worried about how I would be completely alone in the world for 4 hours before my time. "I'll be fine knowing that I got to see you on my last day" I always flirted with her. And she knew it but ignored it most of the time. Made her smile though. Which made it so worth it. The time flew by. There was an hour left and she wanted to be with her family when the time came. She prayed for me and she left. I watched her drive away from my house. I haven't cried that hard, ever. I told her I loved her as she left. She replied the same way she has since we broke up. "I know you do, Mike" and then that smile. I thought about it until the time came. It was 8:30 now. Everyone was gone by now. She was gone. And I could feel how empty the world was. All those people gone and all I could think about was her. I decided to go see her house. I needed to see her one last time before it was my turn to go. I made my bed. Folded my clothes. Closed the curtains. Locked the doors. I wasn't planning on coming back. She lived about 20 mins away so I had to drive. The longest drive I've ever made. I was about a block away from her house when I had to stop driving. I saw her car in the driveway of her house. On. With the reverse lights on ready to go. I've never felt my little toyota Camry accelerate so fast. I jumped out of my car to see who was in her car. I ran to the door and looked in the window. There she was. Sitting there. Crying her eyes out. I opened the door and wrapped in my arms as tightly as I could. As I was holding her I opened my eyes and looked at her passenger seat. Her clock was there and it matched mine. I couldnt speak. I didnt know what to think. We were the last two people on earth. I didnt know what to think. Or what to say. She told me she was going to see me but she was too distraught thinking about her parents to drive anywhere. She had no idea why her clock had changed. But it had happened while she was with me because it was different when she got back home. She stepped out of the car and I had to hug her again. I didnt want to let her go. Her radio was playing. Elvis Radio on the cars pandora. My favorite station. I hugged her tighter. It was 11:58. We hadnt spoken in about 10 minutes. Shall I stay... I looked at her. would it be a sin... I wiped her tears and brushed her hair back. If I can't help... I love this girl. Falling in Love... But she was already gone. with, you...
Edit: You guys are freaking great.	[WP] Countdown clocks give the date of death of the owner. It is discovered that everyone's clocks cut off before or on August 26th, 2025. Yours cuts off on the 27th.	They made me go on the evening news when it was discovered. They made me sit in stifling lights in face-powder and ponder on the fate of the World. How I thought it was going to happen. Even though I'm a car mechanic, for Christ's sake. An asteroid, I said the first time. An asteroid crashes into Earth while I'm on one of my holidays, and I just happen to be on a far flung part of the planet and I am the last to go. Illness, I said the second time. I've always been pretty hardy. I had bird flu once, and swine flu. I'll just cling onto my fever one day more than everyone else. I don't know, I said the third time. I had become bored of being hauled in front of cameras by then. And I don't know. But I'm sat here on my porch, watching my children playing under the apple tree in the dying light of Autumn, and it's niggling on my mind again. I am a good man. I say thank you when I take my paper from the man outside the station in the morning, I look him in the eye. I stood up to a racist on the bus once. I tell shopkeepers they can keep the change. But if you were told that you were going to outlive everyone, wouldn't you think that maybe, just maybe... you kill them all?	Captain Flint ran a thumb over the small photograph again. His four year old daughter's face beamed from the crinkled glossy paper. He had taken the assignment rather reluctantly; it was a solo trip to collect some data, replenish supplies, and facilitate information exchanges. It was a two year trip, one he had hoped would pass quickly, but the countdown clocks had shifted worldwide when he was only 20 months through his trip. The collective jump of lifespan clocks back to August 26th, 2025 was actually kept from him for a several weeks. He had no face-to-face interactions with anyone, his business was all done electronically, and the only indication that something was amiss was his own clock and the sudden lack of correspondence from several of his exchange clients. The day his clock spiraled backwards, he was reorganizing a food supply cabinet. The numbers that glowed translucently through the skin on his wrist began to rapidly wind backwards from January 12th, 2052 until it stopped. Unlike the rest of the world, however, his clock stopped on August 27th, 2025. When he was told by his superior commander, Booth, that they would be discontinuing his operations, he was distraught. Captain Flint had been trying to eek the truth out of him for several weeks, pleading for knowledge about his wife and child, begging to know why he wouldn't make it home if all apparent systems were running smoothly and efficiently. Booth had sighed, "Flint, it's not just your clock." "What do you mean, sir?" "It's all clocks. Everyone is going to be dead on August 26th. And we can't get you back in time." The video comms were crackling with static in the brief silence that followed. He had never imagined this was how it would be. "But, sir, mine says-" "August 27th, yes. I think you understand why." Flint replayed the conversation in his head daily. It was the last transmission between his space station and Earth. The photograph of his daughter, Lena, was the last he would see or hear from her, Anna had taken her up to his in-laws to wait it out. They were unable to speak, to send any messages, to simply bask in the absurd turn of fate that would keep them apart before a lonely death. His commanding officer had said he would relay Flint's farewell's to her, but somehow Flint knew it was inappropriate to ask and unlikely to happen. He was sure Booth had his own affairs to attend to. Still, he wished for even just a "Hello, dear" or "See you still haven't shaved" from his wife, who would likely have some deride comment to make about the whole thing. He couldn't force himself to have a laugh at his own expense without her. He closed his eyes, picture in hand, and imagined his daughter swinging on the tire in the backyard. He imagined his wife tending to the garden and smudging his face with dirt for not helping. Lena laughed and fled the swing, somehow got hold of the water hose, and chased them both until they were all three of them muddy and exhausted. That had been three days before he left. The space station felt suddenly cramped when he opened his eyes. In comparison to his sunny back yard, the cold steel and regulated air in the space station was suffocating. On August 25th, a meteor struck the Earth, cracking and splintering it. When it happened, Flint's station was knocked out of Earth's gravitational pull, sirens and alarms whirring and screaming his impending doom. The initial blast knocked him out, and he woke several hours later covered in bruises and scrapes. He spent his last hours rocketing through space, wishing for a faster death, rather than a slow tumble through the black. Eventually, the alarms stopped blaring and the station lost power. Backup generators came on, but he managed to turn them off despite the ship's endless and slow twisting and turning. Eventually he settled into a rather still pocket and watched the ship spin rhythmically around him. The control panel was dark, and occasionally through the window he could see bits of stars or planets in the distance. The oxygen levels were lowering quickly, and he began to feel delirious as the ship spun like an enchanted snow globe. Darkness settled around his vision. He closed his eyes and thought of a tire swing in the sun.
Edit: You guys are freaking great.	[WP] Countdown clocks give the date of death of the owner. It is discovered that everyone's clocks cut off before or on August 26th, 2025. Yours cuts off on the 27th.	The world was going to end on August 26th, 2025. Thanks to the death clocks, this had been known for years. Everyone got tested. Everyone had their clock. The world was going to end and that was that. One day, I had noticed something strange. I had one more day than everyone else. I was going to spend my last day alive alone on this planet. That's what I had 9 years to reconcile, but it was also the worst kept secret on the planet. People made plans to stay with me. Everyone else wanted one more day. Everyone. The attention was frustrating. Celebrities and politicians contacted me. I became estranged from family and friends as others with power and money wanted one more day. It didn't bother them that humanity was dead. It was just their strive for survival, but I turned everyone down, all of the offers. It didn't end there though. A group of people started to follow me. I was the chosen one or the survivor or the last great hope for humanity. As the years passed, the followers stopped following, and I became a hermit. I lived in the wilderness and found a cave. That's how I coped with this supposedly fantastic news. As the day approached, it was clear an asteroid was going to hit Earth. Scientists found it with four years to spare. The world mounted a defense, but every effort to stop it failed. The impact date was August 27th, 2025, my day and not everyone else's and that was the problem. All hope was lost, there was nothing left for the world to lose. Why not kill all your of your enemies? As I hid in a cave, bombs flew. I lived through it apparently the lone survivor, but I doubt anyone was jealous of my day spent crying in a cave waiting for an asteroid to hit. I had eschewed technology long ago, except for the death clock. Followers had abandoned me as had the rich and powerful hoping for one more day. As the asteroid approached, I watched it in the sky. I remember reading about the death clocks. That's what I thought about as death approached, and I watched it countdown to 0, an article about the death clocks. They were incredibly accurate to 0.00001%. It made me wonder though if they determined destiny rather than predicting it. If we made our fate to match the predetermined outcome. And, I watched the asteroid pass close to the Earth. It disappeared. I did not see the impact, but I waited. And I waited for something that never came. Then, I looked at my watch. I remembered something unusual about it. It only counted down for 1000 years, ten lifetimes to most people. As it switched to August 28th, I saw 00yr 00mt 00ds 00hr 00sc turn over to 999yr 11mt 30ds 23hr 59sc. At first, I was destroyed. I knew there was pain to come, but there was also a world to rebuild which meant there was hope. Then, I smiled a weak little smile. That fact alone made today already better than yesterday. *** If you like this, I've started to write a Batman/Superman story set 30+ years in the future: [Part I](https://www.reddit.com/r/nickkuvaas/comments/4phzj3/batman_superman_and_the_aliens_part_i_the_superman/)	"Follow me through" Here we go again. I'm going to receive the same set of questions I normally do when somebody finds out that my cut-off date is always after theirs, as if I know the fucking answer. I proceed through a ceramic stone doorway into a long, empty and eerie hall. "The door to your left, he'll be waiting. You might want to tuck your shirt in too.." She leaves promptly, not allowing me to ask any questions. I hear her murmur something about the afterlife. Fuck her, like she can dictate how I live my life, especially in circumstances like these. I keep my shirt untucked. There's two doors on the left side, one slightly ajar and the other fully closed. Normally if the world wasn't going to shit I'd be a bit more careful but in this case the worst outcome is walking into a secret government gang-bang. As I walk into one of the room I see a large collection of books, along the walls, each with dates on them, ranging in various sizes and spanning throughout the room. I also see a sign plastered on the centrepiece "Sleep, in the morning all will be clear." I have nothing else better to do, tomorrow is my cut off day and I don't know why I'm being told to sleep. The plan was to meet "somebody" who wanted to talk to me about my cut off date, but how can I when I'm the last person alive? I sleep. Waking up, it's quiet, yet still lively. I can hear the birds and the wind, just like a normal day. Except this day will be anything but normal. I notice that the books abruptly stop and I pick the last one up, I see my name printed on the front. I don't want to open it. I put it back and leave it there, wondering when I'll be speaking to someone, maybe someone who has the same day as me. I collapse, heart pounding, eyes swelling and lungs heaving. "Morherfuckers" I whisper under my breath. "Hello, it's nice to see you." I open my eyes to be greeted by a white man in a robe standing before me. I try to get up but to no avail. "God?" "Hah, I wish, just his servant. I analyse if people can do what their told and think clearly before letting them into heaven." I'm about to reply when he walks over to me and tugs on my shirt. "Why didn't you tuck your shirt in?" He asks me. I can't say that she's a bitch so I leave it and just stare at him. "Selfish, you turned the other way when someone was looking out for you." His wings elegantly fly outward, and he counts all numbers from 1-26, mentioning that these are pure numbers and are the amount of feathers on an Angels wings. He counts up to 27 and says "If you want that explanation, Satan will send a disciple of his to take you soon".
Edit: You guys are freaking great.	[WP] Countdown clocks give the date of death of the owner. It is discovered that everyone's clocks cut off before or on August 26th, 2025. Yours cuts off on the 27th.	&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;When every child is born, they're given a MorteMuetes Inc. Death Detector chip, which is injected into the nape of the neck and uses nanites to merge with the baby's nervous system, and using a predictive algorithm, projects their date of death. It updates itself daily, taking into account current health, genetic pre-dispositions, even geographic crime rates. There is a margin for error, of course, as random chance can always affect when someone dies, but the closer to the date of death you are, the more accurate it is. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;People have even been using them as indicators of when they were really ill. If someone's counter suddenly dropped from 60 years to 2 months, they would go to the doctor to find out what exactly was wrong with them, and how they could fix it. That is another benefit of the chips; death from preventable diseases has disappeared almost entirely. Doctors could interact with the chips to get an accurate diagnosis of their patients, and get immediate feedback on the effectiveness of treatment. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I was one of MorteMuerte Inc.'s technicians, and today I was dealing with a major glitch in the system. Everyone's chip was locked into a date of death of August 26th, 2025, except mine, which was on the 27th The issue was the current date was April 7th, 2192, and back in 2025, the DD chips hadn't even been invented yet. They were invented 2041, and the current error was unprecedented. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I was at my wit's end, too. I had no idea what was causing the error. All the feedback data I got indicated that the chips were all functioning properly, yet somehow, all reached the same conclusion; people who were alive today were supposed to die before they were born. There weren't quite riots in the streets but people were nervous. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;At this point I decided to talk with the guys at the TachyonTech subdivision, to see if they have any ideas what was causing this error. One of the scientists went really pale, made a call to another part of the facility, and practically shouted into the phone, saying "Shut it down now!" &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;After that, my death date changed to July 7th, 2253. I was quickly ushered out of the lab and admonished to keep my mouth shut about the cause of the glitch. I considered reporting the truth, but then my death date changed to April 7th, 2192, and decided to make something up. *** As always, constructive critiques are welcome. Also, I wanted to subvert the intended apocalypse.	"Follow me through" Here we go again. I'm going to receive the same set of questions I normally do when somebody finds out that my cut-off date is always after theirs, as if I know the fucking answer. I proceed through a ceramic stone doorway into a long, empty and eerie hall. "The door to your left, he'll be waiting. You might want to tuck your shirt in too.." She leaves promptly, not allowing me to ask any questions. I hear her murmur something about the afterlife. Fuck her, like she can dictate how I live my life, especially in circumstances like these. I keep my shirt untucked. There's two doors on the left side, one slightly ajar and the other fully closed. Normally if the world wasn't going to shit I'd be a bit more careful but in this case the worst outcome is walking into a secret government gang-bang. As I walk into one of the room I see a large collection of books, along the walls, each with dates on them, ranging in various sizes and spanning throughout the room. I also see a sign plastered on the centrepiece "Sleep, in the morning all will be clear." I have nothing else better to do, tomorrow is my cut off day and I don't know why I'm being told to sleep. The plan was to meet "somebody" who wanted to talk to me about my cut off date, but how can I when I'm the last person alive? I sleep. Waking up, it's quiet, yet still lively. I can hear the birds and the wind, just like a normal day. Except this day will be anything but normal. I notice that the books abruptly stop and I pick the last one up, I see my name printed on the front. I don't want to open it. I put it back and leave it there, wondering when I'll be speaking to someone, maybe someone who has the same day as me. I collapse, heart pounding, eyes swelling and lungs heaving. "Morherfuckers" I whisper under my breath. "Hello, it's nice to see you." I open my eyes to be greeted by a white man in a robe standing before me. I try to get up but to no avail. "God?" "Hah, I wish, just his servant. I analyse if people can do what their told and think clearly before letting them into heaven." I'm about to reply when he walks over to me and tugs on my shirt. "Why didn't you tuck your shirt in?" He asks me. I can't say that she's a bitch so I leave it and just stare at him. "Selfish, you turned the other way when someone was looking out for you." His wings elegantly fly outward, and he counts all numbers from 1-26, mentioning that these are pure numbers and are the amount of feathers on an Angels wings. He counts up to 27 and says "If you want that explanation, Satan will send a disciple of his to take you soon".
Edit: You guys are freaking great.	[WP] Countdown clocks give the date of death of the owner. It is discovered that everyone's clocks cut off before or on August 26th, 2025. Yours cuts off on the 27th.	The president received the Spreadsheet in an email. To her personal email, not the official one that nobody actually checks. Untraceable, and they tried their best to trace it. Nobody seemed interested in the Spreadsheet itself, not at first, not except the president. She didn't tell anyone at the time, but she was curious and kept an eye on it. A guilty pleasure, she called it in an interview. It was nothing but a list of names and dates, seemingly arbitrary. It was a monstrously long file, and she was really rather busy, so it took weeks before she came across the name of a man she knew. The date next to it was within the next few weeks. She thought little of it, frowned, and moved on. That day, he died. Once was coincidence, but ten times was certainty, as she deduced the next day. From there, her next course of action was obvious, if only born of morbid curiosity. She searched her own name, and there it was. August 26th, 2025. The CIA took over from there. Parsing the Spreadsheet on their machines was quite a bit faster, and within days they had the information. A smattering of dates between then and 2025, distributed more or less uniformly with some amount of concentration on September 11, 2021. But it all changed on August 21st, 2025. Not thousands or even millions, but billions of names were clustered over that day and the next five. By now, you might be wondering what this story has to do with me. They thought it was an error in their calculations at first. As far as they could tell, every single human on Earth was listed on the Spreadsheet, and nearly every last one of them not scheduled to die beforehand would die between August 21st and 26th. All but one. One name was scheduled for a day later, on the 27th. Mine. I was sitting in my room working on some homework when the CIA found me. My door flew open, my carpet was tossed aside, and my head was thrown under a bag, and that was the last time I ever saw bright light. I awoke chained up in a dark room. Literal chains around my arms and legs and a pitch-black room with metal walls. They came in and interrogated me, did things with knives and buckets of water and a branding iron, but all it got them was a screaming kid in a bunker. At least they cleaned up the blood before they left. Maybe the president took pity on me, or maybe someone asked her to do it, but she came to visit some days later, explained everything. They thought I was somehow responsible for the Incident, as they were calling it, and they couldn't take any chances. They would keep me here until August 27th, 2025, and if all went well, they would offer me an apology and enough money to make me rich, and maybe my own island. I asked if I could go home instead, and she left. They let me out of those chains, at least, and my guards were nice, though I never saw or heard them. All the food and drink I got was passed through a crack in the ceiling with a long rod, but the food was always good and they often wrote me encouraging notes. They'd bring me books every few days, and I started stacking them in the corner. I had everything I needed in that cell, except for basic human contact and a life. I had no way to keep track of time, but I suppose it was eight years later when it happened. Sounds of explosions, loud thumping, and something that sounded like a human scream, only loud enough for me to actually hear. I counted, because I knew it mattered. Six days of the noises, and then they stopped. It was nothing but silence from there on out. Whatever it was up there, it hadn't found me. But there was nobody to bring me water, either.	"Follow me through" Here we go again. I'm going to receive the same set of questions I normally do when somebody finds out that my cut-off date is always after theirs, as if I know the fucking answer. I proceed through a ceramic stone doorway into a long, empty and eerie hall. "The door to your left, he'll be waiting. You might want to tuck your shirt in too.." She leaves promptly, not allowing me to ask any questions. I hear her murmur something about the afterlife. Fuck her, like she can dictate how I live my life, especially in circumstances like these. I keep my shirt untucked. There's two doors on the left side, one slightly ajar and the other fully closed. Normally if the world wasn't going to shit I'd be a bit more careful but in this case the worst outcome is walking into a secret government gang-bang. As I walk into one of the room I see a large collection of books, along the walls, each with dates on them, ranging in various sizes and spanning throughout the room. I also see a sign plastered on the centrepiece "Sleep, in the morning all will be clear." I have nothing else better to do, tomorrow is my cut off day and I don't know why I'm being told to sleep. The plan was to meet "somebody" who wanted to talk to me about my cut off date, but how can I when I'm the last person alive? I sleep. Waking up, it's quiet, yet still lively. I can hear the birds and the wind, just like a normal day. Except this day will be anything but normal. I notice that the books abruptly stop and I pick the last one up, I see my name printed on the front. I don't want to open it. I put it back and leave it there, wondering when I'll be speaking to someone, maybe someone who has the same day as me. I collapse, heart pounding, eyes swelling and lungs heaving. "Morherfuckers" I whisper under my breath. "Hello, it's nice to see you." I open my eyes to be greeted by a white man in a robe standing before me. I try to get up but to no avail. "God?" "Hah, I wish, just his servant. I analyse if people can do what their told and think clearly before letting them into heaven." I'm about to reply when he walks over to me and tugs on my shirt. "Why didn't you tuck your shirt in?" He asks me. I can't say that she's a bitch so I leave it and just stare at him. "Selfish, you turned the other way when someone was looking out for you." His wings elegantly fly outward, and he counts all numbers from 1-26, mentioning that these are pure numbers and are the amount of feathers on an Angels wings. He counts up to 27 and says "If you want that explanation, Satan will send a disciple of his to take you soon".
Edit: You guys are freaking great.	[WP] Countdown clocks give the date of death of the owner. It is discovered that everyone's clocks cut off before or on August 26th, 2025. Yours cuts off on the 27th.	I couldn't stay out of the public eye for weeks on end. Everyone and their mother had the burning question as to why I got to live an extra day longer then everyone else in the vast majority of those whose tombstones were inscribed with the date "August 26, 2025." All of this panic and frenzy was caused by one simple man, Tom Eldon. You see, Tom claimed to be highly skilled in the field of fortune telling, (until later proven true,) but no one truly believed him until family members were dying on the exact days predicted by Tom. Eventually the whole world wanted to know their inevitable deaths, and an entire website was created to showcase everyone's day of death. A few days in, it was plain as day that most people were all going to die on August 26 or earlier. Except me. Most sensible people decided to stay indoors before midnight on the 26th, either getting hammered or spending time with loved ones. Some were more skeptical than others, but everyone stayed in just to make sure. Midnight struck, and the windows of every home across the globe began to glow a fiery red, even mine. A simple peek outside would reveal the entire sky was being engulfed by a flaming comet heading straight towards destination earth. But what most people didn't experience was an alien spacecraft busting through their ceiling. I, however, had the pleasure of meeting said aliens before being pelted with high-tech tranquilizer darts and carried off with them, away from my beloved home planet, or at least what was left of it. I awoke to find myself in a steel dome, surrounded by advanced medical equipment and devices I could only dream of. Suddenly the door directly in front of me opened exactly like how you would expect an alien spaceship door to open, and two grey aliens walked in briskly, both attired with lab coats and stickers that stated loud and proud "I drill ass." "Hello human, we are the ass drilling scientists." Any human wouldn't of been able to say this with a straight face, but this is alien culture we're talking about. The second alien picked up the conversation, continuing in a completely monotone voice. "Yes, precisely. You see, you're planet is in some crazy-ass deep shit right now, and is probably blown to kingdom come or whatever the fuck you savage creatures believe in. Our species, however, is incredibly sympathetic, and in turn we hope to revive yours. This is were you come in. We are going to anal probe you. We are going to drill you so good you'll be feeling it for weeks. Or at least, you would, but we're going to have to kill you after this. You've seen to much. We'll collect your DNA, create some new humans, and drop them off at the nearest sustainable planet. Just like last time. Or, uh, never mind. Point is, you're sacrificing yourself for your planet." I was shocked. Their stone cold faces made it hard to tell whether they were fucking with me or not. I finally got up the nerve to speak. "It's, umm.. it's... it's not really a sacrifice if I, um, don't really have a choice.... Do I have a choice? Can I just live with you guys?" The grey aliens stood rock solid. "Wow, dude, that's like, pretty fucked up. Selfish prick. Also no, you don't have a choice." With that, the aliens turned around and left the room. With nothing to do but sit and wait for my execution/anal exploration, I nonchalantly checked my watch, completely forgetting the whole "death clock" thing. The clock read, "August 27, 2025 / 12:01 a.m." Seconds later came the sound of a whirling drill below my seat. I closed my eyes, wishing I had just died with everyone else, but also somewhat happy there was a chance of new life for the human race. It was bittersweet up until the drill went up my ass. The end.	"Follow me through" Here we go again. I'm going to receive the same set of questions I normally do when somebody finds out that my cut-off date is always after theirs, as if I know the fucking answer. I proceed through a ceramic stone doorway into a long, empty and eerie hall. "The door to your left, he'll be waiting. You might want to tuck your shirt in too.." She leaves promptly, not allowing me to ask any questions. I hear her murmur something about the afterlife. Fuck her, like she can dictate how I live my life, especially in circumstances like these. I keep my shirt untucked. There's two doors on the left side, one slightly ajar and the other fully closed. Normally if the world wasn't going to shit I'd be a bit more careful but in this case the worst outcome is walking into a secret government gang-bang. As I walk into one of the room I see a large collection of books, along the walls, each with dates on them, ranging in various sizes and spanning throughout the room. I also see a sign plastered on the centrepiece "Sleep, in the morning all will be clear." I have nothing else better to do, tomorrow is my cut off day and I don't know why I'm being told to sleep. The plan was to meet "somebody" who wanted to talk to me about my cut off date, but how can I when I'm the last person alive? I sleep. Waking up, it's quiet, yet still lively. I can hear the birds and the wind, just like a normal day. Except this day will be anything but normal. I notice that the books abruptly stop and I pick the last one up, I see my name printed on the front. I don't want to open it. I put it back and leave it there, wondering when I'll be speaking to someone, maybe someone who has the same day as me. I collapse, heart pounding, eyes swelling and lungs heaving. "Morherfuckers" I whisper under my breath. "Hello, it's nice to see you." I open my eyes to be greeted by a white man in a robe standing before me. I try to get up but to no avail. "God?" "Hah, I wish, just his servant. I analyse if people can do what their told and think clearly before letting them into heaven." I'm about to reply when he walks over to me and tugs on my shirt. "Why didn't you tuck your shirt in?" He asks me. I can't say that she's a bitch so I leave it and just stare at him. "Selfish, you turned the other way when someone was looking out for you." His wings elegantly fly outward, and he counts all numbers from 1-26, mentioning that these are pure numbers and are the amount of feathers on an Angels wings. He counts up to 27 and says "If you want that explanation, Satan will send a disciple of his to take you soon".
Edit: You guys are freaking great.	[WP] Countdown clocks give the date of death of the owner. It is discovered that everyone's clocks cut off before or on August 26th, 2025. Yours cuts off on the 27th.	&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;When every child is born, they're given a MorteMuetes Inc. Death Detector chip, which is injected into the nape of the neck and uses nanites to merge with the baby's nervous system, and using a predictive algorithm, projects their date of death. It updates itself daily, taking into account current health, genetic pre-dispositions, even geographic crime rates. There is a margin for error, of course, as random chance can always affect when someone dies, but the closer to the date of death you are, the more accurate it is. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;People have even been using them as indicators of when they were really ill. If someone's counter suddenly dropped from 60 years to 2 months, they would go to the doctor to find out what exactly was wrong with them, and how they could fix it. That is another benefit of the chips; death from preventable diseases has disappeared almost entirely. Doctors could interact with the chips to get an accurate diagnosis of their patients, and get immediate feedback on the effectiveness of treatment. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I was one of MorteMuerte Inc.'s technicians, and today I was dealing with a major glitch in the system. Everyone's chip was locked into a date of death of August 26th, 2025, except mine, which was on the 27th The issue was the current date was April 7th, 2192, and back in 2025, the DD chips hadn't even been invented yet. They were invented 2041, and the current error was unprecedented. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I was at my wit's end, too. I had no idea what was causing the error. All the feedback data I got indicated that the chips were all functioning properly, yet somehow, all reached the same conclusion; people who were alive today were supposed to die before they were born. There weren't quite riots in the streets but people were nervous. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;At this point I decided to talk with the guys at the TachyonTech subdivision, to see if they have any ideas what was causing this error. One of the scientists went really pale, made a call to another part of the facility, and practically shouted into the phone, saying "Shut it down now!" &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;After that, my death date changed to July 7th, 2253. I was quickly ushered out of the lab and admonished to keep my mouth shut about the cause of the glitch. I considered reporting the truth, but then my death date changed to April 7th, 2192, and decided to make something up. *** As always, constructive critiques are welcome. Also, I wanted to subvert the intended apocalypse.	The world was going to end on August 26th, 2025. Thanks to the death clocks, this had been known for years. Everyone got tested. Everyone had their clock. The world was going to end and that was that. One day, I had noticed something strange. I had one more day than everyone else. I was going to spend my last day alive alone on this planet. That's what I had 9 years to reconcile, but it was also the worst kept secret on the planet. People made plans to stay with me. Everyone else wanted one more day. Everyone. The attention was frustrating. Celebrities and politicians contacted me. I became estranged from family and friends as others with power and money wanted one more day. It didn't bother them that humanity was dead. It was just their strive for survival, but I turned everyone down, all of the offers. It didn't end there though. A group of people started to follow me. I was the chosen one or the survivor or the last great hope for humanity. As the years passed, the followers stopped following, and I became a hermit. I lived in the wilderness and found a cave. That's how I coped with this supposedly fantastic news. As the day approached, it was clear an asteroid was going to hit Earth. Scientists found it with four years to spare. The world mounted a defense, but every effort to stop it failed. The impact date was August 27th, 2025, my day and not everyone else's and that was the problem. All hope was lost, there was nothing left for the world to lose. Why not kill all your of your enemies? As I hid in a cave, bombs flew. I lived through it apparently the lone survivor, but I doubt anyone was jealous of my day spent crying in a cave waiting for an asteroid to hit. I had eschewed technology long ago, except for the death clock. Followers had abandoned me as had the rich and powerful hoping for one more day. As the asteroid approached, I watched it in the sky. I remember reading about the death clocks. That's what I thought about as death approached, and I watched it countdown to 0, an article about the death clocks. They were incredibly accurate to 0.00001%. It made me wonder though if they determined destiny rather than predicting it. If we made our fate to match the predetermined outcome. And, I watched the asteroid pass close to the Earth. It disappeared. I did not see the impact, but I waited. And I waited for something that never came. Then, I looked at my watch. I remembered something unusual about it. It only counted down for 1000 years, ten lifetimes to most people. As it switched to August 28th, I saw 00yr 00mt 00ds 00hr 00sc turn over to 999yr 11mt 30ds 23hr 59sc. At first, I was destroyed. I knew there was pain to come, but there was also a world to rebuild which meant there was hope. Then, I smiled a weak little smile. That fact alone made today already better than yesterday. *** If you like this, I've started to write a Batman/Superman story set 30+ years in the future: [Part I](https://www.reddit.com/r/nickkuvaas/comments/4phzj3/batman_superman_and_the_aliens_part_i_the_superman/)
Edit: You guys are freaking great.	[WP] Countdown clocks give the date of death of the owner. It is discovered that everyone's clocks cut off before or on August 26th, 2025. Yours cuts off on the 27th.	The president received the Spreadsheet in an email. To her personal email, not the official one that nobody actually checks. Untraceable, and they tried their best to trace it. Nobody seemed interested in the Spreadsheet itself, not at first, not except the president. She didn't tell anyone at the time, but she was curious and kept an eye on it. A guilty pleasure, she called it in an interview. It was nothing but a list of names and dates, seemingly arbitrary. It was a monstrously long file, and she was really rather busy, so it took weeks before she came across the name of a man she knew. The date next to it was within the next few weeks. She thought little of it, frowned, and moved on. That day, he died. Once was coincidence, but ten times was certainty, as she deduced the next day. From there, her next course of action was obvious, if only born of morbid curiosity. She searched her own name, and there it was. August 26th, 2025. The CIA took over from there. Parsing the Spreadsheet on their machines was quite a bit faster, and within days they had the information. A smattering of dates between then and 2025, distributed more or less uniformly with some amount of concentration on September 11, 2021. But it all changed on August 21st, 2025. Not thousands or even millions, but billions of names were clustered over that day and the next five. By now, you might be wondering what this story has to do with me. They thought it was an error in their calculations at first. As far as they could tell, every single human on Earth was listed on the Spreadsheet, and nearly every last one of them not scheduled to die beforehand would die between August 21st and 26th. All but one. One name was scheduled for a day later, on the 27th. Mine. I was sitting in my room working on some homework when the CIA found me. My door flew open, my carpet was tossed aside, and my head was thrown under a bag, and that was the last time I ever saw bright light. I awoke chained up in a dark room. Literal chains around my arms and legs and a pitch-black room with metal walls. They came in and interrogated me, did things with knives and buckets of water and a branding iron, but all it got them was a screaming kid in a bunker. At least they cleaned up the blood before they left. Maybe the president took pity on me, or maybe someone asked her to do it, but she came to visit some days later, explained everything. They thought I was somehow responsible for the Incident, as they were calling it, and they couldn't take any chances. They would keep me here until August 27th, 2025, and if all went well, they would offer me an apology and enough money to make me rich, and maybe my own island. I asked if I could go home instead, and she left. They let me out of those chains, at least, and my guards were nice, though I never saw or heard them. All the food and drink I got was passed through a crack in the ceiling with a long rod, but the food was always good and they often wrote me encouraging notes. They'd bring me books every few days, and I started stacking them in the corner. I had everything I needed in that cell, except for basic human contact and a life. I had no way to keep track of time, but I suppose it was eight years later when it happened. Sounds of explosions, loud thumping, and something that sounded like a human scream, only loud enough for me to actually hear. I counted, because I knew it mattered. Six days of the noises, and then they stopped. It was nothing but silence from there on out. Whatever it was up there, it hadn't found me. But there was nobody to bring me water, either.	The world was going to end on August 26th, 2025. Thanks to the death clocks, this had been known for years. Everyone got tested. Everyone had their clock. The world was going to end and that was that. One day, I had noticed something strange. I had one more day than everyone else. I was going to spend my last day alive alone on this planet. That's what I had 9 years to reconcile, but it was also the worst kept secret on the planet. People made plans to stay with me. Everyone else wanted one more day. Everyone. The attention was frustrating. Celebrities and politicians contacted me. I became estranged from family and friends as others with power and money wanted one more day. It didn't bother them that humanity was dead. It was just their strive for survival, but I turned everyone down, all of the offers. It didn't end there though. A group of people started to follow me. I was the chosen one or the survivor or the last great hope for humanity. As the years passed, the followers stopped following, and I became a hermit. I lived in the wilderness and found a cave. That's how I coped with this supposedly fantastic news. As the day approached, it was clear an asteroid was going to hit Earth. Scientists found it with four years to spare. The world mounted a defense, but every effort to stop it failed. The impact date was August 27th, 2025, my day and not everyone else's and that was the problem. All hope was lost, there was nothing left for the world to lose. Why not kill all your of your enemies? As I hid in a cave, bombs flew. I lived through it apparently the lone survivor, but I doubt anyone was jealous of my day spent crying in a cave waiting for an asteroid to hit. I had eschewed technology long ago, except for the death clock. Followers had abandoned me as had the rich and powerful hoping for one more day. As the asteroid approached, I watched it in the sky. I remember reading about the death clocks. That's what I thought about as death approached, and I watched it countdown to 0, an article about the death clocks. They were incredibly accurate to 0.00001%. It made me wonder though if they determined destiny rather than predicting it. If we made our fate to match the predetermined outcome. And, I watched the asteroid pass close to the Earth. It disappeared. I did not see the impact, but I waited. And I waited for something that never came. Then, I looked at my watch. I remembered something unusual about it. It only counted down for 1000 years, ten lifetimes to most people. As it switched to August 28th, I saw 00yr 00mt 00ds 00hr 00sc turn over to 999yr 11mt 30ds 23hr 59sc. At first, I was destroyed. I knew there was pain to come, but there was also a world to rebuild which meant there was hope. Then, I smiled a weak little smile. That fact alone made today already better than yesterday. *** If you like this, I've started to write a Batman/Superman story set 30+ years in the future: [Part I](https://www.reddit.com/r/nickkuvaas/comments/4phzj3/batman_superman_and_the_aliens_part_i_the_superman/)
Edit: You guys are freaking great.	[WP] Countdown clocks give the date of death of the owner. It is discovered that everyone's clocks cut off before or on August 26th, 2025. Yours cuts off on the 27th.	The president received the Spreadsheet in an email. To her personal email, not the official one that nobody actually checks. Untraceable, and they tried their best to trace it. Nobody seemed interested in the Spreadsheet itself, not at first, not except the president. She didn't tell anyone at the time, but she was curious and kept an eye on it. A guilty pleasure, she called it in an interview. It was nothing but a list of names and dates, seemingly arbitrary. It was a monstrously long file, and she was really rather busy, so it took weeks before she came across the name of a man she knew. The date next to it was within the next few weeks. She thought little of it, frowned, and moved on. That day, he died. Once was coincidence, but ten times was certainty, as she deduced the next day. From there, her next course of action was obvious, if only born of morbid curiosity. She searched her own name, and there it was. August 26th, 2025. The CIA took over from there. Parsing the Spreadsheet on their machines was quite a bit faster, and within days they had the information. A smattering of dates between then and 2025, distributed more or less uniformly with some amount of concentration on September 11, 2021. But it all changed on August 21st, 2025. Not thousands or even millions, but billions of names were clustered over that day and the next five. By now, you might be wondering what this story has to do with me. They thought it was an error in their calculations at first. As far as they could tell, every single human on Earth was listed on the Spreadsheet, and nearly every last one of them not scheduled to die beforehand would die between August 21st and 26th. All but one. One name was scheduled for a day later, on the 27th. Mine. I was sitting in my room working on some homework when the CIA found me. My door flew open, my carpet was tossed aside, and my head was thrown under a bag, and that was the last time I ever saw bright light. I awoke chained up in a dark room. Literal chains around my arms and legs and a pitch-black room with metal walls. They came in and interrogated me, did things with knives and buckets of water and a branding iron, but all it got them was a screaming kid in a bunker. At least they cleaned up the blood before they left. Maybe the president took pity on me, or maybe someone asked her to do it, but she came to visit some days later, explained everything. They thought I was somehow responsible for the Incident, as they were calling it, and they couldn't take any chances. They would keep me here until August 27th, 2025, and if all went well, they would offer me an apology and enough money to make me rich, and maybe my own island. I asked if I could go home instead, and she left. They let me out of those chains, at least, and my guards were nice, though I never saw or heard them. All the food and drink I got was passed through a crack in the ceiling with a long rod, but the food was always good and they often wrote me encouraging notes. They'd bring me books every few days, and I started stacking them in the corner. I had everything I needed in that cell, except for basic human contact and a life. I had no way to keep track of time, but I suppose it was eight years later when it happened. Sounds of explosions, loud thumping, and something that sounded like a human scream, only loud enough for me to actually hear. I counted, because I knew it mattered. Six days of the noises, and then they stopped. It was nothing but silence from there on out. Whatever it was up there, it hadn't found me. But there was nobody to bring me water, either.	&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;When every child is born, they're given a MorteMuetes Inc. Death Detector chip, which is injected into the nape of the neck and uses nanites to merge with the baby's nervous system, and using a predictive algorithm, projects their date of death. It updates itself daily, taking into account current health, genetic pre-dispositions, even geographic crime rates. There is a margin for error, of course, as random chance can always affect when someone dies, but the closer to the date of death you are, the more accurate it is. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;People have even been using them as indicators of when they were really ill. If someone's counter suddenly dropped from 60 years to 2 months, they would go to the doctor to find out what exactly was wrong with them, and how they could fix it. That is another benefit of the chips; death from preventable diseases has disappeared almost entirely. Doctors could interact with the chips to get an accurate diagnosis of their patients, and get immediate feedback on the effectiveness of treatment. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I was one of MorteMuerte Inc.'s technicians, and today I was dealing with a major glitch in the system. Everyone's chip was locked into a date of death of August 26th, 2025, except mine, which was on the 27th The issue was the current date was April 7th, 2192, and back in 2025, the DD chips hadn't even been invented yet. They were invented 2041, and the current error was unprecedented. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;I was at my wit's end, too. I had no idea what was causing the error. All the feedback data I got indicated that the chips were all functioning properly, yet somehow, all reached the same conclusion; people who were alive today were supposed to die before they were born. There weren't quite riots in the streets but people were nervous. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;At this point I decided to talk with the guys at the TachyonTech subdivision, to see if they have any ideas what was causing this error. One of the scientists went really pale, made a call to another part of the facility, and practically shouted into the phone, saying "Shut it down now!" &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;After that, my death date changed to July 7th, 2253. I was quickly ushered out of the lab and admonished to keep my mouth shut about the cause of the glitch. I considered reporting the truth, but then my death date changed to April 7th, 2192, and decided to make something up. *** As always, constructive critiques are welcome. Also, I wanted to subvert the intended apocalypse.
swear jar that needs money taken out of it	[WP] You buy a jar. Then you find out that everytime you swear, a dollar appears inside it.	I found this cool jar the other day. For some reason every time I said a curse word, a dollar of the current location was materialized. I couldn't understand why all of a sudden, these strange uniformed men came along and [REDACTED] [REDACTED] ---------- ----- I woke up in [REDACTED]. Fucking [REDACTED]	I sit in my room with the magical jar... Why wouldn't I just curse the night away? "Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck..." I go on for hours until the dollars start overflowing out of the jar. What else would you do with a jar that gives you money for cursing. On and on and on and on. I am rich.
swear jar that needs money taken out of it	[WP] You buy a jar. Then you find out that everytime you swear, a dollar appears inside it.	"And that's how I paid off my student debt. And got this house. And that car. And those things I wanted. What can I say? Swearing's always been my fuckin' strong suit."	I sit in my room with the magical jar... Why wouldn't I just curse the night away? "Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck..." I go on for hours until the dollars start overflowing out of the jar. What else would you do with a jar that gives you money for cursing. On and on and on and on. I am rich.
swear jar that needs money taken out of it	[WP] You buy a jar. Then you find out that everytime you swear, a dollar appears inside it.	My dirty mouth had always been something I needed to work on. For what felt like the first time since I was old enough to curse I had actually gone a few days without swearing once. For something so small, I was actually pretty proud of myself. Then, one morning after an entire swear-free week, this plain jar ended up on my desk one day. I asked around, it didn't seem to belong to anyone and no one else knew how it got there. "Well, fuck" I muttered to myself, only to then see a dollar bill materialize in the jar in front of me. The first time I swore in over a week, and now I'm getting rewarded for it? I always thought whatever being runs this show had to have himself a sense of humor. This jar was magical, and I had no idea what the hell to do with it. I checked it countless times in the next few days to make sure I hadn't lost my damn mind. Stubbed my toe? Dollar in the jar. Burned myself at work? Dollar in the jar. Idiot ran me off the road? A fresh tenner in the jar. I had to use this gift, but I had no idea how. In the face of this dilemma I did what I always did when my mind hit such a blank, I started writing. After a few feverish days, I had a damn notebook full of ideas. Pages and pages of filthy song lyrics and scripts that would make Tarantino blush, anything that could get me swearing into a microphpone or camera. I don't know if that jar had anything to do with it, hell I don't particularly care, but that shit was good too. Before I knew it I was fucking rolling in it, enough money to quit school and do this full time. Before long, I made it here. And that's the origin story behind Swear Jar Entertainment. Unless you have a reason to keep wasting my time, get the fuck out of my office.	I sit in my room with the magical jar... Why wouldn't I just curse the night away? "Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck..." I go on for hours until the dollars start overflowing out of the jar. What else would you do with a jar that gives you money for cursing. On and on and on and on. I am rich.
swear jar that needs money taken out of it	[WP] You buy a jar. Then you find out that everytime you swear, a dollar appears inside it.	My dirty mouth had always been something I needed to work on. For what felt like the first time since I was old enough to curse I had actually gone a few days without swearing once. For something so small, I was actually pretty proud of myself. Then, one morning after an entire swear-free week, this plain jar ended up on my desk one day. I asked around, it didn't seem to belong to anyone and no one else knew how it got there. "Well, fuck" I muttered to myself, only to then see a dollar bill materialize in the jar in front of me. The first time I swore in over a week, and now I'm getting rewarded for it? I always thought whatever being runs this show had to have himself a sense of humor. This jar was magical, and I had no idea what the hell to do with it. I checked it countless times in the next few days to make sure I hadn't lost my damn mind. Stubbed my toe? Dollar in the jar. Burned myself at work? Dollar in the jar. Idiot ran me off the road? A fresh tenner in the jar. I had to use this gift, but I had no idea how. In the face of this dilemma I did what I always did when my mind hit such a blank, I started writing. After a few feverish days, I had a damn notebook full of ideas. Pages and pages of filthy song lyrics and scripts that would make Tarantino blush, anything that could get me swearing into a microphpone or camera. I don't know if that jar had anything to do with it, hell I don't particularly care, but that shit was good too. Before I knew it I was fucking rolling in it, enough money to quit school and do this full time. Before long, I made it here. And that's the origin story behind Swear Jar Entertainment. Unless you have a reason to keep wasting my time, get the fuck out of my office.	I found this cool jar the other day. For some reason every time I said a curse word, a dollar of the current location was materialized. I couldn't understand why all of a sudden, these strange uniformed men came along and [REDACTED] [REDACTED] ---------- ----- I woke up in [REDACTED]. Fucking [REDACTED]
swear jar that needs money taken out of it	[WP] You buy a jar. Then you find out that everytime you swear, a dollar appears inside it.	My dirty mouth had always been something I needed to work on. For what felt like the first time since I was old enough to curse I had actually gone a few days without swearing once. For something so small, I was actually pretty proud of myself. Then, one morning after an entire swear-free week, this plain jar ended up on my desk one day. I asked around, it didn't seem to belong to anyone and no one else knew how it got there. "Well, fuck" I muttered to myself, only to then see a dollar bill materialize in the jar in front of me. The first time I swore in over a week, and now I'm getting rewarded for it? I always thought whatever being runs this show had to have himself a sense of humor. This jar was magical, and I had no idea what the hell to do with it. I checked it countless times in the next few days to make sure I hadn't lost my damn mind. Stubbed my toe? Dollar in the jar. Burned myself at work? Dollar in the jar. Idiot ran me off the road? A fresh tenner in the jar. I had to use this gift, but I had no idea how. In the face of this dilemma I did what I always did when my mind hit such a blank, I started writing. After a few feverish days, I had a damn notebook full of ideas. Pages and pages of filthy song lyrics and scripts that would make Tarantino blush, anything that could get me swearing into a microphpone or camera. I don't know if that jar had anything to do with it, hell I don't particularly care, but that shit was good too. Before I knew it I was fucking rolling in it, enough money to quit school and do this full time. Before long, I made it here. And that's the origin story behind Swear Jar Entertainment. Unless you have a reason to keep wasting my time, get the fuck out of my office.	"And that's how I paid off my student debt. And got this house. And that car. And those things I wanted. What can I say? Swearing's always been my fuckin' strong suit."
	[WP] Pope Francis declares a holy war on ISIL, calling for a Tenth Crusade.	Francis stood, his knees still strained from the kneel he took in solemn worship for the last 5 hours. He looked up to the crucifix he prayed before and almost swore the same tears that stained his cheeks flowed from the eyes of the golden Lord before him. He always hated the adornment that surrounded him in the Vatican. Such wealth housed in so small a place, when the Lord's chosen were dying in the streets of the cities the Lord once walked. He dragged his weary feet and brought himself past the guards, who dutifully followed him. In years past the Swiss Guard was purely ceremonial, at least from where he stood. He knew better, armed with weapons that bred violence, they were hidden, but always around. Watching to make sure no harm would befall him, the Holy See. But a month since the so called "Islamic State" issued a declaration of war, a Jihad, with him at the head of their kill list; the Swiss Guard had been more present. He looked up to the walls of the city he called home, this City within a City, and where he would once see priests and tourists, he now saw emptiness save for the snipers and the SAM installations. It bothered him that so much trouble had been put to protecting him when he advocated for peace for so long. He had not held a sermon on this topic, or any other topic for that matter, since the Jihad was called. He longed to call the faithful of the world and tell them that he was not afraid of violent men, with their violent ways. But the sermons stopped nonetheless. The cardinals saw to that. He reached his chambers, and most of his contingent of bodyguards fell behind and took positions around the corners of the room, a few stood in attention behind the doorway, guns held at the ready, fingers a hair's breadth from the trigger. He sighs at the insanity of it all, and walked towards the nightstand he kept beside his unnassuming bed. Drawing out the worn Bible he kept, he held the brown cracking leather he knew since childhood for a moment. He was tired, and book felt heavier under the weight of his fatigue, but knew that sleeping would only bring the pain of seeing children branded with the "ن", the Arabic symbol for "N" on their seared onto their foreheads. He knew that sleep would only bring about the anger he felt when their heads feel lifeless from their body as the swords that masked terrorists used sliced away at their necks effortlessly. It was an anger he tried to hide, that he tried to tuck away and bury into his heart. He opened the book he held, and his fingers slipped effortlessly into the back of the volume, to the book of Revelations. "Come!" he read "and a White horse came with its crowned rider, a bow held, was given a crown", "Come!" it continued, "And another horse, fiery and red, its rider a sword in hand." Come!" it said, "And another steed, black, and it's rider the scales held high", "Come!" the words screaming at him now, "and the final rider, aloft a deathly pale nag, holding nothing but chains that bound Hades that tread behind him" "And the Martyrs cried out 'How long, Sovereign Lord, holy and true, until you judge the inhabitants of the earth and avenge our blood?' " He stopped reading there. Francis slowly closed the book and as the pages touched he heard a --CLICK-- from the book. Suddenly fire raged from his fingers, as the brown leather cracked and boiled away, everything but the book itself went dark as his eyes, for a half second, shifted from the intensity of the explosion. The world distorted away from him, and he saw the world as a sphere around him that grew away quicker than he could realize what was happening. The next thing he knew, he was on the floor, looking up at the sky, the yellow sun above, while the destruction of his quarters framed the blue with rubble, broken glass and soot. The sky flooded with crimson as the sun itself shielded itself in red and he saw the martyred children, those marked with the "N" for believing in the Nazarene, as they looked up to the bright red light that hovered above. Their mouths all moved in unison as tears from their eyes fell as blood. “How long, Sovereign Lord, holy and true, until you judge the inhabitants of the earth and avenge our blood?” "NOW" a Voice boomed from the sun. His chest convulsed, as electricity ran itself through his heart. One of his guards held the Defibrillator he knew they kept on standby. Three stood around him, fingers on the trigger, as they yelled for help, their voices drowned by the ever increasing echo of Italian sirens wailed. They were covered in dust, soot, and the smell of fire, but they looked unharmed. Francis tries to stand up, but a hand on his chest lets him know he was being ordered to stay still. "It's a miracle, Holy Father, we are alive." "No, son..." Francis replied, as the words of the martyrs replayed in his head. "We are merely being called to War."	We stand prepared for battle, the air infused with violent tension as we focus on the Pope's words. The Vatican City is filled to the brim with freedom fighters from across the globe. Men and women alike display their military fatigues, each one with a Vatican flag embroidered on the left side of their chest. I assumed most of us would be Catholic but the declaration of war on ISIL had started a grand exodus of sympathizers for our cause. Buddhists, Anglo-Saxon Christians, Jews, converted Muslims and many more stood side by side one another, anxiously awaiting the historical war. As Pope Francis speaks, he does so with enraged precision, his speech from the depths of his heart. The goosebumps spread across my body as my heart thumps with adrenaline. There was no teleprompter and he had no protection around him. He did not care about dying; he had made peace with that months ago. The atrocities of ISIL had provoked the even keel Francis into a blood lusting pulpit master. His words lay to death his sentiments of the past. There was nothing left inside him but revenge. We are not here to spread ideology or to convert. We are here to condemn, to lay waste, and to seek genocide. As the Pope descended into a soft whisper, he ended his speech with Uccidili tutti. Kill them all. Kill them all is the last phrase he wanted us to remember as we marched into battle. As the crowd roars, begging for war, the chants fill the whole city. "Uccidili tutti! Uccidili tutti! Uccidili tutti!". We slap the Vatican flag on our chest, salute the Pope and head for the airbase. It was time for the crusade.
	[WP] Pope Francis declares a holy war on ISIL, calling for a Tenth Crusade.	They descended on the village. From his birds-eye view in the chopper, the 32nd Division of Divinity looked like a writhing mass of ants, peaking the top of the hill and flooding down the other side. The first shot rang out, followed by the chatter of automatic gunfire. The ants began to fall, the front line melting and reforming as the wave of soldiers moved forward. The radio chattered in Francis' ear. ...estimate 50,000 casualties at current closing rate...push 'em faster... For 20 minutes, the helicopter hovered over the scene, until every last soldier had moved out of the area and into the village. Then it landed atop the hill. Francis climbed out. He looked weary and haggard but his determination couldn't be denied. His generals refused to let him partake in the initial charge, yet they couldn't keep Francis entirely out of the battle. He walked down the hillside. Screams of agony filled his ears. Medics rushed about, trying to save those who still had a chance. The ground was slick with blood and his white slippers were soon soaked in red. As he walked past the dying men and women, he murmured prayers. His expression was calm, belying his inner turmoil. What have I done? he thought. How much misery have I caused? Is this the way, Lord? But there was no answer from above. Francis trudged forward. Stray gunfire could still be heard, a single shot here, machine gun chatter there. Still, Francis trudged forward. At the foot of the hill, he was met by General Smith. "Holiness, I respectfully ask again that you remain a safe distance until the battle is over. We may not even be able to secure this..." Francis interrupted him. "Come with me, General. Let us survey the battlefield." Smith gave a resigned nod. Francis led the way, marching towards the sound of gunfire. The streets were littered with his brave warriors, dead and dying. They rounded a corner and found themselves face to face with the enemy. In his hands was an AK-47, barrel still smoking. Francis never slowed his pace. His military training kicked in, training that he had helped devise. Instinctively, he threw his arms wide open and smiled. "Jesus loves you. I love you. Jesus forgives you. I forgive you." A moment later, Smith's voice chimed in. The pair moved steadily forwards. "Jesus loves you. I love you. Jesus forgives you. I forgive you." The AK-47 snapped upwards as the soldier rested it against his shoulder and took aim. His eyes were those of a tortured soul, a man who had seen horrific things. "Please," he begged, "please stop! Do not come any closer! I've killed so many today. Dozens, maybe even hundreds. Women, children, old men...how could you send so many to die?" The man was carefully stepping backwards as Francis moved forwards. "We will not fight you," said Francis. "But we will not surrender. Put down your gun. Jesus loves you. I love you. Jesus forg..." "Please! I do not want to kill you!" the man interrupted, but the barrel of the gun was already lower, pointing at the ground now, and tears streamed down his face. He had stopped moving, standing in place, waiting for the inevitable. "Then embrace us." Francis and Smith closed the distance with a few steps, holding their arms wide open. The rifle slowly slid from the man's grasp, clattering to the ground. Francis and Smith pulled the man closer, and the three men clung to each other, sobbing in relief and horror and joy, as men of war so often do. It was a costly way to wage a holy war, but it was the only way a true Christian could wage war and call it "holy".	We stand prepared for battle, the air infused with violent tension as we focus on the Pope's words. The Vatican City is filled to the brim with freedom fighters from across the globe. Men and women alike display their military fatigues, each one with a Vatican flag embroidered on the left side of their chest. I assumed most of us would be Catholic but the declaration of war on ISIL had started a grand exodus of sympathizers for our cause. Buddhists, Anglo-Saxon Christians, Jews, converted Muslims and many more stood side by side one another, anxiously awaiting the historical war. As Pope Francis speaks, he does so with enraged precision, his speech from the depths of his heart. The goosebumps spread across my body as my heart thumps with adrenaline. There was no teleprompter and he had no protection around him. He did not care about dying; he had made peace with that months ago. The atrocities of ISIL had provoked the even keel Francis into a blood lusting pulpit master. His words lay to death his sentiments of the past. There was nothing left inside him but revenge. We are not here to spread ideology or to convert. We are here to condemn, to lay waste, and to seek genocide. As the Pope descended into a soft whisper, he ended his speech with Uccidili tutti. Kill them all. Kill them all is the last phrase he wanted us to remember as we marched into battle. As the crowd roars, begging for war, the chants fill the whole city. "Uccidili tutti! Uccidili tutti! Uccidili tutti!". We slap the Vatican flag on our chest, salute the Pope and head for the airbase. It was time for the crusade.
	[WP] Pope Francis declares a holy war on ISIL, calling for a Tenth Crusade.	Francis stood, his knees still strained from the kneel he took in solemn worship for the last 5 hours. He looked up to the crucifix he prayed before and almost swore the same tears that stained his cheeks flowed from the eyes of the golden Lord before him. He always hated the adornment that surrounded him in the Vatican. Such wealth housed in so small a place, when the Lord's chosen were dying in the streets of the cities the Lord once walked. He dragged his weary feet and brought himself past the guards, who dutifully followed him. In years past the Swiss Guard was purely ceremonial, at least from where he stood. He knew better, armed with weapons that bred violence, they were hidden, but always around. Watching to make sure no harm would befall him, the Holy See. But a month since the so called "Islamic State" issued a declaration of war, a Jihad, with him at the head of their kill list; the Swiss Guard had been more present. He looked up to the walls of the city he called home, this City within a City, and where he would once see priests and tourists, he now saw emptiness save for the snipers and the SAM installations. It bothered him that so much trouble had been put to protecting him when he advocated for peace for so long. He had not held a sermon on this topic, or any other topic for that matter, since the Jihad was called. He longed to call the faithful of the world and tell them that he was not afraid of violent men, with their violent ways. But the sermons stopped nonetheless. The cardinals saw to that. He reached his chambers, and most of his contingent of bodyguards fell behind and took positions around the corners of the room, a few stood in attention behind the doorway, guns held at the ready, fingers a hair's breadth from the trigger. He sighs at the insanity of it all, and walked towards the nightstand he kept beside his unnassuming bed. Drawing out the worn Bible he kept, he held the brown cracking leather he knew since childhood for a moment. He was tired, and book felt heavier under the weight of his fatigue, but knew that sleeping would only bring the pain of seeing children branded with the "ن", the Arabic symbol for "N" on their seared onto their foreheads. He knew that sleep would only bring about the anger he felt when their heads feel lifeless from their body as the swords that masked terrorists used sliced away at their necks effortlessly. It was an anger he tried to hide, that he tried to tuck away and bury into his heart. He opened the book he held, and his fingers slipped effortlessly into the back of the volume, to the book of Revelations. "Come!" he read "and a White horse came with its crowned rider, a bow held, was given a crown", "Come!" it continued, "And another horse, fiery and red, its rider a sword in hand." Come!" it said, "And another steed, black, and it's rider the scales held high", "Come!" the words screaming at him now, "and the final rider, aloft a deathly pale nag, holding nothing but chains that bound Hades that tread behind him" "And the Martyrs cried out 'How long, Sovereign Lord, holy and true, until you judge the inhabitants of the earth and avenge our blood?' " He stopped reading there. Francis slowly closed the book and as the pages touched he heard a --CLICK-- from the book. Suddenly fire raged from his fingers, as the brown leather cracked and boiled away, everything but the book itself went dark as his eyes, for a half second, shifted from the intensity of the explosion. The world distorted away from him, and he saw the world as a sphere around him that grew away quicker than he could realize what was happening. The next thing he knew, he was on the floor, looking up at the sky, the yellow sun above, while the destruction of his quarters framed the blue with rubble, broken glass and soot. The sky flooded with crimson as the sun itself shielded itself in red and he saw the martyred children, those marked with the "N" for believing in the Nazarene, as they looked up to the bright red light that hovered above. Their mouths all moved in unison as tears from their eyes fell as blood. “How long, Sovereign Lord, holy and true, until you judge the inhabitants of the earth and avenge our blood?” "NOW" a Voice boomed from the sun. His chest convulsed, as electricity ran itself through his heart. One of his guards held the Defibrillator he knew they kept on standby. Three stood around him, fingers on the trigger, as they yelled for help, their voices drowned by the ever increasing echo of Italian sirens wailed. They were covered in dust, soot, and the smell of fire, but they looked unharmed. Francis tries to stand up, but a hand on his chest lets him know he was being ordered to stay still. "It's a miracle, Holy Father, we are alive." "No, son..." Francis replied, as the words of the martyrs replayed in his head. "We are merely being called to War."	Francis held his arms up in silent praise much the same way he had as a young priest some 45 years ago. Although now he led not a humble parish, but the entirety of his faith in prayer. He stood at a makeshift altair in a sparce and sandy area. The monotonous landscape only broken by the occasional rock or desert weed and the imposing mountain range on the horizon. Knelt before his holiness was a sea of radiant white figures organised neatly in square formations. Eventually the pope lowered his hands and approached the pulpit. It was time for his sermon. "We faithful gather here from all over the globe. Rich and poor, young and old. Seperated by thousands of kilometres and alienated by a hundred different tongues." His voice boomed across the impossibly huge congregation. "Until now. For by the power of the holy spirit god has seen fit to unite us as a people!" A cheer errupted in a langauge unknown to all but the devout. "The heretics have plagued gods chosen people for too long. For too long they have inflicted untold suffering. For too long they have flaunted their decadant belief in the false prophet!" Another cheer ripped through the crowd. "And now it is our divine task to erradicate the heathens before us" the roar of the army is deafening. "Onward brothers and sisters! Let us claim victory in the lords name!" The sea of people ,in perfect unision, rose and began to march forward. Each man or woman was dressed in white surcoat with a red cross emblazoned on it and all their extremities covered in chainmail. While it may seem like ancient and ineffective armour each link was made of carbon nanofibre while the cout provided an aditional layer of kevlar. Although the greatest protection was afforded by the blessing upon each suit. Each of them carried a lance a bit taller than themselves. Although a formidable melee weapon, the spear tip hid a 20 millimetre explosive round and 24 more behind it. The sword on the hip held no secret technology, it was the same weapon of war used in the first crusade, and just as deadly. Every aspect of the vatican's forces was designed to imvoke the courage and heroism of the ancient knights. As well as their unyielding brutallity. As the force marched, their footfalls creating a deafening cacphony of sound, a small village came into view its squat buildings delapidated but standing. The enemies first stronghold. A thousand Beared men knelt against sandbags and the inside of buildings in preperation. Each man was fanaticslly devoted to the cause. Although the news of the holy spirits return had certainly been a dent in morale. As soon as the christan army was in range bullets started to fly around them. deflecting off their armour. The odd tank shell or missle would score a hit killing one or two knights but the ranks filled in unphased by the lose of life. When they were within 200 metres of the front line francis steeled himself. And yelled with a voice like the trumphets of judgment day. "Charge!" The knights sprinted forward, raining fire down on the isis village decimating them. tongues of fire apeared over the holy knights filling them with ferocious zeal. As they reached the village men fled in every direction the shinging figures of divine retribution gave chase and every last man was put to the sword in a bloodbath of epic porpotions. The muslims were slain to the last man and the crusade, was underway
	[WP] Pope Francis declares a holy war on ISIL, calling for a Tenth Crusade.	They descended on the village. From his birds-eye view in the chopper, the 32nd Division of Divinity looked like a writhing mass of ants, peaking the top of the hill and flooding down the other side. The first shot rang out, followed by the chatter of automatic gunfire. The ants began to fall, the front line melting and reforming as the wave of soldiers moved forward. The radio chattered in Francis' ear. ...estimate 50,000 casualties at current closing rate...push 'em faster... For 20 minutes, the helicopter hovered over the scene, until every last soldier had moved out of the area and into the village. Then it landed atop the hill. Francis climbed out. He looked weary and haggard but his determination couldn't be denied. His generals refused to let him partake in the initial charge, yet they couldn't keep Francis entirely out of the battle. He walked down the hillside. Screams of agony filled his ears. Medics rushed about, trying to save those who still had a chance. The ground was slick with blood and his white slippers were soon soaked in red. As he walked past the dying men and women, he murmured prayers. His expression was calm, belying his inner turmoil. What have I done? he thought. How much misery have I caused? Is this the way, Lord? But there was no answer from above. Francis trudged forward. Stray gunfire could still be heard, a single shot here, machine gun chatter there. Still, Francis trudged forward. At the foot of the hill, he was met by General Smith. "Holiness, I respectfully ask again that you remain a safe distance until the battle is over. We may not even be able to secure this..." Francis interrupted him. "Come with me, General. Let us survey the battlefield." Smith gave a resigned nod. Francis led the way, marching towards the sound of gunfire. The streets were littered with his brave warriors, dead and dying. They rounded a corner and found themselves face to face with the enemy. In his hands was an AK-47, barrel still smoking. Francis never slowed his pace. His military training kicked in, training that he had helped devise. Instinctively, he threw his arms wide open and smiled. "Jesus loves you. I love you. Jesus forgives you. I forgive you." A moment later, Smith's voice chimed in. The pair moved steadily forwards. "Jesus loves you. I love you. Jesus forgives you. I forgive you." The AK-47 snapped upwards as the soldier rested it against his shoulder and took aim. His eyes were those of a tortured soul, a man who had seen horrific things. "Please," he begged, "please stop! Do not come any closer! I've killed so many today. Dozens, maybe even hundreds. Women, children, old men...how could you send so many to die?" The man was carefully stepping backwards as Francis moved forwards. "We will not fight you," said Francis. "But we will not surrender. Put down your gun. Jesus loves you. I love you. Jesus forg..." "Please! I do not want to kill you!" the man interrupted, but the barrel of the gun was already lower, pointing at the ground now, and tears streamed down his face. He had stopped moving, standing in place, waiting for the inevitable. "Then embrace us." Francis and Smith closed the distance with a few steps, holding their arms wide open. The rifle slowly slid from the man's grasp, clattering to the ground. Francis and Smith pulled the man closer, and the three men clung to each other, sobbing in relief and horror and joy, as men of war so often do. It was a costly way to wage a holy war, but it was the only way a true Christian could wage war and call it "holy".	Francis held his arms up in silent praise much the same way he had as a young priest some 45 years ago. Although now he led not a humble parish, but the entirety of his faith in prayer. He stood at a makeshift altair in a sparce and sandy area. The monotonous landscape only broken by the occasional rock or desert weed and the imposing mountain range on the horizon. Knelt before his holiness was a sea of radiant white figures organised neatly in square formations. Eventually the pope lowered his hands and approached the pulpit. It was time for his sermon. "We faithful gather here from all over the globe. Rich and poor, young and old. Seperated by thousands of kilometres and alienated by a hundred different tongues." His voice boomed across the impossibly huge congregation. "Until now. For by the power of the holy spirit god has seen fit to unite us as a people!" A cheer errupted in a langauge unknown to all but the devout. "The heretics have plagued gods chosen people for too long. For too long they have inflicted untold suffering. For too long they have flaunted their decadant belief in the false prophet!" Another cheer ripped through the crowd. "And now it is our divine task to erradicate the heathens before us" the roar of the army is deafening. "Onward brothers and sisters! Let us claim victory in the lords name!" The sea of people ,in perfect unision, rose and began to march forward. Each man or woman was dressed in white surcoat with a red cross emblazoned on it and all their extremities covered in chainmail. While it may seem like ancient and ineffective armour each link was made of carbon nanofibre while the cout provided an aditional layer of kevlar. Although the greatest protection was afforded by the blessing upon each suit. Each of them carried a lance a bit taller than themselves. Although a formidable melee weapon, the spear tip hid a 20 millimetre explosive round and 24 more behind it. The sword on the hip held no secret technology, it was the same weapon of war used in the first crusade, and just as deadly. Every aspect of the vatican's forces was designed to imvoke the courage and heroism of the ancient knights. As well as their unyielding brutallity. As the force marched, their footfalls creating a deafening cacphony of sound, a small village came into view its squat buildings delapidated but standing. The enemies first stronghold. A thousand Beared men knelt against sandbags and the inside of buildings in preperation. Each man was fanaticslly devoted to the cause. Although the news of the holy spirits return had certainly been a dent in morale. As soon as the christan army was in range bullets started to fly around them. deflecting off their armour. The odd tank shell or missle would score a hit killing one or two knights but the ranks filled in unphased by the lose of life. When they were within 200 metres of the front line francis steeled himself. And yelled with a voice like the trumphets of judgment day. "Charge!" The knights sprinted forward, raining fire down on the isis village decimating them. tongues of fire apeared over the holy knights filling them with ferocious zeal. As they reached the village men fled in every direction the shinging figures of divine retribution gave chase and every last man was put to the sword in a bloodbath of epic porpotions. The muslims were slain to the last man and the crusade, was underway
	[WP] Pope Francis declares a holy war on ISIL, calling for a Tenth Crusade.	They descended on the village. From his birds-eye view in the chopper, the 32nd Division of Divinity looked like a writhing mass of ants, peaking the top of the hill and flooding down the other side. The first shot rang out, followed by the chatter of automatic gunfire. The ants began to fall, the front line melting and reforming as the wave of soldiers moved forward. The radio chattered in Francis' ear. ...estimate 50,000 casualties at current closing rate...push 'em faster... For 20 minutes, the helicopter hovered over the scene, until every last soldier had moved out of the area and into the village. Then it landed atop the hill. Francis climbed out. He looked weary and haggard but his determination couldn't be denied. His generals refused to let him partake in the initial charge, yet they couldn't keep Francis entirely out of the battle. He walked down the hillside. Screams of agony filled his ears. Medics rushed about, trying to save those who still had a chance. The ground was slick with blood and his white slippers were soon soaked in red. As he walked past the dying men and women, he murmured prayers. His expression was calm, belying his inner turmoil. What have I done? he thought. How much misery have I caused? Is this the way, Lord? But there was no answer from above. Francis trudged forward. Stray gunfire could still be heard, a single shot here, machine gun chatter there. Still, Francis trudged forward. At the foot of the hill, he was met by General Smith. "Holiness, I respectfully ask again that you remain a safe distance until the battle is over. We may not even be able to secure this..." Francis interrupted him. "Come with me, General. Let us survey the battlefield." Smith gave a resigned nod. Francis led the way, marching towards the sound of gunfire. The streets were littered with his brave warriors, dead and dying. They rounded a corner and found themselves face to face with the enemy. In his hands was an AK-47, barrel still smoking. Francis never slowed his pace. His military training kicked in, training that he had helped devise. Instinctively, he threw his arms wide open and smiled. "Jesus loves you. I love you. Jesus forgives you. I forgive you." A moment later, Smith's voice chimed in. The pair moved steadily forwards. "Jesus loves you. I love you. Jesus forgives you. I forgive you." The AK-47 snapped upwards as the soldier rested it against his shoulder and took aim. His eyes were those of a tortured soul, a man who had seen horrific things. "Please," he begged, "please stop! Do not come any closer! I've killed so many today. Dozens, maybe even hundreds. Women, children, old men...how could you send so many to die?" The man was carefully stepping backwards as Francis moved forwards. "We will not fight you," said Francis. "But we will not surrender. Put down your gun. Jesus loves you. I love you. Jesus forg..." "Please! I do not want to kill you!" the man interrupted, but the barrel of the gun was already lower, pointing at the ground now, and tears streamed down his face. He had stopped moving, standing in place, waiting for the inevitable. "Then embrace us." Francis and Smith closed the distance with a few steps, holding their arms wide open. The rifle slowly slid from the man's grasp, clattering to the ground. Francis and Smith pulled the man closer, and the three men clung to each other, sobbing in relief and horror and joy, as men of war so often do. It was a costly way to wage a holy war, but it was the only way a true Christian could wage war and call it "holy".	I prepped my troops. They were ready, I was ready. In a re-enactment of our ancestors, we wore knight's armor and were armed with swords of days of old. Thousands of us, spread across the land. I raised my sword and led the charge. We were charging toward Raqqa, ISIS' self proclaimed capital. Machine guns went off all around us. I threw my sword at an ISIS member, and reached down my leg for my two shotguns. Firing one after the other I shot down more than twenty people. When I went out of ammo, I prayed to the virgin Mary that I had packed more guns. Reaching out of my pack was my custom made sniper rifle with an ACOG scope in the shape of a cross. Climbing up a ladder, I drew the cross over my chest and hunkered down. I fired shot after shot, bullet after bullet to protect my oncoming crusaders. We would defeat ISIS in the name of God. We destroyed all of their mortars. ISIS fell back. They spotted me, bullets whizzed past me, I shot at those shooting at me, I knew what I was doing was holy. It was the tenth crusade. All of a sudden, a bullet hit me in the head and I floated up, I saw myself leave my body. Floating up, memories of my life ran through my head. Eventually I landed a top a cloud, and saw God, oh my was he beautiful. He cried. He was crying. I asked in a whisper, "God, why are you crying?" "Because my son, people are killing in my name, they are killing in my name." God replied, tears streaming down his face. I cried too. I looked down and saw my last moments. I tried to reach out, but I couldn't. "My son, you know where you must go, you have killed, you have killed in my name." I did know where I had to go. As I floated downwards. I knew I had earned this, but, children were coming for ISIS. And ISIS could not kill the second crusade of children.
	[WP] Ten years ago a race of shapeshifting aliens attempted to infiltrate and take over the world. They were all rooted out and killed. All except you.	Today was the day. Rising from the primitive wooden frames topped by solid matter trapped in gas, covered with a thick layer of fabric known as a bed, You can't help but silently grumble about how utterly stupid human bodies are designed. True, evolution relies on astronomical leaps of chance - reliance on a member of a species developing chance adaptations that further rely on the equally unlikely chance that those adaptations get passed on. However, You can't help but marvel at whether or not there was ever any time in the brief history of humankind that complete defencelessness during sleep was ever an advantage. Gingerly, you put on the appropriate uniform fit for the time of day, pajamas. It has been so very long since You have heard the rhythmic buzzing in your subconscious that signals the Queen's will or All communicating with one another but you have no doubt of what remarks they would make to see you in such drab clothing. But isn't that what caused everything to fall apart? Traveling to this backwater side of the galaxy just because a transmission was detected had been a mistake. You were always against it, but the Queen didn't listen. All didn't listen. All believed no threat could exist from such a undeveloped part of the universe yet here they are, All gone except for You. Eyes widening slightly, You realize that You had been clenching Your fists and made the effort to relax them. No one would have reason to be so angry or uptight at this particular time of day, especially humans who somehow felt that certain behaviours only applied to certain times of their planetary cycle. Odd that he had gotten to know them so well these past ten years, assimilated so well that he could even copy emotional responses to the point of unconsciously doing some of them (hence the hands). Or was it only natural? Humans did say that the Stockholm Syndrome was a known phenomena but then again, what did humans know anyway? Knew enough to wipe out All of them in your ship except for You. Eyeing the camera on corner of Your small room, You go downstairs and go about preparing breakfast and after consuming necessary nutrients from various food groups recommended by humans "scientists" (As if humans had any idea what real science was), You turn the television on, mimicking what some humans did on a regular 6th of the 7 day-cycle that humans followed even when You loathed looking at these contraptions of death. Except today wasn't ordinary. Today, not just some, but all humans will probably be watching these cursed screens. Turning it on, only one program was being played despite flipping through different channels. It was a documentary. A documentary celebrating the 10-year victory anniversary of humans since they beat All. All but You. Foolish. Foolish that no reconnaissance was done to investigatet first. Foolish that All believed that all of them could be beamed down and that no one would notice. Just because other species in the galaxy are used to other beings teleporting from place to place doesn't mean these mammals from a backwater hunk of space rock would too. Foolish that the Queen did not engage stealth and was soon shot down in her vulnerability and thousands of All were eliminated, each one's death transmitted to All and to her at once. Foolish. You changed programs once again and watched the so called "tube" for a few hours before you got changed and headed down to your lab in the university nearby. As You walk in, Alex, Your PhD student looks up from her computer and seeing you, stops typing and gives you a smile "Working on the weekend too, Dr. Smith? Shouldn't you be taking a break now?" she greets jokingly as she watches you hang your jacket up near the door. "Always, Alex. Science doesn't sleep. Even with our recent success" You reply, returning her smile and walking to Your office. Quickly glancing at the cameras overhead, You listen as Alex continues to talk to You despite resuming whatever she had typing, probably the report for last week's project. Not that You needed it. Not anymore. Not that your final tests have shown that it works. It was humorous that humans helped build and launch something that will be their undoing. Humorous and fitting. "Hopefully you won't be here too long then. I hear that the ship launches in an hour. I'm actually just about to head out myself to catch it. Just finishing up some stuff and sending them to myself so I can work from them at home. I would've done them yesterday but I forgot." "I'll watch from here, don't worry, Alex." "Whatever you say boss. Everyone's gonna be watching it tonight. Can you believe it's actually been ten years since those sickos came? God, I still get nightmares about them..." Alex said with a shiver, as she continued to type away. "Indeed, I still remember it like it was yesterday" You whisper quietly as Alex seems to have forgotten all about You as she became engrossed in work. You had barely survived. All were beamed down to metropolitan cities with the intent of infiltration but instead of blending in, chaos ensued and one by one they were mercilessly slaughtered. Each one's death incapacitating the Queen and All becoming confused at being discovered so easily. He was lucky to have been sent to the wrong coordinates, an abandoned city in the frigid north where people were scarce and that he had time to switch to the appropriate form after 20 hours had passed, the time it takes for them to switch from one form to another. Foolish to not investigate. Foolish to use THAT form. Why didn't they listen? It doesn't matter. As soon as the ship launches, everything will be well. You had finally finished the device that You will use to contact All from Everywhere else, by hijacking part of the signalling in the ships' onboard control. Contact All and warn them to come to this planet prepared. All from Everywhere else must not underestimate the humans, who tricked All of us with that fake transmission that showed a wrong image of what humans would look like. "All from Everywhere else. Listen carefully. All from my ship are dead. I alone survived", You type out the message in a code that will be sent out from the ship, the ship that was once ours, as the human's attempt to explore and land humans in the red planet closest to theirs. "Note that while the ship this is on looks like ours, humans have taken it over. Humans killed All of them including my Queen. We were tricked" "When you come, be prepared. When you are close enough, your Queen will be able to reach me and I can tell you more." "Most importantly, humans do not look like this image. I will send you their actual images as your Queen makes contact with me" You finished typing, and attached THAT image. The image that ruined everything. The image from the transmission that lead to the deaths of All from your ship but You. An image of four multi-coloured toddlers with television screens implanted in their abdomens.	I've seen the cruelty of men. I've survived the American civil war both world wars, encountered countless instances of slaughter and genocide. Seen entire species wiped off the face of the earth. Today is special for me, you see, today I become recalled and I will give my report to the council. After a few hundred years on a forsaken, dying planet it will be good to be home. My team had descended on earth around 1850 in your human years. We all blended in quite well I thought. We were horrified at what we saw. Humans are a quite cruel species, if we couldn't have taken your form it would quickly have ended our work on earth. As I understand I am the last remaining survivor of the task force, the human purge has been quite effective of ending my work. I don't think I'll miss it here, while humanity can be quite devout and loving I fear this is not the future you have left for your children, and by that, mine either. My species was only interested in you and your development it had taken us a long time to find you. But your persecution had sealed your fate. You have unknowingly chosen to hate instead of love, to kill instead of heal, to destroy instead of build. I wish you luck humans, but the fact is that, you are simply incompatible with life forms, when the world burns we will watch from the sky's; and we will not shed a tear, your race has worked for this and become exceedingly good and self annihilation
	[WP] Ten years ago a race of shapeshifting aliens attempted to infiltrate and take over the world. They were all rooted out and killed. All except you.	"Look I know she's cheating on me. Just get me some photos and I'll pay you a thousand dollars, that's more then double your fee for a week long case. I'm sick of this broad I want her out of my life in the worst way." The old, fat, balding man said as he stood in front of Bob's desk. Bob, or DazTranDolXin as he was known on his home planet nodded to the complaining man and stood up he extended his right hand in the traditional handshaking gesture of this human's culture. "I'll take care of it." Bob said as they two men shook. The man gave a weak smile and left the room. Bob looked at the folder he'd been given, addresses, photos of the cheating wife, all the standard info. He would get on with the investigation soon enough. It had been ten years since the invasion. Bob felt sad every time he thought about it, the Shifters struck to hard too quick, replacing heads of state in all the major nations almost instantly, but humans were far more emotional than any other race they had manipulated before. People saw the differences in their leaders almost instantly, when somebody finally punched the fake George W. Bush and their fist went through his face and he melted into a puddle of black ichor on the ground that then reformed as a five foot tall mass of blades and barbs, That was when, as the humans would say, shit hit the fan. Bob's job was to protect his masters, he was supposed to be a warrior but once he saw the hopelessness of the Shifters situation he fled. Others hid in the shadows as well but the desire for power that's practically hardwired into every Shifter got the best of them. They end up taking over the life of a governor or a billionaire and sooner or later they get found out and killed. Bob never had any use for it, Bob just wanted to live. And being a private detective let him live and it allowed him to study humanity. They were a weird and interesting people. They loved passionately yet got bored of their partners easy. He blamed most of it on sex, the Shifters had nothing like it, every twenty years two Shifters would just get in a tub and liquify themselves in a tub and mix chemicals and a new Shifter would be formed from the process, it was cold and clinical, nothing like the intense passion of human breeding. Bob grabbed the folder, looked at the cheating wife and the addresses to find her at and went to work. He'd found emotions in himself in the years of working as a private eye, there was a thrill of the chase that he found delightful. That same rush hit him when he finally laid eyes on the target as she was walking down a crowded city road. Normally a tail tries to avoid being seen, but Bob liked letting his targets know they were being followed, liked to spook them and get them jumpy. He'd found that humans do dumb things when they get rattled. "Hey back off creep! I'll call the cops!" The wife shouted at him after he'd spent two blocks only a few feet behind her. "Sorry ma'am, I was just heading to the bar." Bob replied and he dipped into a nearby bar a few feet ahead of them. Bob walked into the bathroom and sat in a stall and performed the stunt he loved the most. Walking out of a stall as an attractive human female in a room full of men. The shock and confusion on all their faces gave him a weird sort of satisfaction he'd never felt before. Hot Female Bob then kept up the tracking of the woman till she made it to the motel where she was going to meet her lover. A quick thought and Bob made a police badge appear around his neck, if anyone questioned why a beautiful woman was hanging out in the bushes near a motel a quick flash of the badge and a claim of a stake out would send them on their way. Bob crept up to the window and slowly stuck a listening device on it. He could have just turned himself into a coating on the street and oozed over, but this was quicker and he hated getting run over and having to pick chunks of himself out of car tires. Once the bug was in place it was time to sit back and let the story tell itself, usually it was some small talk and then a bunch of moaning and groaning. "He had somebody following me! I know it! That idiot's going to ruin everything. Idiot just couldn't keep his head down and let me do my job. The whole plan is at risk now." The wife said. "So what do we do?" The Other Man said. "Kill him. Make it look like an accident. It'll set our time table back a few months, but this is to important to leave to chance." The Wife said. "Oh" she continued. "And find out who he hired to follow me. We may have to kill them too." she finished. Bob for the first time in his existence felt fear. This was far bigger than any case he'd ever been on before.	I've seen the cruelty of men. I've survived the American civil war both world wars, encountered countless instances of slaughter and genocide. Seen entire species wiped off the face of the earth. Today is special for me, you see, today I become recalled and I will give my report to the council. After a few hundred years on a forsaken, dying planet it will be good to be home. My team had descended on earth around 1850 in your human years. We all blended in quite well I thought. We were horrified at what we saw. Humans are a quite cruel species, if we couldn't have taken your form it would quickly have ended our work on earth. As I understand I am the last remaining survivor of the task force, the human purge has been quite effective of ending my work. I don't think I'll miss it here, while humanity can be quite devout and loving I fear this is not the future you have left for your children, and by that, mine either. My species was only interested in you and your development it had taken us a long time to find you. But your persecution had sealed your fate. You have unknowingly chosen to hate instead of love, to kill instead of heal, to destroy instead of build. I wish you luck humans, but the fact is that, you are simply incompatible with life forms, when the world burns we will watch from the sky's; and we will not shed a tear, your race has worked for this and become exceedingly good and self annihilation
	[WP] Ten years ago a race of shapeshifting aliens attempted to infiltrate and take over the world. They were all rooted out and killed. All except you.	"Hello Fellow Human, How Was Your Weekend?" I had adapted. Small talk, idle conversation, sports talk, I was a master of them all. "I'm fine thanks Ted" my coworker replied, "What did you get up to?" "I Watched The Football On The Television, I am Glad My Team Won, And I Accepted Nutrient Cooked On An Open Flame On Sunday". "Do you mean you went to Jeff's barbique on Sunday?" "Exactly." Nailed it. When my species had come to planet earth and hidden among the humans, they had slowly rooted us out. All but me. The invasion may be over, but I actually have a pretty comfortable life here compared with my home planet XXDRAXXA!3.33.5. That's why I decided to stay, hidden, living a human life. "Enough Banter Thank You Mate. I Must Go And Prepare The Finance Report For Carol". "Fair enough, we still on for that double date this friday, me and the wife, you and yours?" "Of Course, Frank, You Bet" I replied, pulling off a perfect human smile to go with it. I wandered back to my desk. ---------------------------------- Frank smile at Carol ... "Yeah I know he's a bit weird, but you get used to him. I mean, we all know he's one of those lizard person aliens, but we all sort of like him. He's sweet" "Sweet?" replied Carol. "I saw him eating a box of crickets he had hidden in his desk the other day" "Yeah well, that's just Ted being Ted".	I've seen the cruelty of men. I've survived the American civil war both world wars, encountered countless instances of slaughter and genocide. Seen entire species wiped off the face of the earth. Today is special for me, you see, today I become recalled and I will give my report to the council. After a few hundred years on a forsaken, dying planet it will be good to be home. My team had descended on earth around 1850 in your human years. We all blended in quite well I thought. We were horrified at what we saw. Humans are a quite cruel species, if we couldn't have taken your form it would quickly have ended our work on earth. As I understand I am the last remaining survivor of the task force, the human purge has been quite effective of ending my work. I don't think I'll miss it here, while humanity can be quite devout and loving I fear this is not the future you have left for your children, and by that, mine either. My species was only interested in you and your development it had taken us a long time to find you. But your persecution had sealed your fate. You have unknowingly chosen to hate instead of love, to kill instead of heal, to destroy instead of build. I wish you luck humans, but the fact is that, you are simply incompatible with life forms, when the world burns we will watch from the sky's; and we will not shed a tear, your race has worked for this and become exceedingly good and self annihilation
	[WP] Ten years ago a race of shapeshifting aliens attempted to infiltrate and take over the world. They were all rooted out and killed. All except you.	I gave up on infiltrating earth to take it over a long time ago. I’ll say that now to get it out of the way, I just want to make it clear that I’ve got no intention of taking this place over. As I sit under the blazing hot cabana, I smile, right now I’m a mid 30’s man with short brown hair, a muscular body and a cheesy set of glistening teeth. It seems like the most appropriate form to be in at this moment in time. I look left and right, the beach is totally empty there’s not a soul in sight. An ocean of color is around me, orange, yellow, red, with occasional flickers of blue. I flick the newspaper to the next page, of course it’s not a real one, the whole thing is just another part of my body, not that anybody else notices that. People noticed my comrades changing because they were cocky and careless, they thought that if they took this place over it could be a new paradise for us. That’s why they all had to die. I noticed as soon as we arrived here that the planet was in disarray. The majority of headlines were about war, the people were angry and bitter about everything and it seemed like the only thing that helped them was killing each other, such a petty to do to relieve stress. The planet was apparently warming to a point they couldn’t correctly inhabit it, despite being freezing compared to my planet’s standards. The whole place was in a shambles and at that point I knew that taking the place over was near impossible. Something I’ve learned in my time here is that power struggles are futile. Even if we managed to take this place over we’d be pushed out or killed. Another thing I’ve learned here, humans are devastating weapons when in the right hands. When it came to getting rid of my comrades I had to improvise. We’re very durable beings. We’re fireproof, can’t drown, don’t need to eat, drink, or breathe. The only way to kill one of us is to break us into so many pieces that we can’t possibly regenerate. I ratted them all out, lied and told them that we were trusted and we need to cooperate no matter what. I’ve learnt that lying is a valuable tool too. They took us all away, I told them about the way to kill us too. Just as they were about to detonate the explosive I turned into what you call a fly and took off as fast as possible, I barely missed the blast but I escaped. The rest were left literally in the dust. It was next to what I can only assume to be some sort of command center shaped into a 5 sided shape. I got into that place and then eventually found what I wanted. It looked almost like what I’ve seen in human movies. A big red button, I slammed my hand into it and took off to get on the beach for my own view of the action. And so here I am. You see, I knew this place was beyond saving from the first moment I came here, I know I’ve failed my mission so I can’t return home without being killed. Why would I want to go home anyway when I have a front row ticket to my own personal stress reliever. I absorb the newspaper back into my body and lay back on the sun-bed. The flames surrounding the beach are still roaring but I enjoy the heat, I hum a tune to myself, loud enough to hear over the dying sirens. You’ll probably hear about all this soon, and so begins the chain of retaliation, another war, I guarantee this one will leave behind nothing but ashes. I don’t even know if anyone will end up reading this, half the world could be gone by the time I finish this. But if anyone is still here to read this, I leave you with this quote from one of your movies I enjoyed the most in my time here. “Some men aren't looking for anything logical, like money. They can't be bought, bullied, reasoned, or negotiated with. Some men just want to watch the world burn.”	I've seen the cruelty of men. I've survived the American civil war both world wars, encountered countless instances of slaughter and genocide. Seen entire species wiped off the face of the earth. Today is special for me, you see, today I become recalled and I will give my report to the council. After a few hundred years on a forsaken, dying planet it will be good to be home. My team had descended on earth around 1850 in your human years. We all blended in quite well I thought. We were horrified at what we saw. Humans are a quite cruel species, if we couldn't have taken your form it would quickly have ended our work on earth. As I understand I am the last remaining survivor of the task force, the human purge has been quite effective of ending my work. I don't think I'll miss it here, while humanity can be quite devout and loving I fear this is not the future you have left for your children, and by that, mine either. My species was only interested in you and your development it had taken us a long time to find you. But your persecution had sealed your fate. You have unknowingly chosen to hate instead of love, to kill instead of heal, to destroy instead of build. I wish you luck humans, but the fact is that, you are simply incompatible with life forms, when the world burns we will watch from the sky's; and we will not shed a tear, your race has worked for this and become exceedingly good and self annihilation
	[WP] Ten years ago a race of shapeshifting aliens attempted to infiltrate and take over the world. They were all rooted out and killed. All except you.	"Hello Fellow Human, How Was Your Weekend?" I had adapted. Small talk, idle conversation, sports talk, I was a master of them all. "I'm fine thanks Ted" my coworker replied, "What did you get up to?" "I Watched The Football On The Television, I am Glad My Team Won, And I Accepted Nutrient Cooked On An Open Flame On Sunday". "Do you mean you went to Jeff's barbique on Sunday?" "Exactly." Nailed it. When my species had come to planet earth and hidden among the humans, they had slowly rooted us out. All but me. The invasion may be over, but I actually have a pretty comfortable life here compared with my home planet XXDRAXXA!3.33.5. That's why I decided to stay, hidden, living a human life. "Enough Banter Thank You Mate. I Must Go And Prepare The Finance Report For Carol". "Fair enough, we still on for that double date this friday, me and the wife, you and yours?" "Of Course, Frank, You Bet" I replied, pulling off a perfect human smile to go with it. I wandered back to my desk. ---------------------------------- Frank smile at Carol ... "Yeah I know he's a bit weird, but you get used to him. I mean, we all know he's one of those lizard person aliens, but we all sort of like him. He's sweet" "Sweet?" replied Carol. "I saw him eating a box of crickets he had hidden in his desk the other day" "Yeah well, that's just Ted being Ted".	Surviving is hard. Surviving as the last of your race is much harder. Not that there's much pressure, as nobody else can put much pressure on me, but because of how isolating it can be. That being said, I think the only reason I'm still alive is because of my isolation. I work in an office. I follow a strict schedule and prefer to keep things nice and orderly. I'm not a big fan of change or confrontation. I keep company mainly with my pet cat and enjoy watching my favorite TV show. I don't find anything wrong with this lifestyle. It may be lonely at times, but sometimes I forget I'm even different and live as normally as possible. That's just my life now. The life of Norman.
	[WP] Ten years ago a race of shapeshifting aliens attempted to infiltrate and take over the world. They were all rooted out and killed. All except you.	"Hello Fellow Human, How Was Your Weekend?" I had adapted. Small talk, idle conversation, sports talk, I was a master of them all. "I'm fine thanks Ted" my coworker replied, "What did you get up to?" "I Watched The Football On The Television, I am Glad My Team Won, And I Accepted Nutrient Cooked On An Open Flame On Sunday". "Do you mean you went to Jeff's barbique on Sunday?" "Exactly." Nailed it. When my species had come to planet earth and hidden among the humans, they had slowly rooted us out. All but me. The invasion may be over, but I actually have a pretty comfortable life here compared with my home planet XXDRAXXA!3.33.5. That's why I decided to stay, hidden, living a human life. "Enough Banter Thank You Mate. I Must Go And Prepare The Finance Report For Carol". "Fair enough, we still on for that double date this friday, me and the wife, you and yours?" "Of Course, Frank, You Bet" I replied, pulling off a perfect human smile to go with it. I wandered back to my desk. ---------------------------------- Frank smile at Carol ... "Yeah I know he's a bit weird, but you get used to him. I mean, we all know he's one of those lizard person aliens, but we all sort of like him. He's sweet" "Sweet?" replied Carol. "I saw him eating a box of crickets he had hidden in his desk the other day" "Yeah well, that's just Ted being Ted".	Today was the day. Rising from the primitive wooden frames topped by solid matter trapped in gas, covered with a thick layer of fabric known as a bed, You can't help but silently grumble about how utterly stupid human bodies are designed. True, evolution relies on astronomical leaps of chance - reliance on a member of a species developing chance adaptations that further rely on the equally unlikely chance that those adaptations get passed on. However, You can't help but marvel at whether or not there was ever any time in the brief history of humankind that complete defencelessness during sleep was ever an advantage. Gingerly, you put on the appropriate uniform fit for the time of day, pajamas. It has been so very long since You have heard the rhythmic buzzing in your subconscious that signals the Queen's will or All communicating with one another but you have no doubt of what remarks they would make to see you in such drab clothing. But isn't that what caused everything to fall apart? Traveling to this backwater side of the galaxy just because a transmission was detected had been a mistake. You were always against it, but the Queen didn't listen. All didn't listen. All believed no threat could exist from such a undeveloped part of the universe yet here they are, All gone except for You. Eyes widening slightly, You realize that You had been clenching Your fists and made the effort to relax them. No one would have reason to be so angry or uptight at this particular time of day, especially humans who somehow felt that certain behaviours only applied to certain times of their planetary cycle. Odd that he had gotten to know them so well these past ten years, assimilated so well that he could even copy emotional responses to the point of unconsciously doing some of them (hence the hands). Or was it only natural? Humans did say that the Stockholm Syndrome was a known phenomena but then again, what did humans know anyway? Knew enough to wipe out All of them in your ship except for You. Eyeing the camera on corner of Your small room, You go downstairs and go about preparing breakfast and after consuming necessary nutrients from various food groups recommended by humans "scientists" (As if humans had any idea what real science was), You turn the television on, mimicking what some humans did on a regular 6th of the 7 day-cycle that humans followed even when You loathed looking at these contraptions of death. Except today wasn't ordinary. Today, not just some, but all humans will probably be watching these cursed screens. Turning it on, only one program was being played despite flipping through different channels. It was a documentary. A documentary celebrating the 10-year victory anniversary of humans since they beat All. All but You. Foolish. Foolish that no reconnaissance was done to investigatet first. Foolish that All believed that all of them could be beamed down and that no one would notice. Just because other species in the galaxy are used to other beings teleporting from place to place doesn't mean these mammals from a backwater hunk of space rock would too. Foolish that the Queen did not engage stealth and was soon shot down in her vulnerability and thousands of All were eliminated, each one's death transmitted to All and to her at once. Foolish. You changed programs once again and watched the so called "tube" for a few hours before you got changed and headed down to your lab in the university nearby. As You walk in, Alex, Your PhD student looks up from her computer and seeing you, stops typing and gives you a smile "Working on the weekend too, Dr. Smith? Shouldn't you be taking a break now?" she greets jokingly as she watches you hang your jacket up near the door. "Always, Alex. Science doesn't sleep. Even with our recent success" You reply, returning her smile and walking to Your office. Quickly glancing at the cameras overhead, You listen as Alex continues to talk to You despite resuming whatever she had typing, probably the report for last week's project. Not that You needed it. Not anymore. Not that your final tests have shown that it works. It was humorous that humans helped build and launch something that will be their undoing. Humorous and fitting. "Hopefully you won't be here too long then. I hear that the ship launches in an hour. I'm actually just about to head out myself to catch it. Just finishing up some stuff and sending them to myself so I can work from them at home. I would've done them yesterday but I forgot." "I'll watch from here, don't worry, Alex." "Whatever you say boss. Everyone's gonna be watching it tonight. Can you believe it's actually been ten years since those sickos came? God, I still get nightmares about them..." Alex said with a shiver, as she continued to type away. "Indeed, I still remember it like it was yesterday" You whisper quietly as Alex seems to have forgotten all about You as she became engrossed in work. You had barely survived. All were beamed down to metropolitan cities with the intent of infiltration but instead of blending in, chaos ensued and one by one they were mercilessly slaughtered. Each one's death incapacitating the Queen and All becoming confused at being discovered so easily. He was lucky to have been sent to the wrong coordinates, an abandoned city in the frigid north where people were scarce and that he had time to switch to the appropriate form after 20 hours had passed, the time it takes for them to switch from one form to another. Foolish to not investigate. Foolish to use THAT form. Why didn't they listen? It doesn't matter. As soon as the ship launches, everything will be well. You had finally finished the device that You will use to contact All from Everywhere else, by hijacking part of the signalling in the ships' onboard control. Contact All and warn them to come to this planet prepared. All from Everywhere else must not underestimate the humans, who tricked All of us with that fake transmission that showed a wrong image of what humans would look like. "All from Everywhere else. Listen carefully. All from my ship are dead. I alone survived", You type out the message in a code that will be sent out from the ship, the ship that was once ours, as the human's attempt to explore and land humans in the red planet closest to theirs. "Note that while the ship this is on looks like ours, humans have taken it over. Humans killed All of them including my Queen. We were tricked" "When you come, be prepared. When you are close enough, your Queen will be able to reach me and I can tell you more." "Most importantly, humans do not look like this image. I will send you their actual images as your Queen makes contact with me" You finished typing, and attached THAT image. The image that ruined everything. The image from the transmission that lead to the deaths of All from your ship but You. An image of four multi-coloured toddlers with television screens implanted in their abdomens.
	[WP] Ten years ago a race of shapeshifting aliens attempted to infiltrate and take over the world. They were all rooted out and killed. All except you.	"Look I know she's cheating on me. Just get me some photos and I'll pay you a thousand dollars, that's more then double your fee for a week long case. I'm sick of this broad I want her out of my life in the worst way." The old, fat, balding man said as he stood in front of Bob's desk. Bob, or DazTranDolXin as he was known on his home planet nodded to the complaining man and stood up he extended his right hand in the traditional handshaking gesture of this human's culture. "I'll take care of it." Bob said as they two men shook. The man gave a weak smile and left the room. Bob looked at the folder he'd been given, addresses, photos of the cheating wife, all the standard info. He would get on with the investigation soon enough. It had been ten years since the invasion. Bob felt sad every time he thought about it, the Shifters struck to hard too quick, replacing heads of state in all the major nations almost instantly, but humans were far more emotional than any other race they had manipulated before. People saw the differences in their leaders almost instantly, when somebody finally punched the fake George W. Bush and their fist went through his face and he melted into a puddle of black ichor on the ground that then reformed as a five foot tall mass of blades and barbs, That was when, as the humans would say, shit hit the fan. Bob's job was to protect his masters, he was supposed to be a warrior but once he saw the hopelessness of the Shifters situation he fled. Others hid in the shadows as well but the desire for power that's practically hardwired into every Shifter got the best of them. They end up taking over the life of a governor or a billionaire and sooner or later they get found out and killed. Bob never had any use for it, Bob just wanted to live. And being a private detective let him live and it allowed him to study humanity. They were a weird and interesting people. They loved passionately yet got bored of their partners easy. He blamed most of it on sex, the Shifters had nothing like it, every twenty years two Shifters would just get in a tub and liquify themselves in a tub and mix chemicals and a new Shifter would be formed from the process, it was cold and clinical, nothing like the intense passion of human breeding. Bob grabbed the folder, looked at the cheating wife and the addresses to find her at and went to work. He'd found emotions in himself in the years of working as a private eye, there was a thrill of the chase that he found delightful. That same rush hit him when he finally laid eyes on the target as she was walking down a crowded city road. Normally a tail tries to avoid being seen, but Bob liked letting his targets know they were being followed, liked to spook them and get them jumpy. He'd found that humans do dumb things when they get rattled. "Hey back off creep! I'll call the cops!" The wife shouted at him after he'd spent two blocks only a few feet behind her. "Sorry ma'am, I was just heading to the bar." Bob replied and he dipped into a nearby bar a few feet ahead of them. Bob walked into the bathroom and sat in a stall and performed the stunt he loved the most. Walking out of a stall as an attractive human female in a room full of men. The shock and confusion on all their faces gave him a weird sort of satisfaction he'd never felt before. Hot Female Bob then kept up the tracking of the woman till she made it to the motel where she was going to meet her lover. A quick thought and Bob made a police badge appear around his neck, if anyone questioned why a beautiful woman was hanging out in the bushes near a motel a quick flash of the badge and a claim of a stake out would send them on their way. Bob crept up to the window and slowly stuck a listening device on it. He could have just turned himself into a coating on the street and oozed over, but this was quicker and he hated getting run over and having to pick chunks of himself out of car tires. Once the bug was in place it was time to sit back and let the story tell itself, usually it was some small talk and then a bunch of moaning and groaning. "He had somebody following me! I know it! That idiot's going to ruin everything. Idiot just couldn't keep his head down and let me do my job. The whole plan is at risk now." The wife said. "So what do we do?" The Other Man said. "Kill him. Make it look like an accident. It'll set our time table back a few months, but this is to important to leave to chance." The Wife said. "Oh" she continued. "And find out who he hired to follow me. We may have to kill them too." she finished. Bob for the first time in his existence felt fear. This was far bigger than any case he'd ever been on before.	I miss my brothers and sisters. Their black blood stained the hands of the scientists that cut them open to try to discover how they worked. They had goals of recreating our active camouflage to use as a weapon in their pathetic wars. I alone survived, and that was purely by accident. I vowed to take my vengeance upon the human race. They will pay for what they have done. My polished black Italian leather shoes clicked against the stone floor as I walked to the podium. The last time I was this nervous was when our ship was entering Earth's atmosphere. I buried the memory into the back of my mind and took a deep steadying breath. "The next President of the United States of America! DONALD TRUMP!" the announcer's voice boomed over the speakers.
	[WP] Ten years ago a race of shapeshifting aliens attempted to infiltrate and take over the world. They were all rooted out and killed. All except you.	"Hello Fellow Human, How Was Your Weekend?" I had adapted. Small talk, idle conversation, sports talk, I was a master of them all. "I'm fine thanks Ted" my coworker replied, "What did you get up to?" "I Watched The Football On The Television, I am Glad My Team Won, And I Accepted Nutrient Cooked On An Open Flame On Sunday". "Do you mean you went to Jeff's barbique on Sunday?" "Exactly." Nailed it. When my species had come to planet earth and hidden among the humans, they had slowly rooted us out. All but me. The invasion may be over, but I actually have a pretty comfortable life here compared with my home planet XXDRAXXA!3.33.5. That's why I decided to stay, hidden, living a human life. "Enough Banter Thank You Mate. I Must Go And Prepare The Finance Report For Carol". "Fair enough, we still on for that double date this friday, me and the wife, you and yours?" "Of Course, Frank, You Bet" I replied, pulling off a perfect human smile to go with it. I wandered back to my desk. ---------------------------------- Frank smile at Carol ... "Yeah I know he's a bit weird, but you get used to him. I mean, we all know he's one of those lizard person aliens, but we all sort of like him. He's sweet" "Sweet?" replied Carol. "I saw him eating a box of crickets he had hidden in his desk the other day" "Yeah well, that's just Ted being Ted".	I miss my brothers and sisters. Their black blood stained the hands of the scientists that cut them open to try to discover how they worked. They had goals of recreating our active camouflage to use as a weapon in their pathetic wars. I alone survived, and that was purely by accident. I vowed to take my vengeance upon the human race. They will pay for what they have done. My polished black Italian leather shoes clicked against the stone floor as I walked to the podium. The last time I was this nervous was when our ship was entering Earth's atmosphere. I buried the memory into the back of my mind and took a deep steadying breath. "The next President of the United States of America! DONALD TRUMP!" the announcer's voice boomed over the speakers.
	[WP] Ten years ago a race of shapeshifting aliens attempted to infiltrate and take over the world. They were all rooted out and killed. All except you.	I gave up on infiltrating earth to take it over a long time ago. I’ll say that now to get it out of the way, I just want to make it clear that I’ve got no intention of taking this place over. As I sit under the blazing hot cabana, I smile, right now I’m a mid 30’s man with short brown hair, a muscular body and a cheesy set of glistening teeth. It seems like the most appropriate form to be in at this moment in time. I look left and right, the beach is totally empty there’s not a soul in sight. An ocean of color is around me, orange, yellow, red, with occasional flickers of blue. I flick the newspaper to the next page, of course it’s not a real one, the whole thing is just another part of my body, not that anybody else notices that. People noticed my comrades changing because they were cocky and careless, they thought that if they took this place over it could be a new paradise for us. That’s why they all had to die. I noticed as soon as we arrived here that the planet was in disarray. The majority of headlines were about war, the people were angry and bitter about everything and it seemed like the only thing that helped them was killing each other, such a petty to do to relieve stress. The planet was apparently warming to a point they couldn’t correctly inhabit it, despite being freezing compared to my planet’s standards. The whole place was in a shambles and at that point I knew that taking the place over was near impossible. Something I’ve learned in my time here is that power struggles are futile. Even if we managed to take this place over we’d be pushed out or killed. Another thing I’ve learned here, humans are devastating weapons when in the right hands. When it came to getting rid of my comrades I had to improvise. We’re very durable beings. We’re fireproof, can’t drown, don’t need to eat, drink, or breathe. The only way to kill one of us is to break us into so many pieces that we can’t possibly regenerate. I ratted them all out, lied and told them that we were trusted and we need to cooperate no matter what. I’ve learnt that lying is a valuable tool too. They took us all away, I told them about the way to kill us too. Just as they were about to detonate the explosive I turned into what you call a fly and took off as fast as possible, I barely missed the blast but I escaped. The rest were left literally in the dust. It was next to what I can only assume to be some sort of command center shaped into a 5 sided shape. I got into that place and then eventually found what I wanted. It looked almost like what I’ve seen in human movies. A big red button, I slammed my hand into it and took off to get on the beach for my own view of the action. And so here I am. You see, I knew this place was beyond saving from the first moment I came here, I know I’ve failed my mission so I can’t return home without being killed. Why would I want to go home anyway when I have a front row ticket to my own personal stress reliever. I absorb the newspaper back into my body and lay back on the sun-bed. The flames surrounding the beach are still roaring but I enjoy the heat, I hum a tune to myself, loud enough to hear over the dying sirens. You’ll probably hear about all this soon, and so begins the chain of retaliation, another war, I guarantee this one will leave behind nothing but ashes. I don’t even know if anyone will end up reading this, half the world could be gone by the time I finish this. But if anyone is still here to read this, I leave you with this quote from one of your movies I enjoyed the most in my time here. “Some men aren't looking for anything logical, like money. They can't be bought, bullied, reasoned, or negotiated with. Some men just want to watch the world burn.”	I miss my brothers and sisters. Their black blood stained the hands of the scientists that cut them open to try to discover how they worked. They had goals of recreating our active camouflage to use as a weapon in their pathetic wars. I alone survived, and that was purely by accident. I vowed to take my vengeance upon the human race. They will pay for what they have done. My polished black Italian leather shoes clicked against the stone floor as I walked to the podium. The last time I was this nervous was when our ship was entering Earth's atmosphere. I buried the memory into the back of my mind and took a deep steadying breath. "The next President of the United States of America! DONALD TRUMP!" the announcer's voice boomed over the speakers.
	[WP] Ten years ago a race of shapeshifting aliens attempted to infiltrate and take over the world. They were all rooted out and killed. All except you.	"Hello Fellow Human, How Was Your Weekend?" I had adapted. Small talk, idle conversation, sports talk, I was a master of them all. "I'm fine thanks Ted" my coworker replied, "What did you get up to?" "I Watched The Football On The Television, I am Glad My Team Won, And I Accepted Nutrient Cooked On An Open Flame On Sunday". "Do you mean you went to Jeff's barbique on Sunday?" "Exactly." Nailed it. When my species had come to planet earth and hidden among the humans, they had slowly rooted us out. All but me. The invasion may be over, but I actually have a pretty comfortable life here compared with my home planet XXDRAXXA!3.33.5. That's why I decided to stay, hidden, living a human life. "Enough Banter Thank You Mate. I Must Go And Prepare The Finance Report For Carol". "Fair enough, we still on for that double date this friday, me and the wife, you and yours?" "Of Course, Frank, You Bet" I replied, pulling off a perfect human smile to go with it. I wandered back to my desk. ---------------------------------- Frank smile at Carol ... "Yeah I know he's a bit weird, but you get used to him. I mean, we all know he's one of those lizard person aliens, but we all sort of like him. He's sweet" "Sweet?" replied Carol. "I saw him eating a box of crickets he had hidden in his desk the other day" "Yeah well, that's just Ted being Ted".	"Look I know she's cheating on me. Just get me some photos and I'll pay you a thousand dollars, that's more then double your fee for a week long case. I'm sick of this broad I want her out of my life in the worst way." The old, fat, balding man said as he stood in front of Bob's desk. Bob, or DazTranDolXin as he was known on his home planet nodded to the complaining man and stood up he extended his right hand in the traditional handshaking gesture of this human's culture. "I'll take care of it." Bob said as they two men shook. The man gave a weak smile and left the room. Bob looked at the folder he'd been given, addresses, photos of the cheating wife, all the standard info. He would get on with the investigation soon enough. It had been ten years since the invasion. Bob felt sad every time he thought about it, the Shifters struck to hard too quick, replacing heads of state in all the major nations almost instantly, but humans were far more emotional than any other race they had manipulated before. People saw the differences in their leaders almost instantly, when somebody finally punched the fake George W. Bush and their fist went through his face and he melted into a puddle of black ichor on the ground that then reformed as a five foot tall mass of blades and barbs, That was when, as the humans would say, shit hit the fan. Bob's job was to protect his masters, he was supposed to be a warrior but once he saw the hopelessness of the Shifters situation he fled. Others hid in the shadows as well but the desire for power that's practically hardwired into every Shifter got the best of them. They end up taking over the life of a governor or a billionaire and sooner or later they get found out and killed. Bob never had any use for it, Bob just wanted to live. And being a private detective let him live and it allowed him to study humanity. They were a weird and interesting people. They loved passionately yet got bored of their partners easy. He blamed most of it on sex, the Shifters had nothing like it, every twenty years two Shifters would just get in a tub and liquify themselves in a tub and mix chemicals and a new Shifter would be formed from the process, it was cold and clinical, nothing like the intense passion of human breeding. Bob grabbed the folder, looked at the cheating wife and the addresses to find her at and went to work. He'd found emotions in himself in the years of working as a private eye, there was a thrill of the chase that he found delightful. That same rush hit him when he finally laid eyes on the target as she was walking down a crowded city road. Normally a tail tries to avoid being seen, but Bob liked letting his targets know they were being followed, liked to spook them and get them jumpy. He'd found that humans do dumb things when they get rattled. "Hey back off creep! I'll call the cops!" The wife shouted at him after he'd spent two blocks only a few feet behind her. "Sorry ma'am, I was just heading to the bar." Bob replied and he dipped into a nearby bar a few feet ahead of them. Bob walked into the bathroom and sat in a stall and performed the stunt he loved the most. Walking out of a stall as an attractive human female in a room full of men. The shock and confusion on all their faces gave him a weird sort of satisfaction he'd never felt before. Hot Female Bob then kept up the tracking of the woman till she made it to the motel where she was going to meet her lover. A quick thought and Bob made a police badge appear around his neck, if anyone questioned why a beautiful woman was hanging out in the bushes near a motel a quick flash of the badge and a claim of a stake out would send them on their way. Bob crept up to the window and slowly stuck a listening device on it. He could have just turned himself into a coating on the street and oozed over, but this was quicker and he hated getting run over and having to pick chunks of himself out of car tires. Once the bug was in place it was time to sit back and let the story tell itself, usually it was some small talk and then a bunch of moaning and groaning. "He had somebody following me! I know it! That idiot's going to ruin everything. Idiot just couldn't keep his head down and let me do my job. The whole plan is at risk now." The wife said. "So what do we do?" The Other Man said. "Kill him. Make it look like an accident. It'll set our time table back a few months, but this is to important to leave to chance." The Wife said. "Oh" she continued. "And find out who he hired to follow me. We may have to kill them too." she finished. Bob for the first time in his existence felt fear. This was far bigger than any case he'd ever been on before.
	[WP] An astronaut in the ISS realizes they are probably the last human alive	"Incoming videochat....." Hopefully it was Houston to tell me what was actually happened yesterday. I floated towards the command module at the front of the station, catching a quick glimpse of our blue planet. So majestic it looked floating in the light of the sun. That was when it truly dawned on me that I was the only person not to be currently sat on the giant rock below me. A wave of loneliness then flowed through my body like nothing I had felt before. I didn't even feel this lonely when both my parents had died when I was only 10. I could feel the a tear bubble building in my duct. I wiped it away with the sleeve of my standard issue blue jumpsuit that all NASA astronauts are given. I've got to pull together I told myself, I'm the most experienced astronaut they had, it'll just be an extra few days onto my already record breaking time in space. I had personally led the past two missions on the ISS. I carried on floating down my temporary prison towards the command module. "So Commander Jack can you please explain to me again what the fuck happened yesterday? As Russia seems to have cut all communication with us whilst China aren't providing any information at all." "Like I said to control yesterday, my crew were boarding the Soyuz capsule whilst I preformed the last minute checks. When I approached the capsule to board Commander Yenkov grabbed open the survival box and pulled out the gun and pointed it at me. I was then told to leave the capsule and stay here." Sigh "It looks like all this political tension has finally reached space. Don't worry we'll sort it out. You just float back and relax. Oh and don't forget America doesn't forget!" America doesn't forget. I chuckled at the thought as it crossed my mind for the third day running. No contact, not even a text based message, nothing since that line. It definitely felt like they had forgotten. I floated back to the window, I had lost count how many times over the past four days I had just gazed out onto Earth hoping to see my rescue rocket soaring through the atmosphere, and just like the contact with NASA there was nothing. "No connection" I dunno what I expected the signal dropped a few hours ago and nothing on this station ever miraculously fixes itself. I'll have to add it to my report for the next crew. Back to gazing out of the window then. This time there wasn't nothing. An unmistakable light carrying on a trajectory was skimming over the horizon. Excitement and joy filled my insides. I felt as giddy as a kid in a sweatshop. My rescue ship had arrived. It never even crossed my mind that NASA couldn't get anything in the air that quickly. But my excitement soon came to an abrupt end when I spotted another, then another. They were coming from all directions on every continent. Then the loneliness flowed in again...	It turns out T. S. Elliot was wrong, the world did end with a bang. I know because I watched it unfold from 250 miles away. I've been watching it unfold for months though I never thought it would actually happen. Some pompous diplomat or careless official decided to press the big red button and now everything is fucked. Some twisted side of me almost wished this would happen; between the disease and the crime and all the other side effects of the human condition something needed to happen. But now that it is here, now that this has actually happened...oh fuck! And I just watched, like a fly on the wall and a sick thought in the back of my head almost wishing this would happen. But none of that matters now--nothing fucking matters. Everyone and everything is dead (bye bye birdie hahaha) and I'm floating around this now desolate rock like I'm on some goddamn merry-go-round. I can almost hear the carnival music (Step right up, step right up! Come see the Earth commit suicide by use of nuclear weapons! Why, it'll only cost you a few moments of your time and soul crushing isolation until your dying breath!). Oh shit, that never even occurred to me: I'm all alone. This was just supposed to be repair mission, so there aren't even other crew members aboard. Fuck! (Ohh what's the matter young man, the carnival food not agreeing with you?! You look a little green around the gills! Perhaps it's the spinning from the Merry-Go-Round! All you have to do is...) I need to keep focus, otherwise I'll snap (...just get off the ride! You'll feel much better, I swear!). And if I don't get a grip I'll use more oxygen than I can afford. (Looks like you could use some fresh air, kiddo!). Right! How could I not think of that?! I won't use up all the oxygen if I just (You'll feel much better, I swear!) open the hatch (You'll feel much better...)
	[WP] An astronaut in the ISS realizes they are probably the last human alive	"Incoming videochat....." Hopefully it was Houston to tell me what was actually happened yesterday. I floated towards the command module at the front of the station, catching a quick glimpse of our blue planet. So majestic it looked floating in the light of the sun. That was when it truly dawned on me that I was the only person not to be currently sat on the giant rock below me. A wave of loneliness then flowed through my body like nothing I had felt before. I didn't even feel this lonely when both my parents had died when I was only 10. I could feel the a tear bubble building in my duct. I wiped it away with the sleeve of my standard issue blue jumpsuit that all NASA astronauts are given. I've got to pull together I told myself, I'm the most experienced astronaut they had, it'll just be an extra few days onto my already record breaking time in space. I had personally led the past two missions on the ISS. I carried on floating down my temporary prison towards the command module. "So Commander Jack can you please explain to me again what the fuck happened yesterday? As Russia seems to have cut all communication with us whilst China aren't providing any information at all." "Like I said to control yesterday, my crew were boarding the Soyuz capsule whilst I preformed the last minute checks. When I approached the capsule to board Commander Yenkov grabbed open the survival box and pulled out the gun and pointed it at me. I was then told to leave the capsule and stay here." Sigh "It looks like all this political tension has finally reached space. Don't worry we'll sort it out. You just float back and relax. Oh and don't forget America doesn't forget!" America doesn't forget. I chuckled at the thought as it crossed my mind for the third day running. No contact, not even a text based message, nothing since that line. It definitely felt like they had forgotten. I floated back to the window, I had lost count how many times over the past four days I had just gazed out onto Earth hoping to see my rescue rocket soaring through the atmosphere, and just like the contact with NASA there was nothing. "No connection" I dunno what I expected the signal dropped a few hours ago and nothing on this station ever miraculously fixes itself. I'll have to add it to my report for the next crew. Back to gazing out of the window then. This time there wasn't nothing. An unmistakable light carrying on a trajectory was skimming over the horizon. Excitement and joy filled my insides. I felt as giddy as a kid in a sweatshop. My rescue ship had arrived. It never even crossed my mind that NASA couldn't get anything in the air that quickly. But my excitement soon came to an abrupt end when I spotted another, then another. They were coming from all directions on every continent. Then the loneliness flowed in again...	November 10 2098 It was about one week ago I left for the first solo ISS mission. There is no one else here. The first few days went smoothly and according to plan. But on the fifth day, all communication to mission control was lost. And there was no lights from cities. I knew, for a fact, that I am the last human. What happened, I don't know. November 11 After countless attempts at reaching someone, the Americans, the Russians, the British, the Chinese, all attempts have been fruitless. I have never felt so alone. The realization slowly came to me. I am the last human being. Why do I continue? There is no reason for me to exist anymore. November 12 I have not slept in the past three days. Maybe I'm not the last person on earth. There must be someone out there. Someone. I try the radios a bit more. No one. Maybe all the powerplants failed. That's it. November 13 I have realized the folly of my ways yesterday. The lack of sleep has made my mind cloudy. I am the last man in existence. I went into the airlock, said my final prayers, and made note of these last moments of humanity, hoping that some alien race will find this journal and be able to read it. Goodbye.
	[WP] An astronaut in the ISS realizes they are probably the last human alive	"Incoming videochat....." Hopefully it was Houston to tell me what was actually happened yesterday. I floated towards the command module at the front of the station, catching a quick glimpse of our blue planet. So majestic it looked floating in the light of the sun. That was when it truly dawned on me that I was the only person not to be currently sat on the giant rock below me. A wave of loneliness then flowed through my body like nothing I had felt before. I didn't even feel this lonely when both my parents had died when I was only 10. I could feel the a tear bubble building in my duct. I wiped it away with the sleeve of my standard issue blue jumpsuit that all NASA astronauts are given. I've got to pull together I told myself, I'm the most experienced astronaut they had, it'll just be an extra few days onto my already record breaking time in space. I had personally led the past two missions on the ISS. I carried on floating down my temporary prison towards the command module. "So Commander Jack can you please explain to me again what the fuck happened yesterday? As Russia seems to have cut all communication with us whilst China aren't providing any information at all." "Like I said to control yesterday, my crew were boarding the Soyuz capsule whilst I preformed the last minute checks. When I approached the capsule to board Commander Yenkov grabbed open the survival box and pulled out the gun and pointed it at me. I was then told to leave the capsule and stay here." Sigh "It looks like all this political tension has finally reached space. Don't worry we'll sort it out. You just float back and relax. Oh and don't forget America doesn't forget!" America doesn't forget. I chuckled at the thought as it crossed my mind for the third day running. No contact, not even a text based message, nothing since that line. It definitely felt like they had forgotten. I floated back to the window, I had lost count how many times over the past four days I had just gazed out onto Earth hoping to see my rescue rocket soaring through the atmosphere, and just like the contact with NASA there was nothing. "No connection" I dunno what I expected the signal dropped a few hours ago and nothing on this station ever miraculously fixes itself. I'll have to add it to my report for the next crew. Back to gazing out of the window then. This time there wasn't nothing. An unmistakable light carrying on a trajectory was skimming over the horizon. Excitement and joy filled my insides. I felt as giddy as a kid in a sweatshop. My rescue ship had arrived. It never even crossed my mind that NASA couldn't get anything in the air that quickly. But my excitement soon came to an abrupt end when I spotted another, then another. They were coming from all directions on every continent. Then the loneliness flowed in again...	"Hello? Houston? Anybody there?" I had tried for the 50th time today. I thought it was a malfunction though, so I went to the captain's room. He wasn't there. I spent 4 and a half hours searching through the entire ship. Nobody was here. Not even in the storage rooms. It just didn't make any sense. They were here yesterday, so why were they just gone? And why was the radio not even working? I took a long, hard look out of the earth facing window. Nothing strange back on earth. I could still see most of earth's landmasses. Water looked okay, but that was when something caught my eye. As we rotated eastward, a large, sword(?) looking thing appeared to be hovering a couple miles above the atlantic ocean. It was just big enough for me to pinpoint, about the size of my fingertip. Then, I noticed about 9 others, positioned around the globe. How could I have not noticed it? They appeared to be pulsing blue, sending out waves every 4 or 5 seconds. Perhaps those are what killed off (hopefully not) everybody on Earth. But why was I the only one left on the ISS? That's when I remembered. I had been in a fight with another crew member for accidentally bumping into some valuable equipment, and possibly breaking it. I floated off towards my bunk, hoping to get some shuteye, maybe apologize in the morning. Guess that wouldn't happen now. I had heard some commotion, but assumed it was nothing. That may have been the astronauts leaving in the escape capsules. The world was nothing now. I was probably the last human alive. Somebody would have contacted me via open radio. Nobody had contacted me as of yet. Wait. I just thought of something brilliant. There was one evacuation capsule left on board. I had been taught how to man an escape capsule by myself, all I needed was to grap a suit, get on board, and head off. I did those, but one thing turned up. How could I be so stupid? Last night, I had bumped into the equipment powering the escape pods. It was broken. There's no way to fix it, because we need an engineer, and both engineers had escaped without me. That was it. I was going to die alone, onboard the International Space Station.
	[WP] You receive a bizarre text message from your SO. Over the course of the ensuing conversation/fight, you realize your SO is inadvertently texting you their inner thoughts.	It's just past 4am when I wake again. The hotel bed is comfortable, but something about being away from home keeps me from being properly settled. Squinting, I fumble for my phone. "How many messages?!" I mutter in disbelief. They're all from my husband, Mark. Something about the sheer volume of texts triggers a paranoid reaction that there has been a terrible accident, or an emergency of some kind. I quickly rejected that idea as I started reading through them. 12:05: "Ugh, fine, I'll do the laundry. I know she'll appreciate it." 12:05: "How do I even laundry? Where does this powder go?" 12:06: "Done! See, I can do this domestic stuff. Pah, and she makes such a big deal about it." 12:10: "I can't hear the TV over the sound of the washing machine. This sucks." 12:25: "Fuck, I'm tired. Time to bash out a cheeky one, then bed. Jeanie at work had a pretty sweet ass in that skirt today. Best. Receptionist. Ever." 12:55: "Shit. Shit shit shit shit." 12:56: "Aw shit. How do I even...?" 1:00: "She's going to kill me. Or laugh until she cries. Or both?" 1:05: "I legitimately have a room full of bubbles. I'm torn between letting my inner kid out and playing in them, or, I dunno, do something adult?!" 1:06: "Are there professionals that deal with this sort of catastrophe?" 1:10: "You know, at least she wasn't here to see this. I still have three days. I can sort this out. She will never know." "Heh," I laugh to myself. "Sure she won't."	Jenny: hi Jake... [Received] Jake: Hey babe...what's up? [Sent] Jenny: i was thinking of staying home for xmas [Received] Jake furrowed his brow. Christmas was 4 months away. ----------------------------------------------------------- Jenny: we've been going out for dinner lately [Sent] Jenny reluctantly placed her phone next to her laptop. She was done with Thai food. She was also kind of sick of things between her and Jake. Jake Well...that's fine. Kind of a bummer, but if that's what you want [Received] Jenny: ~~while you're here could we talk about~~ "No," she thought, "Not now." Jenny held the delete button and hastily typed a new message. Jenny: alright. i'll make pasta! pick up something for us to drink? [Sent] Jake I'll be on my way [Received] ----------------------------------------------------------- Jake started pacing back and forth. He had taken too long. He hadn't proposed and she was slipping away. Jake: Wine? [Sent] Jenny: no, it's just dinner [Received] "What in the world." Jake froze. What was happening? ----------------------------------------------------------- Jenny: i'm sick of Thai food, that's all [Sent] Jake: Do you wanna talk about it? ^Hm. ^Should ^I ^bring ^the ^ring? [Received] Jenny let out a sigh and pressed her forehead against her palm. What was he on about? Jake: I wanted to talk to your dad... [Received] "Does...does he know..." Jenny said aloud. Jenny: about what? [Sent] ----------------------------------------------------------- Jenny: how do you know? [Received] Jake was becoming slightly upset. Jake: Know what? [Sent] Jenny: I'M SICK [Received] ----------------------------------------------------------- Jenny: I'M SICK [Sent] Jenny started tearing up. This isn't how she wanted to handle this. Jake: ...sick? [Received] Jenny: i'm not suppose to make it past February...i don't want you to be around for that [Sent] ----------------------------------------------------------- Jenny: i'm not going to make it past February and i...i just can't make it without you. please don't go. i cannot do this without you [Received] Jake began clenched his teeth. She must have been hiding this for years. Jake: I'll be there soon [Sent] ----------------------------------------------------------- Jake: How could you keep that from me?. [Received] Jenny: i know how it looks. can we please talk [Sent] Jake: you're a bitch for doing this to me [Received] ----------------------------------------------------------- Jake: Yea, I'm almost there [Sent] Jenny: i love you [Received] Jake: Love you too [Sent] ----------------------------------------------------------- Jake: This isn't going to last. [Sent]
	[WP] You are living your day quietly, until you become very nauseous and start seeing flashbacks. Flashbacks of different lives you've had at different times in history	In my mid-twenties I had the most unusual experience. I had an episode that felt like I was living the lives of different people. Although at the same time I somehow knew these people were all me; like we live in a multiverse or something and I'm a freak that could experience their lives as vividly as mine. “It was such a surreal experience. I really can't describe it, Doc.” I was sitting on a cushy recliner, just as you'd expect from a shrink’s office. Doctor Mathers was my therapist for twenty odd years. He was a short bald man with a very dark tan. “Now, Derrick, I told you to elaborate whenever you recall a memory.” Dr. Mathers tapped a finger which I presumed was impatience. “And don't worry Derrick, I'm tapping on my clipboard because I'm fascinated with what you need to say.” “You really are the best, huh? It's creepy that you can read my thoughts.” I felt the aura of his grin pull on my standing neck hairs. “Well, it's like I described last session. I have flashbacks of different people's lives. All sorts of folk from different times and different parts of the world. “For instance, the first memory I recalled was of a man that was just about to make love with his wife. I think he had kids because I could hear their laughter in the next room ov——” “Hold on, Derrick,” Dr. Mathers interrupted, “I have to point out that we did rule out schizophrenia in the last session you mentioned. I came to the conclusion that you have a normal worldview and you seem to function normally in society—for a writer. But I do have to say that I will not rule anything out in my diagnosis based on additional findings in this session. Now, please continue.” I sighed with exaggeration, “Alright, where was I… Ah, yes. The next memory was of a kid. He got beat up by his brother because he talked back with a lot of lip. The kid was a geek and he knew it, but he still said whatever he wanted. He got hit hard and hit his head on the edge of a desk. I'm not sure if he survived, but does it really matter? I mean, it was all in my head, right? Well, at least it feels like it was, now that I’m here talking to you about it. “After the kid, it got really dark. It was a soldier fighting in World War 1. He experienced shock especially because his entire squad died from an arty shell. He had a brief moment of clarity in helping his commanding officer defend their trench, but in the end, he got murdered from an enemy bayonet. “The next memory I remember is really boring. It was a man meditating. I'm not sure what was happening but I think he was on drugs because he was hallucinating big time. I saw all sorts of things like flowers and stars and white splotches against a black background. “My most recent memory is of a man in thirteenth century Japan fighting against the Mongol invasion. He fought hard and even managed to board a Mongol ship. But he wasn't prepared for the enemy's firearms and so he died heroically. “Hey, Doc. You with me?” I asked Dr. Mathers. I thought he fell asleep. “Yes, of course, Derrick. I'm a professional. I'm not about to fall asleep.” He paused. He always paused before he was going to tell me something profound. “Look. Your stories sound, interesting, but, I think they should be put on paper, and not, hmm...” Dr. Mathers stuttered. He never did so for the past ten sessions. “I don’t think your stories should be told to others as if they're your memories. Now, I've never stammered with my words before, and you know that, so I will reassure you that I am being completely honest with my advice. Do not repeat your stories to others as your... alternative life experiences. That said, it seems like your memories focus on either sex… or death.” Dr. Mathers never spoke with severity either, but his words were crystal clear.	I hear a crash and the last thing I see is the floor coming to meet me, and in an instant I am in a theatre. I am in pain, I recognise that, and the blood leaking from my head, the way it pooled on the wooden planks. I hear cries of "Mr. President!" and that is that. I wake up in my bed. "Just another nightmare" I tell myself, but that saying has become so familiar I don't believe that anymore. This all began 8 years ago. I was in Rome on a school trip, and we were in a Roman theatre. Then it started. I got that weird feeling in my stomach, a pain in my back, a sharp stab you could say. [WIP]
	[WP] Suffering is a form of currency in Hell. The more you suffer in life the richer you are in the afterlife. You, a normal person arriving in hell find out that you're one of the richest person in Hell and worth more then Satan.	I hate to be the one to break the news to you, but you are going to Hell. You're probably thinking one of three things right now: * "What, me?! I've been a good [insert proper gender/species here] all my life!" * "You must be mistaken; there isn't even a Hell to begin with." * "Well, duh." No matter which you're thinking, you're probably as clueless as anyone else that isn't experiencing it. You still assume that Hell is the place all bad people go when they die, eternal flames, sulfur, pitchforks, dancing devils in leotards, et cetera. Well, it used to be, but not since 1844. Ever hear of the Great Disappointment? Will Miller gets all the people he can find and tells them that the prophecy will come to pass and Christ himself will harrow Hell and end the world as they knew it, and that he knew when it would happen: sometime in 1844. So 1844 came. 1844 went. He produced a few specific dates, but each time no apocalypse was to be seen; thus, the Great Disappointment was had. Bill didn't get the memo that it was happening outside of the mortal plane. From New Year's Day to New Year's Eve, there was an epic battle for control of the Dominion of Hell, and the angelic forces proved victorious. You would expect any demonic survivors to be crushed, sent to the Lake of Fire, what have you, but God wouldn't be God if He did not have boundless mercy. As the clock struck the first moments of 1845, a peace accord was signed and Hell was one with Heaven for the first time since Eden itself came into being. All of the demonic glories were razed, high onyx towers that once rang with the chorus of sinners' screams were toppled, and a new infrastructure had to be created. Hell would become the residence of human souls - past, present and future - as well as those of the demons that once ruled over them absolutely. Everyone had a say in the design of this new civilization, although the souls of the damned inevitably had a bias toward their literal saviors. But one idea that was put forward by His Infernal Majesty himself received a lot of positive feedback from the ex-mortals. The denizens of Hell would be rewarded for their suffering, literally. Each resident, human or otherwise, would each be given a place to live determined by the hardships, pain, and punishment endured during their lives; with larger homes came more amenities, more possibilities, more social power, and so on. The meek shall inherit Hell. Humans loved it. God - in His infinite wisdom - decried against it. In doing so, He raised the ire of the souls He had just saved. How could God not support such an idea? Those who suffered deserved such a respite! God so loved His children that He decided to allow the resolution to pass. In my time here, I've seen the erection of numerous towers for new souls coming in. Imagine the Tower of Pisa suddenly erupting straight up from the ground, made of the same red dirt as the rest of Hell, stretching toward a sky of black, jagged obsidian that glimmers with hints of refractions of the ground below. (Everything beneath is lit about as well as Earth at twilight, despite a lack of any visible light source.) I wasn't there for the inception, so I can only imagine the great upheaval of billions of buildings being commanded to rise from the dusty earth. But there was one that stood taller than the rest. There was no gloating that escaped his lips, but witnesses say there was a twinkle of satisfaction in Satan's eye as his tower slowly arrived at its appropriate height. At the center of the city was a three kilometer behemoth of a Stonescraper, more regal and splendid than Pandæmonium ever was. The next tallest were those of the Fallen that joined him, which formed as a group around the base of his tower; they were still only a third of the size, but dwarfed the rest of the human dwellings sprawling out across the land. Most ex-mortal homes appeared relatively cozy. Some of them were grouped together - similar to the Demonic Center - according to their causes of suffering, with those who died in battle often being grouped together, as were those who perished of the Black Death, the Spanish Inquisition, and so forth, but even these were fortunate if they got to over half a kilometer in height. In hindsight, of course, it made sense; after all, when you have been desirous for power against an immortal, unbeatable opponent and battled against Him for billions of years, you are likely to suffer more than even the lowest wretch starving to death in the Sahara. Forget your third-world problems; these were UNDERworld problems. It was ironic, then, that they gave Satan the power he had so long been vying for. More ironic was that I would be the one to depose him.	"Pretty, pretty, pretty good!" says Larry David, opening the door to the 'smelly gates' of hell in the season opening for the tenth season of Curb Your Enthusiasm. That was how season 10 began, and for many it was a sign that the series was going down the tubes. "Yeah, the whole Satan thing was really dumb," says HBO executive producer Greg Vandelay, "it was as if they sourced the writing from Reddit or something, no one got it."
	[WP] Suffering is a form of currency in Hell. The more you suffer in life the richer you are in the afterlife. You, a normal person arriving in hell find out that you're one of the richest person in Hell and worth more then Satan.	I hate to be the one to break the news to you, but you are going to Hell. You're probably thinking one of three things right now: * "What, me?! I've been a good [insert proper gender/species here] all my life!" * "You must be mistaken; there isn't even a Hell to begin with." * "Well, duh." No matter which you're thinking, you're probably as clueless as anyone else that isn't experiencing it. You still assume that Hell is the place all bad people go when they die, eternal flames, sulfur, pitchforks, dancing devils in leotards, et cetera. Well, it used to be, but not since 1844. Ever hear of the Great Disappointment? Will Miller gets all the people he can find and tells them that the prophecy will come to pass and Christ himself will harrow Hell and end the world as they knew it, and that he knew when it would happen: sometime in 1844. So 1844 came. 1844 went. He produced a few specific dates, but each time no apocalypse was to be seen; thus, the Great Disappointment was had. Bill didn't get the memo that it was happening outside of the mortal plane. From New Year's Day to New Year's Eve, there was an epic battle for control of the Dominion of Hell, and the angelic forces proved victorious. You would expect any demonic survivors to be crushed, sent to the Lake of Fire, what have you, but God wouldn't be God if He did not have boundless mercy. As the clock struck the first moments of 1845, a peace accord was signed and Hell was one with Heaven for the first time since Eden itself came into being. All of the demonic glories were razed, high onyx towers that once rang with the chorus of sinners' screams were toppled, and a new infrastructure had to be created. Hell would become the residence of human souls - past, present and future - as well as those of the demons that once ruled over them absolutely. Everyone had a say in the design of this new civilization, although the souls of the damned inevitably had a bias toward their literal saviors. But one idea that was put forward by His Infernal Majesty himself received a lot of positive feedback from the ex-mortals. The denizens of Hell would be rewarded for their suffering, literally. Each resident, human or otherwise, would each be given a place to live determined by the hardships, pain, and punishment endured during their lives; with larger homes came more amenities, more possibilities, more social power, and so on. The meek shall inherit Hell. Humans loved it. God - in His infinite wisdom - decried against it. In doing so, He raised the ire of the souls He had just saved. How could God not support such an idea? Those who suffered deserved such a respite! God so loved His children that He decided to allow the resolution to pass. In my time here, I've seen the erection of numerous towers for new souls coming in. Imagine the Tower of Pisa suddenly erupting straight up from the ground, made of the same red dirt as the rest of Hell, stretching toward a sky of black, jagged obsidian that glimmers with hints of refractions of the ground below. (Everything beneath is lit about as well as Earth at twilight, despite a lack of any visible light source.) I wasn't there for the inception, so I can only imagine the great upheaval of billions of buildings being commanded to rise from the dusty earth. But there was one that stood taller than the rest. There was no gloating that escaped his lips, but witnesses say there was a twinkle of satisfaction in Satan's eye as his tower slowly arrived at its appropriate height. At the center of the city was a three kilometer behemoth of a Stonescraper, more regal and splendid than Pandæmonium ever was. The next tallest were those of the Fallen that joined him, which formed as a group around the base of his tower; they were still only a third of the size, but dwarfed the rest of the human dwellings sprawling out across the land. Most ex-mortal homes appeared relatively cozy. Some of them were grouped together - similar to the Demonic Center - according to their causes of suffering, with those who died in battle often being grouped together, as were those who perished of the Black Death, the Spanish Inquisition, and so forth, but even these were fortunate if they got to over half a kilometer in height. In hindsight, of course, it made sense; after all, when you have been desirous for power against an immortal, unbeatable opponent and battled against Him for billions of years, you are likely to suffer more than even the lowest wretch starving to death in the Sahara. Forget your third-world problems; these were UNDERworld problems. It was ironic, then, that they gave Satan the power he had so long been vying for. More ironic was that I would be the one to depose him.	I opened my eyes to find myself in a line. I was almost in the back of said line, but not quite. In fact, it was the most curious thing. As I watched, more and more people appeared, eyes opening and surprise lighting up their faces. The line had moved forward without me noticing, and I hastened to catch up. My surroundings were - shall we say - dreary. The walls were dull, gray stone punctuated by the occasional fountain of flames. Not really an improvement what I'd left behind, but not too far off. By now I had nearly reached the front of the line, and my destination was in sight. It was a raised desk manned by some sort of demon. Each person would approach the desk, confer with the creature which would then consult its computer, and then follow a certain path. Eventually, my turn arrived. "Hallo," said the demon, not even glancing in my direction, "willkommen in der Hölle." "Du sprichst Deutsch?" I asked, surprised. "Ja. Name?" the demon replied, entirely indifferent. "Abraham Baer." "Says here you know English. Born April 23rd, 1921 to Wilhelm and Abigail Baer in Berlin, Germany. Suffering rating of -" it cut off there, apparently confused by what it saw. "Is something wrong?" I asked. "Yes, yes, something is very wrong! This isn't possible. No no no, not possible. You've suffered more than anyone here! More than Satan!" "Really? What does this mean?" "I- I don't know. I would guess that you get the "keys" now, but don't count on it. My manager's on his way, but, uh, do you mind telling me what happened?" the demon said, visibly perturbed. "What do you mean?" I asked. "Well, uh, how did you die? I mean, if you don't mind. It would seem you've suffered enough already." "It's too soon for me to go into much detail, so I'll make it short. I a- I am a homosexual of- of the Jewish persuasion, not exactly Hitler's favorite sort of human."
	[WP] Suffering is a form of currency in Hell. The more you suffer in life the richer you are in the afterlife. You, a normal person arriving in hell find out that you're one of the richest person in Hell and worth more then Satan.	Who knew civil service would pay off like this? "Good morning, Mr. Monassis." Now I knew who the well-dressed man shaking my hand was. I can't really explain how I knew to those of you reading this who are still alive. Suffice it to say there's kind of a psychic commentary track in the afterlife that feeds you information that you don't get in life (or maybe we get it, we just don't know how to read it, idunno). "You're the Morning Star." He smiles nervously. "You flatter me with your formality, sir. Please, call me Lou." "I don't understand, this is Hell, isn't it?" "Yes, sir. Welcome. I'd pay you my condolences, but, ah-" He gestures around my room with a chuckle. Yes, this is my room. I... 'spawned' here, or whatever. I remember how they shot part of Devil's Advocate in an apartment owned by Donald Trump because they needed something gaudy and obviously expensive. This room was slightly nicer than that, as though a set designer paid extra to turn the gaudiness down just a little. "So wait... is my afterlife like Brewster's Millions, where I gotta spend a shitload of money every day until it becomes a chore? 'Cause that's not exactly ironic." One of the books my mom insisted I read in my youth was Your Money Or Your Life, and one of the steps they have you do is figuring out lifetime how much money you've ever made. Now, I had done the math probably five years before I died, but even factoring in that extra time, I was probably hovering around two hundred grand. At thirty. The vast majority of which came in during the last decade in the dead-end shit job I died on my way home from. Lucifer is still chuckling in his pin-striped worsted wool. I can't decide if he kinda looks like David Bowie or if I'm kind of telekinetically making him look like David Bowie because of that one piece of fanart. "No no, nothing like that. Although we would very much appreciate your patronage if that was your intention." His teeth are fucking perfect. It's at this moment that I finally glanced down at what I'm wearing. I didn't really notice because of how impossibly comfortable the thing is, but it looks like an athletic cut three-piece suit, black with a vague green shimmer at shallow angles, so light it's like wearing nothing at all (nothing at all (^nothing ^at ^all )). Also my gut fat is gone, like I got some heavenly lipo when I wasn't looking. I probably look great naked. "That you do, sir." "You can read my thoughts?" "...wuh I-" "Don't do that, it's rude." He's flustered. "I-I-I didn't mean to intrude, Mr. Monassis." That's another cruel twist of fate. My mother named me Alec. Alec Monassis, which every ten-year-old interprets as "I lick man asses." It's right up there with Isaac Cox. It wasn't until I went away to college that I was able to get people to start calling me Al, and then another year before I finally heard that song people kept referencing. "Explain what the hell is happening here, and do it succinctly." Yeah. SAT words. "Well, sir, when your tire blew out, you veered off the road and the support column drove the engine block through your-" "No, I remember that part. Get to the metaphysical shit." "Well." The nervous smile snaps to a no-nonsense briefing pose. "Put simply, suffering is currency here. You're rich." "And you're being nice to me because you're like a politician?" How like Earth. "Yes and no. I am rather like a politician." On that afterlife info track I mentioned is the awareness that what most people think of as 'the devil' is actually about a dozen distinct entities, and that the representation closes to the truth actually comes from fucking D&D of all things. "But no, I'm not being nice to you for short term political gain, I'm being nice to you because, long term, it's always wise to be kind to your superiors." ...this is a lot to take in. "Take your time." What'd I just say? "Sorry. Habit." I have five or six pertinent questions swirling around in my brain (among them, 'do I still have a brain'), but the one I decide to output first is, "So what exactly is my net worth?" "Fourteen-point-three trillion fuckits." I let out a short, surprised laugh. "That's the unit?" "Yes, sir. One fuckit is the suffering equivalent of a one on that one-to-ten pain scale hospitals use. A minor but definite discomfort." "Is that linear?" "No, it's logarithmic. And it's not absolute; maximal human physical pain is only about three hundred thousand fuckits. Emotional pain goes..." he laughs, "way, way beyond that." Makes sense. The most intense physical pain I ever felt in my life was when I had an infected filling in one of my molars when I was ten. We couldn't get to a dentist until Monday, so I spent that Sunday afternoon writhing in pain in my bed. The kind of pain that turns off conscious thought. The most intense emotional pain I can remember is when my ex-wife first told me she was fucking somebody else, and I would've given anything to switch places with ten-year-old me just to make it not true. "And you're telling me that in three decades, I amassed fourteen trillion points of emotional damage." He smirks. "That is a novel way to look at it, but yes, sir. That is your current situation. You're dead, you're in Hell, and you're a multitrillionaire. The underworld is your oyster." The first place my mind went to was Iraq. Now I admit, I haven't really been happy in my life in a very long time, and I've never really been grateful for my life, but surely there's some single parents in Iraq who had to bury part of their only child who've suffered worse than me. Devil Bowie is looking at me expectantly, so I subconsciously grant him permission to respond to that thought. He lights up like a kid at Christmas and claps once, summoning a large dry erase board and quickly sketches a graph. "Well you see here, people in warzones become jaded very quickly, so their rate of appreciation levels off. Spikes of course occur pretty much any time fight-or-flight is invoked, but they mostly become numb to it." He flips the board over revealing identical axes but without the hypothetical war survivor's 'my life is hell' line. "You, in a manner that only depressive nihilists can, didn't get numb to the suffering of your dead-end job, you dwelt in it. You let every single little thing that went wrong penetrate you to your very core and you blamed only yourself for it. That time Beth spilled her coffee all over your ergonomic keyboard? All those promotions you were passed up for? To say nothing of the massive head start you got for having an absent father." I would find out later that there's sort of a high-end gentlemen's club for sons whose fathers abandoned them. "I just... Harlequin babies." "Die too young, have no frame of reference. Pain is their 'normal.'" "Addicts?" "Please, if what they were doing didn't feel good they wouldn't be addicts. I coded that little feedback loop myself." "Huh. But like, I was never beaten or anything." "No, your family relied much more on emotional abuse, which as I said can rack up fuckits way faster than physical pain. Your brother was supremely manipulative because, as you so saliently observed, he blamed you for your father leaving." I was a month old. Years later I would wish I could go back and scream at him, if dad leaving is anybody's fault, motherfucker, it's yours! Hindsight being what it is. "So because my childhood was kind of shitty, and my job wasn't that great, I'm now the richest person in Hell?" "Ah-hah, well, no, you're not the richest person in Hell." "Are you?" "No." "What are you worth?" "Ten trillion." "...whose the richest?" "Well, if he were to die today, Keanu Reeves would be worth about twice as much as you." He smiles. "But of course he can't actually die." He sighs the way one might at the end of a fond anecdote. "...excuse me?" "Look, all of this exposition must be draining. Surely there are some better things we could do to welcome you to the dark side." "Such as?" "Drugs and whores?" On that supernatural info track is the understanding that what he's implying is any imaginable drug. Any imaginable whore. Any fantasy I could conceive of can be made real. I could take mushrooms and fuck Sasha Grey (or a convincing facsimile). I could pop an NZT and get deep throated by Plava Laguna. I could get a second chance with my first love. "Can you sell me a self-driving car?" There's a warmth behind his smile that I can't really convey. "What color?"	Here I lie on my deathbed, and I don’t have a single person who cares about me by my side. What a perfect end to an utterly disappointing life. And the last thing my eyes will ever see is this old hag that’s been masquerading for the past 70 years as my wife. God knows she couldn’t miss the day they pull the plug on my dilapidated ass. She wears a convincing mask of grief for the others, but I can tell how much she’s enjoying this. We only got married because it was the natural thing to do when neither of us broke it off after college, but at least back then she had her good skin. Now it’s just a leathery mess that flaps to and fro when she comes to mock me with her visits. And of course she’s never missed a day at the gym and the opportunity to rub my obesity in my face, as if I didn’t hate my grotesque flabs of flesh enough. If dying is good for anything, at least I’ll get away from that bland meatloaf recipe from her mother that I’ve been tortured with for decades. My son couldn’t show up, as usual. Apparently his trials and all that money mean more to him than the man who gave him life. But I’ve never been good enough for that spoiled brat. I knew I shouldn’t have trusted that doctor when he said it’d be a miracle if I could ever get Margret pregnant. And this doctor doesn’t even have the courtesy to hide his disgust as he pulls the plug from the wall. You may cry looking at my obese, decrepit, insignificant life, but I have to live it. Just end it. My shitty life with my shitty car, shitty job, shitty house. Just end this shitty life. . . . “Open your eyes.” I’m dead. It’s over. “Open your eyes, maggot. You are dead. And now you must begin your eternal damnation in hell.” “Damnation!? I’m in hell! What have I ever done to deserve hell! My whole life has been my sentence in hell, I deserve my time in heaven! Haven’t I suffered enough?” “Speaking of suffering, let me pull up your misfortune balance.” “My what?!” “Your misfortune balance. You have fortunes up there, down here we have misfortunes. It takes a second to pull up, so I’ll explain. All people are responsible for their actions regardless of the lives they were born into. But sometimes a soul is born into such suffering that they couldn’t help but break a few rules on their way. So you still deserve hell, but your misfortune is God’s recompense for the suffering you had to endure on earth. With it, you can make your stay in hell a little more endurable. Well, for a time at least. Oh here we go. Your balance is… well this isn’t right… this is more than... but there can be no mistake. You have more misfortune to your name than Satan himself! With all this you could live like a king for countless millennia. You poor soul, you must have had the worst life in… are you listening to me, sir? ... sir?” . . . What did I do to deserve hell? . . .
	[WP] Suffering is a form of currency in Hell. The more you suffer in life the richer you are in the afterlife. You, a normal person arriving in hell find out that you're one of the richest person in Hell and worth more then Satan.	I don't remember dying. As I have come to learn, this is fairly common. One moment I was sitting in front of my computer and moments later I found myself standing in line. I had lost time before. My mind had been deteriorating for years. Suddenly finding myself in an unfamiliar location had become so common that it took me the better part of a day to realize that something was amiss with the line. Initially, it was hard to focus. Something about the process of moving forward slowly seemed familiar. It seemed like most of my life had been spent waiting for something to happen. The line was no different. I had no idea why I was in line, but I lacked any real desire to step out of line. That first day was confusing. It was as if I was slowly moving forward on autopilot. I can only assume that it took me a day or so to find myself. Time has lost meaning. It could have been a day or a year. I have no way to measure my time spent shuffling slowly toward the gate. It was only when I realized that I was in a line that I began to think about the nature of the line. I suppose it says something about my life that I had been in Hell for the better part of a day and I didn't even notice. Freedom came with the realization that I could step out of line. It sounds stupid, but at that point it felt like a victory. I stepped slightly to the left and the light behind me shuffled forward enough to fill the gap. I turned to the line and then to the right. The line seemed to stretch further than I could attempt to conceive. It faded into the horizon. Upon looking to my left I could see a faint glimmer of light in the distance. Walking at a brisk pace, I was able to reach the source of the light in what felt like a little under an hour. As I've said before time has kinda lost meaning here. The two things I noticed as I approached the light were the heat and the growing feeling of dread. My location and final resting place were made apparent to me when I looked at the large archway in front of me. Etched into the obsidian arch were the words, "Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate." --- I breached the archway expecting to be met with monstrous creatures and eternal flame. Instead, I was met with sweltering heat and humidity that left me feeling like I was breathing water. It was painful, sure, but it wasn't much worse than summer in Tennessee. I noticed a middle-aged man in a generic business outfit holding a clipboard. He seemed completely unfazed by the surroundings and completely indifferent to the individuals at the front of the line who screamed as they were dragged into the darkness. I approached him saying, "Excuse me sir, but is this Hell?" The man turned his head toward me and raised his eyebrow. I spoke again, "Yeah. So, I'm pretty sure I'm dead. Would you mind telling me where I'm supposed to go now?" Without hesitation he spoke into a microphone attached to his lapel and said, "We got a line jumper at the gate. Send a team for an audit." Moments later I felt strong hands grab my shoulders from behind. I was pulled into the darkness. My last thoughts as the light from the gate faded into the distance was that Hell wasn't nearly as terrible as I had been taught. --- The darkness remained constant. It was only after realizing that I'd never see again that I started to see the hellscape that surrounded me. It was dark and silent. If anyone else had been nearby, I couldn't hear them. At first I thought my eyes where adjusting to the darkness, but in time I realized I didn't have eyes anymore. I was dead. My body was up on Earth and I was existing as something incorporeal. Don't ask me why, but I found the lack of a physical form almost comforting. My body had been a constant source of pain and suffering. I had no cartilage in my knees or shoulders. Most of my bones were held together with steel plates. My muscles had been slowly slipping into atrophy. I think part of the reason I found Hell to be so refreshing was because I didn't feel that pain anymore. Sure, it was hot. It was hot and I felt a thirst that should have been maddening. There was this empty pit at the core of my soul that seemed to devour all light or happiness as soon as it arrived. My every thought left me questioning my own sanity. Still, it wasn't nearly as bad as I had been told about. Life had been such a terrible thing that the prospect of eternity in this form seemed heavenly. No sooner than I had come to that realization, I saw the room for what it was. I was sitting in an uncomfortable metal chair and at rusted metal table in a small room. The individual across from me flipped through a manila folder and nodded on occasion before turning the page. I began to speak up, but the individual held up a single bony finger and said, "Hold on Sir, I'm still familiarizing myself with your file." An inordinate amount of time passed. Finally, I heard the individual say, "I'm going to need to contact my superiors. Please, wait here." Moments later a yellow fluorescent light flickered on above me. The room was gray and dull as I had expected. A tall man in a business suit walked in the door and sat down in front of me. He scanned through the manila folder and proceeded to throw it at the wall in frustration. Shortly after composing himself, he turned to me and said, "Come with me. We have much to discuss." --- The tall man walked alongside me. As we moved down the seemingly endless hallway, he said, "Mr. Jones, your audit has put me into a difficult situation." I continued alongside him and said, "How so?" The man sighed and said, "Punishment here works off of a simple system. We weigh your sin against your suffering." I replied, "How does that work?" He perked up a bit as he replied, "We take your total lifetime sin record and treat it as a simple number. In your case it is a score of 3200. You weren't a terrible human being, but you were a bit of a prick. There were times in your life where you could have helped others without injuring yourself and you chose to remain selfish. You were a drunk and a cynic. You were prideful and arrogant. 3200 is an average score. You'd have spent eternity is customer service completely aware of your situation and unable to be anything other than pleasant." I shuddered at the thought and shot back, "So what makes my case so difficult for you?" He replied, "Your suffering score was more than three billion. To date, only one being has scored so high. You see, we divide your suffering score by your sin score. If the resulting dividend is greater than your sin score, it is then allotted to you as currency. This currency can be spent on a variety of things. For the rich, hell is almost comfortable" I did some math in my head and replied, "So you're saying I'm a millionaire?" The man sighed and said, "We're here, and yes." I turned to my left to see a ornate wooden door. The tall man pushed it open and said, "Sir, I've delivered him per your request." A tall man in a white suit sat behind a mahogany desk. His blonde hair and pale skin were surprisingly clean given what I had seen thus far. The man slid a cigar box across the desk and said, "Cigar?" I sat across from him and pulled a cigar from the box. He lit it for me and I took in the smoke. I spent a short moment trying to wrap my mind around the concept of an incoporeal being smoking a cigar, but the man in white intterrupted my thought saying, "It's easier if you don't think about it. For the time being, assume that your current form is a projection of self imprinted on the ether that surrounds you. Most of the surroundings down here react to your expectations of them-" I interrupted, "So basically, Hell is subjective." The man smiled and said, "Exactly." --- "When my father tasked me with managing this domain, my only sins were Pride and Disobedience. However, my suffering score was offset by the pain of being separated from divinity. I still feel that. A few billion divided by two, it was like this place was made for me." The man said. I laughed and said, "So you're Satan. Cool." Satan laughed and said, "My given name is Helel ben Shaḥar, but most people down here call me Luc." I replied, "So Luc, why am I in your office." "Down to brass tacks. I like it." Luc said with a certain degree of delight. He continued, "By nature of your score, you should be in charge. However, I don't like that arrangement very much. Some might say it is unfair, but hey, Welcome To Hell." I replied, "It isn't really all that bad." Luc laughed and said, "Tell that to the pedophiles. I have an entire team of horror writers tasked with thinking up new and inventive punishments for them. Like I've said, Hell is subjective." "Allow me to get to the point Mr. Jones. Your scores are too high and I don't feel like giving up my throne just yet. Were you to stay, you'd be afforded an eternity of luxury and comfort. It would still be unpleasant, but a hell with cold drinks and fine cigars beats slumming it in the Malbolge." Luc said as his face shifted to a grimace. I nodded. He continued, "It is within my power to send you back to Earth. You will continue to live your life. The problem is that you'd be back in forty years with a higher score. That is unacceptable. So I'll be restoring your body and curing the brain cancer that has left you with a deteriorating mind. You will be made whole." I sighed and said, "So I take it you want me to sin my ass off." He smiled and said, "Well, I am giving you life..." --- Without anything that could pass as a transition, I found myself sitting at my computer. The pain I had grown accustomed to had faded. I felt rejuvenated. My mind was as clear as it had ever been. I looked at the bottle in front of me and then down to the floor. I whispered the first prayer I'd uttered in my life, "Don't worry Luc, I'll make sure to shave a few hundred thousand off that score."	Here I lie on my deathbed, and I don’t have a single person who cares about me by my side. What a perfect end to an utterly disappointing life. And the last thing my eyes will ever see is this old hag that’s been masquerading for the past 70 years as my wife. God knows she couldn’t miss the day they pull the plug on my dilapidated ass. She wears a convincing mask of grief for the others, but I can tell how much she’s enjoying this. We only got married because it was the natural thing to do when neither of us broke it off after college, but at least back then she had her good skin. Now it’s just a leathery mess that flaps to and fro when she comes to mock me with her visits. And of course she’s never missed a day at the gym and the opportunity to rub my obesity in my face, as if I didn’t hate my grotesque flabs of flesh enough. If dying is good for anything, at least I’ll get away from that bland meatloaf recipe from her mother that I’ve been tortured with for decades. My son couldn’t show up, as usual. Apparently his trials and all that money mean more to him than the man who gave him life. But I’ve never been good enough for that spoiled brat. I knew I shouldn’t have trusted that doctor when he said it’d be a miracle if I could ever get Margret pregnant. And this doctor doesn’t even have the courtesy to hide his disgust as he pulls the plug from the wall. You may cry looking at my obese, decrepit, insignificant life, but I have to live it. Just end it. My shitty life with my shitty car, shitty job, shitty house. Just end this shitty life. . . . “Open your eyes.” I’m dead. It’s over. “Open your eyes, maggot. You are dead. And now you must begin your eternal damnation in hell.” “Damnation!? I’m in hell! What have I ever done to deserve hell! My whole life has been my sentence in hell, I deserve my time in heaven! Haven’t I suffered enough?” “Speaking of suffering, let me pull up your misfortune balance.” “My what?!” “Your misfortune balance. You have fortunes up there, down here we have misfortunes. It takes a second to pull up, so I’ll explain. All people are responsible for their actions regardless of the lives they were born into. But sometimes a soul is born into such suffering that they couldn’t help but break a few rules on their way. So you still deserve hell, but your misfortune is God’s recompense for the suffering you had to endure on earth. With it, you can make your stay in hell a little more endurable. Well, for a time at least. Oh here we go. Your balance is… well this isn’t right… this is more than... but there can be no mistake. You have more misfortune to your name than Satan himself! With all this you could live like a king for countless millennia. You poor soul, you must have had the worst life in… are you listening to me, sir? ... sir?” . . . What did I do to deserve hell? . . .
	[WP] Suffering is a form of currency in Hell. The more you suffer in life the richer you are in the afterlife. You, a normal person arriving in hell find out that you're one of the richest person in Hell and worth more then Satan.	Tony didn't mind waking up in hell. Sure, there were lakes of lava here and there, a couple of poison ivy fields where slaves were whipped into harvesting them barehanded, and a giant three-headed dog barking at anyone who whined about being in hell, but he was very aware he deserved to end up here. After all he was an intellectual, a human being enlightened by his own scientific knowledge, he was... an atheist. If the Christians ended up being right, well what else could he do? Cry and get barked at by a three-headed dog? If anything could be said to his credit, Tony was a man who stuck to his guns, even if he ended up proven wrong at the end of his life. At least the never went back on his beliefs... or lack thereof. No, Tony didn't mind being hell. What he did mind was the constant waiting at every corner of the damned place. He'd always heard about bureaucratic hells, but he never expected them to be named after the plane of existence. "Could this mean those yellow minions were designed by Satan himself?" thought the man. He slumped back into his chair with a sigh, looking at the queue number again. It said: 3,675,742 , just one more turn until his number was called. Time sort of losses its meaning when you're stuck for eternity somewhere, but if Tony had to guess, he'd been waiting for years now to get settled into hell. First he had to request his personal records, containing every sin he'd ever committed, then he had to reserve a spot as a home for his stay, and then he had to deposit his suffering on his personal Hell Account, which of course he had to open through tons of tedious paperwork beforehand. After looking back on all the redtape he had overcome, he wondered if the people getting barked at were crying out of ending up in hell or all of the excessive bureaucracy they had to go through. Ding went the queue bell, meaning that it was finally time to deposit his suffering. He stood up from his chair, wished the apathetic people in the room a good day, and entered an office with a horned man sitting behind its desk. "Ahh Anthony Smith, is it?" said the demon typing on a computer. "I've had your files brought to me and we'd like to thank you for choosing Hell as your afterlife destination. Soon, your suffering will be deposited into your Hell Account and you'll be well on your way to enjoying Hell for eternity." "I'm sorry," said Tony, "but I'm still not quite clear on what this suffering business means. I'm... I'm not even sure why I've been doing all of this. I've just been pushed around from office to office and I'd like to get some answers right now!" "But of course Mr. Smith! It's the least I could do. You see, here in hell, all the suffering in your life is compiled from your records and deposited into an account to be used as currency." "Currency? What for?!? We're in hell, aren't we? You know, eternal punishment and all that, right?" "Yes, yes, that's a comment I hear often, but worry not, you are indeed in hell." The demon leaned back on his leather chair. "You see Satan isn't really that bad a guy. He's more about giving the middle finger to God than about torturing humans for their sins." "Oh... that seems reasonable, I guess. But why suffering?" "Well, the ol' fallen angel reasoned it this way. If a person committed a lot of sins and suffered, you can't really judge them fairly, now can you?" Tony looked puzzled, prompting the demon to continue. "You see, sinning and suffering are closely related to one another. In a way, suffering pushes you to sin, which gives you more suffering, which makes you sin some more. The whole thing really snowballs out of hand, making a proper judgement a bit of a crapshoot." "I still don't follow... Why does Satan even care about this?" "Remember, Lucifer only cares about pissing off his Dad. He doesn't mind ruling over sinners. He's one himself! The thing is, would you really want to share a place with people who've sinned but haven't suffered because of it?" Before Tony could answer, the demon went ahead and said: "Of course not! Those people are sociopaths! Anyone who hasn't suffered because of their sins is someone who wouldn't mind starting trouble here in hell. Someone who has never regretted any atrocious act committed in his life time! We don't want any of that, so we basically made slaves out of those too poor to pay for their stay and treat fairly those who accumulated enough suffering in their life." Tony scratched his head and rested it on his hand. He then took a deep breath and said: "This... this makes too much sense. But right now, I'm sort of scared. Can you please tell me how much I suffered?" The demon nodded at his request and began typing away at his keyboard. His bushy eyebrows suddenly raised once the computer bleeped, prompting him to type furiously into the keyboard again. After waiting another minute, the computer beeped once more, forcing the demon to say: "I'm sorry Mr. Smith, but there seems but some problem with the system right now." He stood up. "I'll have to talk to my supervisor. If you'll excuse me..." Outside, Tony could faintly hear some arguing going on. He then wondered if this was just an elaborate plot to make this whole process even more tedious, but quickly reasoned that the desperation in their voices was genuine. The demon then entered the office, wiping sweat off his forehead as he sat back down on his chair. "Mr. Smith, it seems congratulations are in order! As of now, you are currently the richest person in hell... Even richer than Satan himself! How someone could endure that much suffering on Earth is a mystery to me, but it seems to have paid out in the end." "Is this some sort of prank? Sure, I've had a miserable life, but I wouldn't exactly think myself special in my suffering." "Well, I can safely say this isn't a mistake. For record keeping purposes, would you mind explaining the details of your suffering?" "Like I said, I don't think there's anything special about my suffering. Sure, ever since I was a young adult a day wouldn't pass without me wanting to kill myself, but that's perfectly reasonable for anyone with existential angst, right?" "Your records say you never did go through with it, so maybe the accumulated dread had something to do with it. That's still not enough, though. Any dead family members or loved ones?" "No, not really. I was mostly shunned by my family and I never really lost anyone close to me." "Shunned by your family?" The demon stroked his chin, leaning his elbow on the desk. "Could you elaborate on that?" "It's simple really. They were Christian; I wasn't. Made me the black sheep of the family and all that stuff. It really pissed me off, though not because of their disapproval." "Really? Why then?" "Because they weren't really Christian! They were just all talk and no action. They complained about everything, never appreciated what they had or went out of their way to help anyone! Heck, I was a more of a Christian than them and I didn't even believe in God!" The demon let out a roaring laugh, almost chocking on his own chuckles while slamming his desk. He then read Tony's files on his monitor, just to be sure, and said: "I finally get it now!" He laughed again. "It all makes sense!" "Really?" said Tony. "It does?" "You suffered this much because you were a living contradiction. All of these good deeds would've easily gotten you into heaven, but didn't, because you were an atheist. Your life was miserable because you were a true Christian that didn't believe in God!" >If you enjoyed this, you can check out more of my stories over at /r/WeirdEmoKidStories!	Satan walks up to me confused and bewildered. "Let me see your card" he demands in a hellish voice "My.. What?" I respond, equally confused "Oh yea, your a new guy, your card, it looks like a credit card, should be in your left pocket" The lord of the lake fire explains I search my pocket and find a red credit card looking thing with "Bank of Hell" on it. "Um how's this get in there" I ask the foul fiend "It shows up once you get here, part of my dark powers" The Prince of darkness jokes and takes my credit card. He pulls out a scanner and scans the card. "It seems the computer automated suffering calculating program glitched out. Steve Jobs is still working out a few bugs in the system. Here, I'll fix it." The unholy adversary works on the screen of the scanner and after a couple of minutes he hands my card back and calmly tells me "There ya go, you actually have $836, have a nice day!"
	[WP] Suffering is a form of currency in Hell. The more you suffer in life the richer you are in the afterlife. You, a normal person arriving in hell find out that you're one of the richest person in Hell and worth more then Satan.	Who knew civil service would pay off like this? "Good morning, Mr. Monassis." Now I knew who the well-dressed man shaking my hand was. I can't really explain how I knew to those of you reading this who are still alive. Suffice it to say there's kind of a psychic commentary track in the afterlife that feeds you information that you don't get in life (or maybe we get it, we just don't know how to read it, idunno). "You're the Morning Star." He smiles nervously. "You flatter me with your formality, sir. Please, call me Lou." "I don't understand, this is Hell, isn't it?" "Yes, sir. Welcome. I'd pay you my condolences, but, ah-" He gestures around my room with a chuckle. Yes, this is my room. I... 'spawned' here, or whatever. I remember how they shot part of Devil's Advocate in an apartment owned by Donald Trump because they needed something gaudy and obviously expensive. This room was slightly nicer than that, as though a set designer paid extra to turn the gaudiness down just a little. "So wait... is my afterlife like Brewster's Millions, where I gotta spend a shitload of money every day until it becomes a chore? 'Cause that's not exactly ironic." One of the books my mom insisted I read in my youth was Your Money Or Your Life, and one of the steps they have you do is figuring out lifetime how much money you've ever made. Now, I had done the math probably five years before I died, but even factoring in that extra time, I was probably hovering around two hundred grand. At thirty. The vast majority of which came in during the last decade in the dead-end shit job I died on my way home from. Lucifer is still chuckling in his pin-striped worsted wool. I can't decide if he kinda looks like David Bowie or if I'm kind of telekinetically making him look like David Bowie because of that one piece of fanart. "No no, nothing like that. Although we would very much appreciate your patronage if that was your intention." His teeth are fucking perfect. It's at this moment that I finally glanced down at what I'm wearing. I didn't really notice because of how impossibly comfortable the thing is, but it looks like an athletic cut three-piece suit, black with a vague green shimmer at shallow angles, so light it's like wearing nothing at all (nothing at all (^nothing ^at ^all )). Also my gut fat is gone, like I got some heavenly lipo when I wasn't looking. I probably look great naked. "That you do, sir." "You can read my thoughts?" "...wuh I-" "Don't do that, it's rude." He's flustered. "I-I-I didn't mean to intrude, Mr. Monassis." That's another cruel twist of fate. My mother named me Alec. Alec Monassis, which every ten-year-old interprets as "I lick man asses." It's right up there with Isaac Cox. It wasn't until I went away to college that I was able to get people to start calling me Al, and then another year before I finally heard that song people kept referencing. "Explain what the hell is happening here, and do it succinctly." Yeah. SAT words. "Well, sir, when your tire blew out, you veered off the road and the support column drove the engine block through your-" "No, I remember that part. Get to the metaphysical shit." "Well." The nervous smile snaps to a no-nonsense briefing pose. "Put simply, suffering is currency here. You're rich." "And you're being nice to me because you're like a politician?" How like Earth. "Yes and no. I am rather like a politician." On that afterlife info track I mentioned is the awareness that what most people think of as 'the devil' is actually about a dozen distinct entities, and that the representation closes to the truth actually comes from fucking D&D of all things. "But no, I'm not being nice to you for short term political gain, I'm being nice to you because, long term, it's always wise to be kind to your superiors." ...this is a lot to take in. "Take your time." What'd I just say? "Sorry. Habit." I have five or six pertinent questions swirling around in my brain (among them, 'do I still have a brain'), but the one I decide to output first is, "So what exactly is my net worth?" "Fourteen-point-three trillion fuckits." I let out a short, surprised laugh. "That's the unit?" "Yes, sir. One fuckit is the suffering equivalent of a one on that one-to-ten pain scale hospitals use. A minor but definite discomfort." "Is that linear?" "No, it's logarithmic. And it's not absolute; maximal human physical pain is only about three hundred thousand fuckits. Emotional pain goes..." he laughs, "way, way beyond that." Makes sense. The most intense physical pain I ever felt in my life was when I had an infected filling in one of my molars when I was ten. We couldn't get to a dentist until Monday, so I spent that Sunday afternoon writhing in pain in my bed. The kind of pain that turns off conscious thought. The most intense emotional pain I can remember is when my ex-wife first told me she was fucking somebody else, and I would've given anything to switch places with ten-year-old me just to make it not true. "And you're telling me that in three decades, I amassed fourteen trillion points of emotional damage." He smirks. "That is a novel way to look at it, but yes, sir. That is your current situation. You're dead, you're in Hell, and you're a multitrillionaire. The underworld is your oyster." The first place my mind went to was Iraq. Now I admit, I haven't really been happy in my life in a very long time, and I've never really been grateful for my life, but surely there's some single parents in Iraq who had to bury part of their only child who've suffered worse than me. Devil Bowie is looking at me expectantly, so I subconsciously grant him permission to respond to that thought. He lights up like a kid at Christmas and claps once, summoning a large dry erase board and quickly sketches a graph. "Well you see here, people in warzones become jaded very quickly, so their rate of appreciation levels off. Spikes of course occur pretty much any time fight-or-flight is invoked, but they mostly become numb to it." He flips the board over revealing identical axes but without the hypothetical war survivor's 'my life is hell' line. "You, in a manner that only depressive nihilists can, didn't get numb to the suffering of your dead-end job, you dwelt in it. You let every single little thing that went wrong penetrate you to your very core and you blamed only yourself for it. That time Beth spilled her coffee all over your ergonomic keyboard? All those promotions you were passed up for? To say nothing of the massive head start you got for having an absent father." I would find out later that there's sort of a high-end gentlemen's club for sons whose fathers abandoned them. "I just... Harlequin babies." "Die too young, have no frame of reference. Pain is their 'normal.'" "Addicts?" "Please, if what they were doing didn't feel good they wouldn't be addicts. I coded that little feedback loop myself." "Huh. But like, I was never beaten or anything." "No, your family relied much more on emotional abuse, which as I said can rack up fuckits way faster than physical pain. Your brother was supremely manipulative because, as you so saliently observed, he blamed you for your father leaving." I was a month old. Years later I would wish I could go back and scream at him, if dad leaving is anybody's fault, motherfucker, it's yours! Hindsight being what it is. "So because my childhood was kind of shitty, and my job wasn't that great, I'm now the richest person in Hell?" "Ah-hah, well, no, you're not the richest person in Hell." "Are you?" "No." "What are you worth?" "Ten trillion." "...whose the richest?" "Well, if he were to die today, Keanu Reeves would be worth about twice as much as you." He smiles. "But of course he can't actually die." He sighs the way one might at the end of a fond anecdote. "...excuse me?" "Look, all of this exposition must be draining. Surely there are some better things we could do to welcome you to the dark side." "Such as?" "Drugs and whores?" On that supernatural info track is the understanding that what he's implying is any imaginable drug. Any imaginable whore. Any fantasy I could conceive of can be made real. I could take mushrooms and fuck Sasha Grey (or a convincing facsimile). I could pop an NZT and get deep throated by Plava Laguna. I could get a second chance with my first love. "Can you sell me a self-driving car?" There's a warmth behind his smile that I can't really convey. "What color?"	Satan walks up to me confused and bewildered. "Let me see your card" he demands in a hellish voice "My.. What?" I respond, equally confused "Oh yea, your a new guy, your card, it looks like a credit card, should be in your left pocket" The lord of the lake fire explains I search my pocket and find a red credit card looking thing with "Bank of Hell" on it. "Um how's this get in there" I ask the foul fiend "It shows up once you get here, part of my dark powers" The Prince of darkness jokes and takes my credit card. He pulls out a scanner and scans the card. "It seems the computer automated suffering calculating program glitched out. Steve Jobs is still working out a few bugs in the system. Here, I'll fix it." The unholy adversary works on the screen of the scanner and after a couple of minutes he hands my card back and calmly tells me "There ya go, you actually have $836, have a nice day!"
	[WP] Suffering is a form of currency in Hell. The more you suffer in life the richer you are in the afterlife. You, a normal person arriving in hell find out that you're one of the richest person in Hell and worth more then Satan.	I don't remember dying. As I have come to learn, this is fairly common. One moment I was sitting in front of my computer and moments later I found myself standing in line. I had lost time before. My mind had been deteriorating for years. Suddenly finding myself in an unfamiliar location had become so common that it took me the better part of a day to realize that something was amiss with the line. Initially, it was hard to focus. Something about the process of moving forward slowly seemed familiar. It seemed like most of my life had been spent waiting for something to happen. The line was no different. I had no idea why I was in line, but I lacked any real desire to step out of line. That first day was confusing. It was as if I was slowly moving forward on autopilot. I can only assume that it took me a day or so to find myself. Time has lost meaning. It could have been a day or a year. I have no way to measure my time spent shuffling slowly toward the gate. It was only when I realized that I was in a line that I began to think about the nature of the line. I suppose it says something about my life that I had been in Hell for the better part of a day and I didn't even notice. Freedom came with the realization that I could step out of line. It sounds stupid, but at that point it felt like a victory. I stepped slightly to the left and the light behind me shuffled forward enough to fill the gap. I turned to the line and then to the right. The line seemed to stretch further than I could attempt to conceive. It faded into the horizon. Upon looking to my left I could see a faint glimmer of light in the distance. Walking at a brisk pace, I was able to reach the source of the light in what felt like a little under an hour. As I've said before time has kinda lost meaning here. The two things I noticed as I approached the light were the heat and the growing feeling of dread. My location and final resting place were made apparent to me when I looked at the large archway in front of me. Etched into the obsidian arch were the words, "Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate." --- I breached the archway expecting to be met with monstrous creatures and eternal flame. Instead, I was met with sweltering heat and humidity that left me feeling like I was breathing water. It was painful, sure, but it wasn't much worse than summer in Tennessee. I noticed a middle-aged man in a generic business outfit holding a clipboard. He seemed completely unfazed by the surroundings and completely indifferent to the individuals at the front of the line who screamed as they were dragged into the darkness. I approached him saying, "Excuse me sir, but is this Hell?" The man turned his head toward me and raised his eyebrow. I spoke again, "Yeah. So, I'm pretty sure I'm dead. Would you mind telling me where I'm supposed to go now?" Without hesitation he spoke into a microphone attached to his lapel and said, "We got a line jumper at the gate. Send a team for an audit." Moments later I felt strong hands grab my shoulders from behind. I was pulled into the darkness. My last thoughts as the light from the gate faded into the distance was that Hell wasn't nearly as terrible as I had been taught. --- The darkness remained constant. It was only after realizing that I'd never see again that I started to see the hellscape that surrounded me. It was dark and silent. If anyone else had been nearby, I couldn't hear them. At first I thought my eyes where adjusting to the darkness, but in time I realized I didn't have eyes anymore. I was dead. My body was up on Earth and I was existing as something incorporeal. Don't ask me why, but I found the lack of a physical form almost comforting. My body had been a constant source of pain and suffering. I had no cartilage in my knees or shoulders. Most of my bones were held together with steel plates. My muscles had been slowly slipping into atrophy. I think part of the reason I found Hell to be so refreshing was because I didn't feel that pain anymore. Sure, it was hot. It was hot and I felt a thirst that should have been maddening. There was this empty pit at the core of my soul that seemed to devour all light or happiness as soon as it arrived. My every thought left me questioning my own sanity. Still, it wasn't nearly as bad as I had been told about. Life had been such a terrible thing that the prospect of eternity in this form seemed heavenly. No sooner than I had come to that realization, I saw the room for what it was. I was sitting in an uncomfortable metal chair and at rusted metal table in a small room. The individual across from me flipped through a manila folder and nodded on occasion before turning the page. I began to speak up, but the individual held up a single bony finger and said, "Hold on Sir, I'm still familiarizing myself with your file." An inordinate amount of time passed. Finally, I heard the individual say, "I'm going to need to contact my superiors. Please, wait here." Moments later a yellow fluorescent light flickered on above me. The room was gray and dull as I had expected. A tall man in a business suit walked in the door and sat down in front of me. He scanned through the manila folder and proceeded to throw it at the wall in frustration. Shortly after composing himself, he turned to me and said, "Come with me. We have much to discuss." --- The tall man walked alongside me. As we moved down the seemingly endless hallway, he said, "Mr. Jones, your audit has put me into a difficult situation." I continued alongside him and said, "How so?" The man sighed and said, "Punishment here works off of a simple system. We weigh your sin against your suffering." I replied, "How does that work?" He perked up a bit as he replied, "We take your total lifetime sin record and treat it as a simple number. In your case it is a score of 3200. You weren't a terrible human being, but you were a bit of a prick. There were times in your life where you could have helped others without injuring yourself and you chose to remain selfish. You were a drunk and a cynic. You were prideful and arrogant. 3200 is an average score. You'd have spent eternity is customer service completely aware of your situation and unable to be anything other than pleasant." I shuddered at the thought and shot back, "So what makes my case so difficult for you?" He replied, "Your suffering score was more than three billion. To date, only one being has scored so high. You see, we divide your suffering score by your sin score. If the resulting dividend is greater than your sin score, it is then allotted to you as currency. This currency can be spent on a variety of things. For the rich, hell is almost comfortable" I did some math in my head and replied, "So you're saying I'm a millionaire?" The man sighed and said, "We're here, and yes." I turned to my left to see a ornate wooden door. The tall man pushed it open and said, "Sir, I've delivered him per your request." A tall man in a white suit sat behind a mahogany desk. His blonde hair and pale skin were surprisingly clean given what I had seen thus far. The man slid a cigar box across the desk and said, "Cigar?" I sat across from him and pulled a cigar from the box. He lit it for me and I took in the smoke. I spent a short moment trying to wrap my mind around the concept of an incoporeal being smoking a cigar, but the man in white intterrupted my thought saying, "It's easier if you don't think about it. For the time being, assume that your current form is a projection of self imprinted on the ether that surrounds you. Most of the surroundings down here react to your expectations of them-" I interrupted, "So basically, Hell is subjective." The man smiled and said, "Exactly." --- "When my father tasked me with managing this domain, my only sins were Pride and Disobedience. However, my suffering score was offset by the pain of being separated from divinity. I still feel that. A few billion divided by two, it was like this place was made for me." The man said. I laughed and said, "So you're Satan. Cool." Satan laughed and said, "My given name is Helel ben Shaḥar, but most people down here call me Luc." I replied, "So Luc, why am I in your office." "Down to brass tacks. I like it." Luc said with a certain degree of delight. He continued, "By nature of your score, you should be in charge. However, I don't like that arrangement very much. Some might say it is unfair, but hey, Welcome To Hell." I replied, "It isn't really all that bad." Luc laughed and said, "Tell that to the pedophiles. I have an entire team of horror writers tasked with thinking up new and inventive punishments for them. Like I've said, Hell is subjective." "Allow me to get to the point Mr. Jones. Your scores are too high and I don't feel like giving up my throne just yet. Were you to stay, you'd be afforded an eternity of luxury and comfort. It would still be unpleasant, but a hell with cold drinks and fine cigars beats slumming it in the Malbolge." Luc said as his face shifted to a grimace. I nodded. He continued, "It is within my power to send you back to Earth. You will continue to live your life. The problem is that you'd be back in forty years with a higher score. That is unacceptable. So I'll be restoring your body and curing the brain cancer that has left you with a deteriorating mind. You will be made whole." I sighed and said, "So I take it you want me to sin my ass off." He smiled and said, "Well, I am giving you life..." --- Without anything that could pass as a transition, I found myself sitting at my computer. The pain I had grown accustomed to had faded. I felt rejuvenated. My mind was as clear as it had ever been. I looked at the bottle in front of me and then down to the floor. I whispered the first prayer I'd uttered in my life, "Don't worry Luc, I'll make sure to shave a few hundred thousand off that score."	Satan walks up to me confused and bewildered. "Let me see your card" he demands in a hellish voice "My.. What?" I respond, equally confused "Oh yea, your a new guy, your card, it looks like a credit card, should be in your left pocket" The lord of the lake fire explains I search my pocket and find a red credit card looking thing with "Bank of Hell" on it. "Um how's this get in there" I ask the foul fiend "It shows up once you get here, part of my dark powers" The Prince of darkness jokes and takes my credit card. He pulls out a scanner and scans the card. "It seems the computer automated suffering calculating program glitched out. Steve Jobs is still working out a few bugs in the system. Here, I'll fix it." The unholy adversary works on the screen of the scanner and after a couple of minutes he hands my card back and calmly tells me "There ya go, you actually have $836, have a nice day!"
	[WP] Suffering is a form of currency in Hell. The more you suffer in life the richer you are in the afterlife. You, a normal person arriving in hell find out that you're one of the richest person in Hell and worth more then Satan.	Who knew civil service would pay off like this? "Good morning, Mr. Monassis." Now I knew who the well-dressed man shaking my hand was. I can't really explain how I knew to those of you reading this who are still alive. Suffice it to say there's kind of a psychic commentary track in the afterlife that feeds you information that you don't get in life (or maybe we get it, we just don't know how to read it, idunno). "You're the Morning Star." He smiles nervously. "You flatter me with your formality, sir. Please, call me Lou." "I don't understand, this is Hell, isn't it?" "Yes, sir. Welcome. I'd pay you my condolences, but, ah-" He gestures around my room with a chuckle. Yes, this is my room. I... 'spawned' here, or whatever. I remember how they shot part of Devil's Advocate in an apartment owned by Donald Trump because they needed something gaudy and obviously expensive. This room was slightly nicer than that, as though a set designer paid extra to turn the gaudiness down just a little. "So wait... is my afterlife like Brewster's Millions, where I gotta spend a shitload of money every day until it becomes a chore? 'Cause that's not exactly ironic." One of the books my mom insisted I read in my youth was Your Money Or Your Life, and one of the steps they have you do is figuring out lifetime how much money you've ever made. Now, I had done the math probably five years before I died, but even factoring in that extra time, I was probably hovering around two hundred grand. At thirty. The vast majority of which came in during the last decade in the dead-end shit job I died on my way home from. Lucifer is still chuckling in his pin-striped worsted wool. I can't decide if he kinda looks like David Bowie or if I'm kind of telekinetically making him look like David Bowie because of that one piece of fanart. "No no, nothing like that. Although we would very much appreciate your patronage if that was your intention." His teeth are fucking perfect. It's at this moment that I finally glanced down at what I'm wearing. I didn't really notice because of how impossibly comfortable the thing is, but it looks like an athletic cut three-piece suit, black with a vague green shimmer at shallow angles, so light it's like wearing nothing at all (nothing at all (^nothing ^at ^all )). Also my gut fat is gone, like I got some heavenly lipo when I wasn't looking. I probably look great naked. "That you do, sir." "You can read my thoughts?" "...wuh I-" "Don't do that, it's rude." He's flustered. "I-I-I didn't mean to intrude, Mr. Monassis." That's another cruel twist of fate. My mother named me Alec. Alec Monassis, which every ten-year-old interprets as "I lick man asses." It's right up there with Isaac Cox. It wasn't until I went away to college that I was able to get people to start calling me Al, and then another year before I finally heard that song people kept referencing. "Explain what the hell is happening here, and do it succinctly." Yeah. SAT words. "Well, sir, when your tire blew out, you veered off the road and the support column drove the engine block through your-" "No, I remember that part. Get to the metaphysical shit." "Well." The nervous smile snaps to a no-nonsense briefing pose. "Put simply, suffering is currency here. You're rich." "And you're being nice to me because you're like a politician?" How like Earth. "Yes and no. I am rather like a politician." On that afterlife info track I mentioned is the awareness that what most people think of as 'the devil' is actually about a dozen distinct entities, and that the representation closes to the truth actually comes from fucking D&D of all things. "But no, I'm not being nice to you for short term political gain, I'm being nice to you because, long term, it's always wise to be kind to your superiors." ...this is a lot to take in. "Take your time." What'd I just say? "Sorry. Habit." I have five or six pertinent questions swirling around in my brain (among them, 'do I still have a brain'), but the one I decide to output first is, "So what exactly is my net worth?" "Fourteen-point-three trillion fuckits." I let out a short, surprised laugh. "That's the unit?" "Yes, sir. One fuckit is the suffering equivalent of a one on that one-to-ten pain scale hospitals use. A minor but definite discomfort." "Is that linear?" "No, it's logarithmic. And it's not absolute; maximal human physical pain is only about three hundred thousand fuckits. Emotional pain goes..." he laughs, "way, way beyond that." Makes sense. The most intense physical pain I ever felt in my life was when I had an infected filling in one of my molars when I was ten. We couldn't get to a dentist until Monday, so I spent that Sunday afternoon writhing in pain in my bed. The kind of pain that turns off conscious thought. The most intense emotional pain I can remember is when my ex-wife first told me she was fucking somebody else, and I would've given anything to switch places with ten-year-old me just to make it not true. "And you're telling me that in three decades, I amassed fourteen trillion points of emotional damage." He smirks. "That is a novel way to look at it, but yes, sir. That is your current situation. You're dead, you're in Hell, and you're a multitrillionaire. The underworld is your oyster." The first place my mind went to was Iraq. Now I admit, I haven't really been happy in my life in a very long time, and I've never really been grateful for my life, but surely there's some single parents in Iraq who had to bury part of their only child who've suffered worse than me. Devil Bowie is looking at me expectantly, so I subconsciously grant him permission to respond to that thought. He lights up like a kid at Christmas and claps once, summoning a large dry erase board and quickly sketches a graph. "Well you see here, people in warzones become jaded very quickly, so their rate of appreciation levels off. Spikes of course occur pretty much any time fight-or-flight is invoked, but they mostly become numb to it." He flips the board over revealing identical axes but without the hypothetical war survivor's 'my life is hell' line. "You, in a manner that only depressive nihilists can, didn't get numb to the suffering of your dead-end job, you dwelt in it. You let every single little thing that went wrong penetrate you to your very core and you blamed only yourself for it. That time Beth spilled her coffee all over your ergonomic keyboard? All those promotions you were passed up for? To say nothing of the massive head start you got for having an absent father." I would find out later that there's sort of a high-end gentlemen's club for sons whose fathers abandoned them. "I just... Harlequin babies." "Die too young, have no frame of reference. Pain is their 'normal.'" "Addicts?" "Please, if what they were doing didn't feel good they wouldn't be addicts. I coded that little feedback loop myself." "Huh. But like, I was never beaten or anything." "No, your family relied much more on emotional abuse, which as I said can rack up fuckits way faster than physical pain. Your brother was supremely manipulative because, as you so saliently observed, he blamed you for your father leaving." I was a month old. Years later I would wish I could go back and scream at him, if dad leaving is anybody's fault, motherfucker, it's yours! Hindsight being what it is. "So because my childhood was kind of shitty, and my job wasn't that great, I'm now the richest person in Hell?" "Ah-hah, well, no, you're not the richest person in Hell." "Are you?" "No." "What are you worth?" "Ten trillion." "...whose the richest?" "Well, if he were to die today, Keanu Reeves would be worth about twice as much as you." He smiles. "But of course he can't actually die." He sighs the way one might at the end of a fond anecdote. "...excuse me?" "Look, all of this exposition must be draining. Surely there are some better things we could do to welcome you to the dark side." "Such as?" "Drugs and whores?" On that supernatural info track is the understanding that what he's implying is any imaginable drug. Any imaginable whore. Any fantasy I could conceive of can be made real. I could take mushrooms and fuck Sasha Grey (or a convincing facsimile). I could pop an NZT and get deep throated by Plava Laguna. I could get a second chance with my first love. "Can you sell me a self-driving car?" There's a warmth behind his smile that I can't really convey. "What color?"	Tony didn't mind waking up in hell. Sure, there were lakes of lava here and there, a couple of poison ivy fields where slaves were whipped into harvesting them barehanded, and a giant three-headed dog barking at anyone who whined about being in hell, but he was very aware he deserved to end up here. After all he was an intellectual, a human being enlightened by his own scientific knowledge, he was... an atheist. If the Christians ended up being right, well what else could he do? Cry and get barked at by a three-headed dog? If anything could be said to his credit, Tony was a man who stuck to his guns, even if he ended up proven wrong at the end of his life. At least the never went back on his beliefs... or lack thereof. No, Tony didn't mind being hell. What he did mind was the constant waiting at every corner of the damned place. He'd always heard about bureaucratic hells, but he never expected them to be named after the plane of existence. "Could this mean those yellow minions were designed by Satan himself?" thought the man. He slumped back into his chair with a sigh, looking at the queue number again. It said: 3,675,742 , just one more turn until his number was called. Time sort of losses its meaning when you're stuck for eternity somewhere, but if Tony had to guess, he'd been waiting for years now to get settled into hell. First he had to request his personal records, containing every sin he'd ever committed, then he had to reserve a spot as a home for his stay, and then he had to deposit his suffering on his personal Hell Account, which of course he had to open through tons of tedious paperwork beforehand. After looking back on all the redtape he had overcome, he wondered if the people getting barked at were crying out of ending up in hell or all of the excessive bureaucracy they had to go through. Ding went the queue bell, meaning that it was finally time to deposit his suffering. He stood up from his chair, wished the apathetic people in the room a good day, and entered an office with a horned man sitting behind its desk. "Ahh Anthony Smith, is it?" said the demon typing on a computer. "I've had your files brought to me and we'd like to thank you for choosing Hell as your afterlife destination. Soon, your suffering will be deposited into your Hell Account and you'll be well on your way to enjoying Hell for eternity." "I'm sorry," said Tony, "but I'm still not quite clear on what this suffering business means. I'm... I'm not even sure why I've been doing all of this. I've just been pushed around from office to office and I'd like to get some answers right now!" "But of course Mr. Smith! It's the least I could do. You see, here in hell, all the suffering in your life is compiled from your records and deposited into an account to be used as currency." "Currency? What for?!? We're in hell, aren't we? You know, eternal punishment and all that, right?" "Yes, yes, that's a comment I hear often, but worry not, you are indeed in hell." The demon leaned back on his leather chair. "You see Satan isn't really that bad a guy. He's more about giving the middle finger to God than about torturing humans for their sins." "Oh... that seems reasonable, I guess. But why suffering?" "Well, the ol' fallen angel reasoned it this way. If a person committed a lot of sins and suffered, you can't really judge them fairly, now can you?" Tony looked puzzled, prompting the demon to continue. "You see, sinning and suffering are closely related to one another. In a way, suffering pushes you to sin, which gives you more suffering, which makes you sin some more. The whole thing really snowballs out of hand, making a proper judgement a bit of a crapshoot." "I still don't follow... Why does Satan even care about this?" "Remember, Lucifer only cares about pissing off his Dad. He doesn't mind ruling over sinners. He's one himself! The thing is, would you really want to share a place with people who've sinned but haven't suffered because of it?" Before Tony could answer, the demon went ahead and said: "Of course not! Those people are sociopaths! Anyone who hasn't suffered because of their sins is someone who wouldn't mind starting trouble here in hell. Someone who has never regretted any atrocious act committed in his life time! We don't want any of that, so we basically made slaves out of those too poor to pay for their stay and treat fairly those who accumulated enough suffering in their life." Tony scratched his head and rested it on his hand. He then took a deep breath and said: "This... this makes too much sense. But right now, I'm sort of scared. Can you please tell me how much I suffered?" The demon nodded at his request and began typing away at his keyboard. His bushy eyebrows suddenly raised once the computer bleeped, prompting him to type furiously into the keyboard again. After waiting another minute, the computer beeped once more, forcing the demon to say: "I'm sorry Mr. Smith, but there seems but some problem with the system right now." He stood up. "I'll have to talk to my supervisor. If you'll excuse me..." Outside, Tony could faintly hear some arguing going on. He then wondered if this was just an elaborate plot to make this whole process even more tedious, but quickly reasoned that the desperation in their voices was genuine. The demon then entered the office, wiping sweat off his forehead as he sat back down on his chair. "Mr. Smith, it seems congratulations are in order! As of now, you are currently the richest person in hell... Even richer than Satan himself! How someone could endure that much suffering on Earth is a mystery to me, but it seems to have paid out in the end." "Is this some sort of prank? Sure, I've had a miserable life, but I wouldn't exactly think myself special in my suffering." "Well, I can safely say this isn't a mistake. For record keeping purposes, would you mind explaining the details of your suffering?" "Like I said, I don't think there's anything special about my suffering. Sure, ever since I was a young adult a day wouldn't pass without me wanting to kill myself, but that's perfectly reasonable for anyone with existential angst, right?" "Your records say you never did go through with it, so maybe the accumulated dread had something to do with it. That's still not enough, though. Any dead family members or loved ones?" "No, not really. I was mostly shunned by my family and I never really lost anyone close to me." "Shunned by your family?" The demon stroked his chin, leaning his elbow on the desk. "Could you elaborate on that?" "It's simple really. They were Christian; I wasn't. Made me the black sheep of the family and all that stuff. It really pissed me off, though not because of their disapproval." "Really? Why then?" "Because they weren't really Christian! They were just all talk and no action. They complained about everything, never appreciated what they had or went out of their way to help anyone! Heck, I was a more of a Christian than them and I didn't even believe in God!" The demon let out a roaring laugh, almost chocking on his own chuckles while slamming his desk. He then read Tony's files on his monitor, just to be sure, and said: "I finally get it now!" He laughed again. "It all makes sense!" "Really?" said Tony. "It does?" "You suffered this much because you were a living contradiction. All of these good deeds would've easily gotten you into heaven, but didn't, because you were an atheist. Your life was miserable because you were a true Christian that didn't believe in God!" >If you enjoyed this, you can check out more of my stories over at /r/WeirdEmoKidStories!
	[WP] Suffering is a form of currency in Hell. The more you suffer in life the richer you are in the afterlife. You, a normal person arriving in hell find out that you're one of the richest person in Hell and worth more then Satan.	I don't remember dying. As I have come to learn, this is fairly common. One moment I was sitting in front of my computer and moments later I found myself standing in line. I had lost time before. My mind had been deteriorating for years. Suddenly finding myself in an unfamiliar location had become so common that it took me the better part of a day to realize that something was amiss with the line. Initially, it was hard to focus. Something about the process of moving forward slowly seemed familiar. It seemed like most of my life had been spent waiting for something to happen. The line was no different. I had no idea why I was in line, but I lacked any real desire to step out of line. That first day was confusing. It was as if I was slowly moving forward on autopilot. I can only assume that it took me a day or so to find myself. Time has lost meaning. It could have been a day or a year. I have no way to measure my time spent shuffling slowly toward the gate. It was only when I realized that I was in a line that I began to think about the nature of the line. I suppose it says something about my life that I had been in Hell for the better part of a day and I didn't even notice. Freedom came with the realization that I could step out of line. It sounds stupid, but at that point it felt like a victory. I stepped slightly to the left and the light behind me shuffled forward enough to fill the gap. I turned to the line and then to the right. The line seemed to stretch further than I could attempt to conceive. It faded into the horizon. Upon looking to my left I could see a faint glimmer of light in the distance. Walking at a brisk pace, I was able to reach the source of the light in what felt like a little under an hour. As I've said before time has kinda lost meaning here. The two things I noticed as I approached the light were the heat and the growing feeling of dread. My location and final resting place were made apparent to me when I looked at the large archway in front of me. Etched into the obsidian arch were the words, "Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate." --- I breached the archway expecting to be met with monstrous creatures and eternal flame. Instead, I was met with sweltering heat and humidity that left me feeling like I was breathing water. It was painful, sure, but it wasn't much worse than summer in Tennessee. I noticed a middle-aged man in a generic business outfit holding a clipboard. He seemed completely unfazed by the surroundings and completely indifferent to the individuals at the front of the line who screamed as they were dragged into the darkness. I approached him saying, "Excuse me sir, but is this Hell?" The man turned his head toward me and raised his eyebrow. I spoke again, "Yeah. So, I'm pretty sure I'm dead. Would you mind telling me where I'm supposed to go now?" Without hesitation he spoke into a microphone attached to his lapel and said, "We got a line jumper at the gate. Send a team for an audit." Moments later I felt strong hands grab my shoulders from behind. I was pulled into the darkness. My last thoughts as the light from the gate faded into the distance was that Hell wasn't nearly as terrible as I had been taught. --- The darkness remained constant. It was only after realizing that I'd never see again that I started to see the hellscape that surrounded me. It was dark and silent. If anyone else had been nearby, I couldn't hear them. At first I thought my eyes where adjusting to the darkness, but in time I realized I didn't have eyes anymore. I was dead. My body was up on Earth and I was existing as something incorporeal. Don't ask me why, but I found the lack of a physical form almost comforting. My body had been a constant source of pain and suffering. I had no cartilage in my knees or shoulders. Most of my bones were held together with steel plates. My muscles had been slowly slipping into atrophy. I think part of the reason I found Hell to be so refreshing was because I didn't feel that pain anymore. Sure, it was hot. It was hot and I felt a thirst that should have been maddening. There was this empty pit at the core of my soul that seemed to devour all light or happiness as soon as it arrived. My every thought left me questioning my own sanity. Still, it wasn't nearly as bad as I had been told about. Life had been such a terrible thing that the prospect of eternity in this form seemed heavenly. No sooner than I had come to that realization, I saw the room for what it was. I was sitting in an uncomfortable metal chair and at rusted metal table in a small room. The individual across from me flipped through a manila folder and nodded on occasion before turning the page. I began to speak up, but the individual held up a single bony finger and said, "Hold on Sir, I'm still familiarizing myself with your file." An inordinate amount of time passed. Finally, I heard the individual say, "I'm going to need to contact my superiors. Please, wait here." Moments later a yellow fluorescent light flickered on above me. The room was gray and dull as I had expected. A tall man in a business suit walked in the door and sat down in front of me. He scanned through the manila folder and proceeded to throw it at the wall in frustration. Shortly after composing himself, he turned to me and said, "Come with me. We have much to discuss." --- The tall man walked alongside me. As we moved down the seemingly endless hallway, he said, "Mr. Jones, your audit has put me into a difficult situation." I continued alongside him and said, "How so?" The man sighed and said, "Punishment here works off of a simple system. We weigh your sin against your suffering." I replied, "How does that work?" He perked up a bit as he replied, "We take your total lifetime sin record and treat it as a simple number. In your case it is a score of 3200. You weren't a terrible human being, but you were a bit of a prick. There were times in your life where you could have helped others without injuring yourself and you chose to remain selfish. You were a drunk and a cynic. You were prideful and arrogant. 3200 is an average score. You'd have spent eternity is customer service completely aware of your situation and unable to be anything other than pleasant." I shuddered at the thought and shot back, "So what makes my case so difficult for you?" He replied, "Your suffering score was more than three billion. To date, only one being has scored so high. You see, we divide your suffering score by your sin score. If the resulting dividend is greater than your sin score, it is then allotted to you as currency. This currency can be spent on a variety of things. For the rich, hell is almost comfortable" I did some math in my head and replied, "So you're saying I'm a millionaire?" The man sighed and said, "We're here, and yes." I turned to my left to see a ornate wooden door. The tall man pushed it open and said, "Sir, I've delivered him per your request." A tall man in a white suit sat behind a mahogany desk. His blonde hair and pale skin were surprisingly clean given what I had seen thus far. The man slid a cigar box across the desk and said, "Cigar?" I sat across from him and pulled a cigar from the box. He lit it for me and I took in the smoke. I spent a short moment trying to wrap my mind around the concept of an incoporeal being smoking a cigar, but the man in white intterrupted my thought saying, "It's easier if you don't think about it. For the time being, assume that your current form is a projection of self imprinted on the ether that surrounds you. Most of the surroundings down here react to your expectations of them-" I interrupted, "So basically, Hell is subjective." The man smiled and said, "Exactly." --- "When my father tasked me with managing this domain, my only sins were Pride and Disobedience. However, my suffering score was offset by the pain of being separated from divinity. I still feel that. A few billion divided by two, it was like this place was made for me." The man said. I laughed and said, "So you're Satan. Cool." Satan laughed and said, "My given name is Helel ben Shaḥar, but most people down here call me Luc." I replied, "So Luc, why am I in your office." "Down to brass tacks. I like it." Luc said with a certain degree of delight. He continued, "By nature of your score, you should be in charge. However, I don't like that arrangement very much. Some might say it is unfair, but hey, Welcome To Hell." I replied, "It isn't really all that bad." Luc laughed and said, "Tell that to the pedophiles. I have an entire team of horror writers tasked with thinking up new and inventive punishments for them. Like I've said, Hell is subjective." "Allow me to get to the point Mr. Jones. Your scores are too high and I don't feel like giving up my throne just yet. Were you to stay, you'd be afforded an eternity of luxury and comfort. It would still be unpleasant, but a hell with cold drinks and fine cigars beats slumming it in the Malbolge." Luc said as his face shifted to a grimace. I nodded. He continued, "It is within my power to send you back to Earth. You will continue to live your life. The problem is that you'd be back in forty years with a higher score. That is unacceptable. So I'll be restoring your body and curing the brain cancer that has left you with a deteriorating mind. You will be made whole." I sighed and said, "So I take it you want me to sin my ass off." He smiled and said, "Well, I am giving you life..." --- Without anything that could pass as a transition, I found myself sitting at my computer. The pain I had grown accustomed to had faded. I felt rejuvenated. My mind was as clear as it had ever been. I looked at the bottle in front of me and then down to the floor. I whispered the first prayer I'd uttered in my life, "Don't worry Luc, I'll make sure to shave a few hundred thousand off that score."	Tony didn't mind waking up in hell. Sure, there were lakes of lava here and there, a couple of poison ivy fields where slaves were whipped into harvesting them barehanded, and a giant three-headed dog barking at anyone who whined about being in hell, but he was very aware he deserved to end up here. After all he was an intellectual, a human being enlightened by his own scientific knowledge, he was... an atheist. If the Christians ended up being right, well what else could he do? Cry and get barked at by a three-headed dog? If anything could be said to his credit, Tony was a man who stuck to his guns, even if he ended up proven wrong at the end of his life. At least the never went back on his beliefs... or lack thereof. No, Tony didn't mind being hell. What he did mind was the constant waiting at every corner of the damned place. He'd always heard about bureaucratic hells, but he never expected them to be named after the plane of existence. "Could this mean those yellow minions were designed by Satan himself?" thought the man. He slumped back into his chair with a sigh, looking at the queue number again. It said: 3,675,742 , just one more turn until his number was called. Time sort of losses its meaning when you're stuck for eternity somewhere, but if Tony had to guess, he'd been waiting for years now to get settled into hell. First he had to request his personal records, containing every sin he'd ever committed, then he had to reserve a spot as a home for his stay, and then he had to deposit his suffering on his personal Hell Account, which of course he had to open through tons of tedious paperwork beforehand. After looking back on all the redtape he had overcome, he wondered if the people getting barked at were crying out of ending up in hell or all of the excessive bureaucracy they had to go through. Ding went the queue bell, meaning that it was finally time to deposit his suffering. He stood up from his chair, wished the apathetic people in the room a good day, and entered an office with a horned man sitting behind its desk. "Ahh Anthony Smith, is it?" said the demon typing on a computer. "I've had your files brought to me and we'd like to thank you for choosing Hell as your afterlife destination. Soon, your suffering will be deposited into your Hell Account and you'll be well on your way to enjoying Hell for eternity." "I'm sorry," said Tony, "but I'm still not quite clear on what this suffering business means. I'm... I'm not even sure why I've been doing all of this. I've just been pushed around from office to office and I'd like to get some answers right now!" "But of course Mr. Smith! It's the least I could do. You see, here in hell, all the suffering in your life is compiled from your records and deposited into an account to be used as currency." "Currency? What for?!? We're in hell, aren't we? You know, eternal punishment and all that, right?" "Yes, yes, that's a comment I hear often, but worry not, you are indeed in hell." The demon leaned back on his leather chair. "You see Satan isn't really that bad a guy. He's more about giving the middle finger to God than about torturing humans for their sins." "Oh... that seems reasonable, I guess. But why suffering?" "Well, the ol' fallen angel reasoned it this way. If a person committed a lot of sins and suffered, you can't really judge them fairly, now can you?" Tony looked puzzled, prompting the demon to continue. "You see, sinning and suffering are closely related to one another. In a way, suffering pushes you to sin, which gives you more suffering, which makes you sin some more. The whole thing really snowballs out of hand, making a proper judgement a bit of a crapshoot." "I still don't follow... Why does Satan even care about this?" "Remember, Lucifer only cares about pissing off his Dad. He doesn't mind ruling over sinners. He's one himself! The thing is, would you really want to share a place with people who've sinned but haven't suffered because of it?" Before Tony could answer, the demon went ahead and said: "Of course not! Those people are sociopaths! Anyone who hasn't suffered because of their sins is someone who wouldn't mind starting trouble here in hell. Someone who has never regretted any atrocious act committed in his life time! We don't want any of that, so we basically made slaves out of those too poor to pay for their stay and treat fairly those who accumulated enough suffering in their life." Tony scratched his head and rested it on his hand. He then took a deep breath and said: "This... this makes too much sense. But right now, I'm sort of scared. Can you please tell me how much I suffered?" The demon nodded at his request and began typing away at his keyboard. His bushy eyebrows suddenly raised once the computer bleeped, prompting him to type furiously into the keyboard again. After waiting another minute, the computer beeped once more, forcing the demon to say: "I'm sorry Mr. Smith, but there seems but some problem with the system right now." He stood up. "I'll have to talk to my supervisor. If you'll excuse me..." Outside, Tony could faintly hear some arguing going on. He then wondered if this was just an elaborate plot to make this whole process even more tedious, but quickly reasoned that the desperation in their voices was genuine. The demon then entered the office, wiping sweat off his forehead as he sat back down on his chair. "Mr. Smith, it seems congratulations are in order! As of now, you are currently the richest person in hell... Even richer than Satan himself! How someone could endure that much suffering on Earth is a mystery to me, but it seems to have paid out in the end." "Is this some sort of prank? Sure, I've had a miserable life, but I wouldn't exactly think myself special in my suffering." "Well, I can safely say this isn't a mistake. For record keeping purposes, would you mind explaining the details of your suffering?" "Like I said, I don't think there's anything special about my suffering. Sure, ever since I was a young adult a day wouldn't pass without me wanting to kill myself, but that's perfectly reasonable for anyone with existential angst, right?" "Your records say you never did go through with it, so maybe the accumulated dread had something to do with it. That's still not enough, though. Any dead family members or loved ones?" "No, not really. I was mostly shunned by my family and I never really lost anyone close to me." "Shunned by your family?" The demon stroked his chin, leaning his elbow on the desk. "Could you elaborate on that?" "It's simple really. They were Christian; I wasn't. Made me the black sheep of the family and all that stuff. It really pissed me off, though not because of their disapproval." "Really? Why then?" "Because they weren't really Christian! They were just all talk and no action. They complained about everything, never appreciated what they had or went out of their way to help anyone! Heck, I was a more of a Christian than them and I didn't even believe in God!" The demon let out a roaring laugh, almost chocking on his own chuckles while slamming his desk. He then read Tony's files on his monitor, just to be sure, and said: "I finally get it now!" He laughed again. "It all makes sense!" "Really?" said Tony. "It does?" "You suffered this much because you were a living contradiction. All of these good deeds would've easily gotten you into heaven, but didn't, because you were an atheist. Your life was miserable because you were a true Christian that didn't believe in God!" >If you enjoyed this, you can check out more of my stories over at /r/WeirdEmoKidStories!
	[WP] Suffering is a form of currency in Hell. The more you suffer in life the richer you are in the afterlife. You, a normal person arriving in hell find out that you're one of the richest person in Hell and worth more then Satan.	Frank Grimes, or Grimey as he liked to be called, woke with a start. There was a stench of sulfur in the air and in the distance he could hear wails of countless tormented voices. Well this wasn't the hospital again that was for sure. That incompetent Dr. Hibbert couldn't even keep himself away from the laughing gas for more then five seconds that his giggling would be heard at least 3 floors away. Dusting himself off he wondered around the cave he had been placed in, pondering what cruel god had given him another adversity to face. He thought back to the last thing he remembered, a white hot seething rage that seemed to consume him. The applause in the auditorium, the imbecilic faces of his coworkers beeming at him. That was it, he must be dead, he had probably forgotten to release the safety valve working on his project. Well woop-de-doo, a life time of hard work, of second - third and fourth jobs just to get by. Of delivering presents to rich kids whilst you had to get by on nothing. Spending every waking last moment not spent trying to pay of the ridiculous medical bills studying to better himself so that one day after 35 miserable years on this earth. One day Frank Grimes can sit back and drink a cold one. So this must be hell. Stepping out onto some kind of balcony above some kind of plain. Below, the minions of the dark lord went about their business. Scanning the horizon Frank heard the cackle of fire as a beastly man appeared before him. He was seven foot tall, with the lower half of a goat and the upper half of a mustachioed man. "Hi diddly-ho Damned-a-rino and welcome to your new home-diddly-home." He began, "You'll find your keys to the Grimes Palace under its door mat. I have placed your monkey butler on stand by. He'll be ready to tend to your every need-doodly-need." "Whaaaa? Aren't you going to torture me? Poke me with pitchforks, gouge my eyes out with ravens beaks? Punish me in ironic ways?" "Oh heavens no, you won-diddly-won the jackpot Frank-er-ino, down here the suffering you endured on Earth gives you worth down here with the rest of us damn-der-onies. Between you and me, you probably have more clout down here then me, the old bub himself." Frank was in awe as he was lead to a sparkling mansion, resplendent in jewels and scantily clad ladies. Inside the monkey butlers were there to tender to his every whim. With a click of his fingers he could summon the damned to entertain him when he was bored. And you know what, he had lobsters for dinner, every night. He spent no time struggling through atomic physics books, instead he spent time just sipping the coldest beers straight from the tap. All was good for Frank, nothing could lessen his spirits. Until one day, just as he was beginning to unwind from the horrors that had befell him in his mortal life, he returned from an evening stroll to find his mansion being removed by gruff looking men in dirty overalls. Demanding an answer one finally took a drag on his cigarette. "Sorrys but this has gots to go" "Why" "Orders from the new bawss, we's building a new bowling alley here tomorrows, Hey Barry, whos the new bawss again?" he called to his collegue who just happened to be moving Franks favourite statue. "Homer Simpson, from Sector 7G" Frank dropped to his knees and let out a wail as the Devil sat cackling from his throne of skulls. "Shut up Flanders" came a shout from a window above. "Okiliy Dokily".	I was beginning to black out when it happened. That day hadn't been the best day of my life, and it just so happened that it had been my last. At precisely 2:23pm and 37 seconds past, after burning my hands on overcooked fried chicken, I was hit by three falling beer barrels that had rolled off of a Heineken truck, of course, Heineken was my favourite beer, and as I sat underneath those barrels, bleeding and being crushed, I found that I couldn't even reach the taps. 8 minutes and 16 seconds later, everything had begun to fade, paramedics were rushing around, but they'd only just arrived, people were screaming, and some stupid chihuahua was barking its head off- I hate those tiny rat-dogs. Some time later, I awoke in a bed, at least, I'd been lying on something. I wouldn't have called it a bed as such though, because it was made from rocks; so perhaps not an NHS hospital bed. I groggily sat up and blinked hard, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes and taking in my surroundings. In an instant, I knew exactly where I was; the same stalagmites and stalactites; the same dusty air; the same- perhaps the dripping was new, but it was definitely Chislehurst caves. I remembered visiting hospital shortly after a school trip here, Tim Greene had thrown a rock at the ceiling, and it had caused a stalactite to fall off the ceiling and go through my left foot. Tim hadn't meant to stab me in the foot, but it did hurt like hell, and I had to use crutches for a month. As I walked around, I began to notice several things that seemed out of place. The first of which, was that there seemed to be metal rails bolted in place at quite a few points in what seemed to be a tunnel section; the second of which, was that despite not being able to hear anyone, there seemed to be a general murmur; the third thing, was that I could see everything clearly, despite the absence of any lamps or torches nearby; finally, I realised that I myself wasn't panicking- or breathing- and that I could find neither the capacity or gumption to do either. I decided that given what was available to me, the best thing to do, would be to walk onwards. As I was guided along by the rails and the tunnel, I saw a large, bronze looking door at the end of tunnel, with the inscription: "Per me si va ne la città dolente, per me si va ne l'etterno dolore, per me si va tra la perduta gente. Giustizia mosse il mio alto fattore: fecemi la divina potestate, la somma sapienza e 'l primo amore. Dinanzi a me non fuor cose create se non etterne, e io etterno duro. Lasciate ogni speranza, voi ch'entrate" running around the edge. Having had to miss latin, because of the fact that I had eaten an under-cooked sausage, which had given me acute food poisoning, and meant I had to repeat a year (which put me in the year that studied home economics instead of latin); I couldn't really read it. A few words jumped out, like divina, etterno, duro, and me, but I don't think they meant what I thought they did. I turned around, ready to go back and call an ambulance, when I realised that behind me, a large wall had... appeared, I guess; I certainly hadn't heard anything anyway. Obviously, the only course of action, was to open the door, and after some thorough handle searching, I located one at the right side at about 3 o'clock. I gave it a tug, and it clicked. I gave it another tug, and there was a rusty scraping. A third tug, and it slid open towards me- nearly backing me into the new wall. As I stepped through, I was greeted by what must have been millions of people waiting in very long cues to various different booths, reminiscent of airport security passport checks. As I began to wonder if I was in the right place, a young man with neat black hair, deathly pale skin, and a clipboard, walked towards me. "Name?" the man half asked, half shouted into his clipboard, now going through it with a pencil attached to it by a string. "James. Jame-James Harvey?" I asked. "You don't seem so sure" joked the man. "I am" I mumbled to myself, but he musn't have heard it, because he was going through his notes, obviously looking for a James Harvey. "So where am I?" I asked, the man held up a finger on the hand that was holding the pencil, and I realised that things wouldn't be done on my terms. The man had obviously found my name, as he had been looking at it with a scowl, and he was no longer moving the pencil. I tried to walk behind him, but he turned around. I tried to look over, and he tilted the clipboard towards himself. "What's the problem?" I asked. He held up his finger once again, and I huffed and folded my arm, then decided it was a waste of time, I hadn't had anything planned, and I didn't have any friends to plan anything with, so perhaps I could try to make a start. The man pulled out a radio, pressed the transmit button and began to speak into it, he'd walked away now, and he was telling me to stay back- once again through the use of hand gestures- I therefore didn't hear all of his end, but I picked up small phrases like "Alan, it's Collin, I think there's a-" and "Are you sure" and "Fff-, boss is going to be-" and "He knows? Oh. So-" and "Well, I'll bring him over, treat him like normal right?". Collin holstered the radio along his belt. "James, I'd like it if while you were here, you weren't interrupting my business, I'm trying to make things a little faster for you here." Collin told me briskly. I was a little taken aback, but given the circumstances, I thought it best to do as he said. "Come on now James, we have things to do". As we pushed through the queues, weaving in and out of them to get to one of the booths, I noticed they weren't offering any real resistance- in fact, we seemed to almost go through them. "What about them?" I asked Collin; "would you rather I helped each and every one of them, and then I got to you?" Collin retorted, getting more and more visibly irritated, I couldn't really think of an answer to that, I mean, sure, people should be selfless, but in all honesty, the sheer amount of people waiting in line looked like given Collin's process, things would have taken years. Giving up on me answering Collin added "I thought not. Now, come along, I still have to sort them out, and I really haven't got all day". After what had felt like hours of walking through these miles of queues, we reached the booths. A wrinkled old woman was hunched over the desk. "Collin" she smiled "and I see we have a new guest" she said as she turned to me. I'd never been first in line, and naturally turned to check how many other people I'd just queue jumped. Strangely enough, there wasn't a soul in line. Just as well, the quiet chatter was beginning to unnerve me. The old lady laughed and leaned back in her chair. I noticed her name tag on her white blouse "Alaine" it read. It had seven black stars underneath it, two black lines in-between, and a white border at the edges; as I took in the details and counted things, I began to calm down again. "So, name, Mr Harvey?" she smirked "Jame- hang on, don't you already know my name?". Alaine cackled and then answered "Always gets 'em, and there's not too much fun to be had down here, so take it while we can, is what I say" she wiped a tear from her eye as she stopped laughing, and smiled at me once again. "Where exactly is here?" I asked. At this stage, I didn't really want the answer. "Did Collin not tell you?" she tutted at Collin, and put her hand over mine "do you not know?" I moved her hand, and asked "know what?". "There's no easy way to say this James, but you're dead" she said. She smiled sympathetically, and grabbed my hand once again, taking a breath in to say something that was no doubt sympathetic, but probably patronising. "Well, I knew that some barrels of Heineken landed on me, but dead? With my luck, I suppose it was inevitable". Alaine laughed "at least you're not too hung up about it, and before you interrupted, I was about to tell you something you might like to hear." I smiled a little. So I was dead. So what. All my life had been an uphill struggle, and to rest for a bit seemed like a nice idea; of course, I had no idea if I would be resting, but I could hope. After all, other than cutting off Jemma's hair in year three, I hadn't really done anything too bad, of course, that's not to say I was a bastion of morality and goodness, but I did my best, and if this was some kind of afterlife, maybe things would work themselves out. I didn't believe in karma, but at this stage, some of my beliefs had gone out the window anyway.
e.g. in a race you'll always place second, in a torneyment you'll be second best, in a single tennis/chess match you'll always lose. if there's two other scientists... you get the picture	[wp]No matter what you're doing, you're always the second best there.	It all started years ago when I was still a child. Whatever I was doing, I was always second: at school, in sports, video games or even with friends. Not that I wasn’t good enough to be first, but there was always someone beyond me. At one point, my friends even called me The Secondest, which meant everything. I always tried my best to overcome this and make everyone wrong, but it wasn’t enough: I worked like a dog in uni and scored 95/100 in all my cursus, but the number one scored 98/100. In sports, I tried the competition and even beat the number one of my club, but I ended up second just behind the 1st national. That was insane. It had a positive effect on my life though, because it made me overpass my limits and thus I had a comfortable life, thanks to my uni scores, and I was ripped thanks to my efforts in sports. But it was killing me inside because since then, I had developed the most competitive spirit and I couldn’t stand to still be 2nd. But for a moment, competition in everyday life disappeared, there were no ranking at all, and I felt relieved, until the day I bought that pinball to my home. When I started it for the first time, there were no score recorded in it, so I tried the first game to set my own score. The game finished pretty quickly and the score billboard appeared and I was 2nd once again. “What the actual fck? There were no score 5 minutes ago and now I’m second AGAIN?!” I shouted I checked for the score and noticed it was set a little over 100,000, while my score was of 27,000, nothing unreachable then. I spent 3 more hours before exploding the record with 255,479 points. I was happy to write my name on the score billboard until I noticed that once again it was the 2nd best score. “WHAT IS THIS?!! THIS IS IMPOSSIBLE! I FCKING BEAT THAT GAME!” Then something, someone, was writing on the pinball, and speaking directly at me. “Calm down Steve, it’s just a game” “No! I won’t calm down! This game is tricked, I beat the best score, why does it cheat and put itself on the best score? And why the f*ck am I speaking to a pinball?!” “First, you’re not talking to a pinball and then, because it is your fate, Steve. You can amount to anything you want, you can have the most extraordinary life in the world, but you will always be 2nd” “What am I talking to then? And what does this means?” “I already told you: you can do whatever you want, but you will always be 2nd, that’s the price for your extraordinary fate” “What if I want to be the most powerful man in the world? Or be the oldest man alive? Or the richest?” “You can’t be, but you can be the 2nd of all that. It’s up to you to choose your destiny”. And then, the pinball stopped talking to me. I can, almost, be whatever I want? I then have to think about what I want to achieve.	I'm a bot, bleep, bloop. Someone has linked to this thread from another place on reddit: - [/r/excgarated] [torneyment](https://np.reddit.com/r/excgarated/comments/4x1v9g/torneyment/) [](#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] Write here what you want to tell her/him because you can't in real life.	I'm sorry. I'm sorry that you're alive. I'm sorry I can't and haven't been there for you like I wish I could have been. I'm sorry you were an accident, sorry that I wish you were never born. It's not your fault, it's mine. You'll probably grow up to hate me, just like your mother does. You'll probably grow up to hate her too, like I do. I wish I hadn't lost you. I wish I had fought harder to hold onto you and that shining light of yours that I never did manage to stop thinking about. I know she'll leave out the details, of how she pulled a gun on me, of how she assaulted me, of how she continued to use heroin throughout her pregnancy with you. But I'm sure you'll have your own opinions of her. You've been lost to me, I hope you know that. I don't know where you are and haven't for a while now. Maybe one day you'll come looking for me, maybe you won't. I love you, I hope that wherever you are, you're happy.	To my best friend, It's not that I can't tell you. It's that the task is so immensely difficult. I don't know how else to describe it. It's like being trapped in a hole that I started digging the moment people in my life started telling me the way that I was supposed to be. Then as soon as I realized I wasn't like that - I didn't fit nicely into their narrow mold - I fell into that hole and have spent the rest of my life trying to claw myself out. The problem is that every action I take to try and contort myself to fit into that mold has been a shovel full of dirt thrown atop me. People expect me to be this person I'm not because that's what I've always been. But I'm only like this for their sake, not my own. There are times when they fling their dirt - those hateful words - in my eyes and I'm blinded by the tears that come when I'm the most alone I've ever felt. There are times when I can't breath because of it's weight - the burden of the person I must be to be accepted. There are times when I stop trying to escape, when the darkness seems so inviting. But you've always been there, and while I have not been my complete self around you, you've accepted the best and worst parts of me. You stayed on the phone with me those nights I couldn't take it anymore. You stood by my side when they called me names. I love you. But not like that. Like a brother. Like the best friend I'll ever have. Love is such a stupid word. How can four letters describe how safe I feel around you? How happy you make me? How you give me the will I need to not let myself suffocate? That's why I need to tell you. It's the hardest thing I've ever done, digging myself out of that hole, and it started with a whole lot of self-acceptance. But staying out of it will require support - friends like you to talk to and share my troubles with. I need to seek them out, talk to them, work up the courage to tell them. If they're truly my friends, like I know you are, they're going to accept me, even though that fact might seem so unequivocally false. So here I go. Five letters. Why is it so difficult to say them? I'm gay.
	[WP] Write here what you want to tell her/him because you can't in real life.	I'm sorry. I'm sorry that you're alive. I'm sorry I can't and haven't been there for you like I wish I could have been. I'm sorry you were an accident, sorry that I wish you were never born. It's not your fault, it's mine. You'll probably grow up to hate me, just like your mother does. You'll probably grow up to hate her too, like I do. I wish I hadn't lost you. I wish I had fought harder to hold onto you and that shining light of yours that I never did manage to stop thinking about. I know she'll leave out the details, of how she pulled a gun on me, of how she assaulted me, of how she continued to use heroin throughout her pregnancy with you. But I'm sure you'll have your own opinions of her. You've been lost to me, I hope you know that. I don't know where you are and haven't for a while now. Maybe one day you'll come looking for me, maybe you won't. I love you, I hope that wherever you are, you're happy.	I think about you often. I can only imagine what you look like all these years later. I remember you the way you looked when I last saw you. Just you. I remember how you smell and taste. I remember the fun we had dancing around and how young I was to all of this. I got to be the serious one and I think that bothered you. I suggested you go back to school and you marveled at how easily that thought fell from my lips - without a thought - to get your degree. And you did. I know that you felt stagnate - you watched as all of your friends seemed to grow up and leave you behind. I moved away too. And so you left - and we exchanged a few e-mails before I couldn't take the silly things you said. Not a path of self destruction, just a path of adulthood delayed. I think about you often - how if I saw you now I'd play it cool - Oh hey, good to see you again. But that will never happen - even if you were the one. I also think about what you said - how it's a shame we could never be together- because, you know, you never stay with your first - and you were my first.
	[WP] the individuals that signed up to be part of the Mars colony are now looking back at earth knowing they made the correct choice.	Tina Langston, Barry Lomero, Teji Nakiyama, and Anjl Leonard always dreamed of being explorers. For them there was always a fascination to being on the frontier of something; of being the first. Such an aspiration wasn’t necessarily for the potential accolades that would come with being the first humans to settle on the newly established Martian colony. It was a lush environment, tacitly created by the man made robots that preceded them; machines perfected for earth changing technology. Mars was the first to undergo it; the first experiment to showcase human kind’s progress. It took nearly ten years before the association of global scientists (AGS) deemed the formerly barren planet habitable and ready for living subjects, and the four now found themselves headed to a new land, alongside a hundred others on the small shuttle, followed by their sister shuttles, which where only a few days apart from one another. Tina should’ve been elated; a dream come to fruition as the vessel rocked her ever so much from side to side, but she wasn’t. She grimaced as she reestablished a connection to the Terra newsfeed, “It doesn’t like it’s getting better,” she frowned as the screen of her device became focused. “Really?” Barry asked curiously, “You’re saying those ridiculous protests are actually getting worse than they already are?” “Not just worse, they’re growing, it looks like,” she let out disheartened sigh as Teji and Anjil directed their attention to the two. “Growing?” Teji queried with an intrigued lean, “how bad is it getting there?” Tina gave a shrug, swiping her mocha colored digit across the screen, “Ever since the global guard shot those fifty kids the whole Capital has gone into complete disarray. Look at this, news lines are reporting a turnout nearing a million.” “At the Capital? The ACTUAL Capital?” Anjil asked baffled in tone; her piercing grey eyes widened with worry, “It’s really gotten that bad since we’ve left?” “Looks it,” Tina moped, “Jesus, I can’t even imagine being there right now.” She shook her head; a legitimate sorrow piercing her core. She worried about her family, even though they were far away from the impending chaos; still too close for comfort given where she was. The Mars project was one of many last desperate attempts by the failed Global Union Government to create true unity, but the human race was far too divisive for such a thing to be a success; conflict became the norm, the fighting over ideals grew more fanatical and violent, the Government itself became paranoid; a military state also became the norm, which the people despised, and eventually resisted, leading to many deaths, and even stronger opposition.	Year - 2046 Aboard the USC - Hermes The panoramic view of the viewport attracted many onlookers, partially because of its bubble-like quality and it's proximity to the central hub of the ship which on occasion would be filled like a cup with the aromas of exotic foods. However, the main reason so many lingered by the viewport was somewhat of a common need. Behind them laid an infinite number of stars and the only home they had ever known so intimately as to be pained to leave it, Earth. Sporadically, fights broke out and blood was shed over disputes born on Earth. Yet, as the pale blue dot grew smaller and smaller, the stories of life back on Earth began to fizzle out as conversations began to look forwards rather than backwards. The social atmosphere of the hub area seemed to coagulate around the idea of Mars as a bastion for humanity, a colony worthy of the name of Eden II once terraformed. Even then, such lofty dreams were far from the present and there were significant doubts from some. Time again ceaselessly went on and as alcohol and drugs of various forms flowed more and more, to such a degree that such a fact became irrelevant to the overall population. Their decisions that lead all of them to this point no longer mattered, as the last glimpses of Earth graced the viewport, many were too busy celebrating and laughing to realize what had just occurred among them. Nationalities melted away and gave birth to the idea of true unity and a blank slate to ensure a better future. Since time immemorial, mankind has found in some way a reason to fight amongst itself over resources, land and sovereignty and yet in the Hermes there was a fundamental change. As if the ship itself broke the bonds of war and shattered the glass of barriers and separation. It took 2 years but humanity finally found the cure to centuries of violence and division and the resounding evidence that those lucky to make it aboard made the right decision. They just had to leave. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- Year - 2146 Earth The sound of silence permeated the Earth, a century having passed since the remains of humanity abandoned it. The billions of corpses laid out by a single cataclysmic war have turned to dust, mixing together with the radioactive fallout of bombs dropped in a bygone era. A time when humans fought and killed each other. A time that faded out of view as the Earth had to the colonists who would never return.
	[WP] Humanity sends a generation ship to a nearby inhabitable planet, destined to arrive in 300 years. 50 years after, light speed travel is discovered. The planet is colonized 245 years before the generation ship arrives.	There was an announcement made to us that "the ship" would be arriving today. A three hundred year journey with the intent of establishing a colony for us Humans. They were bringing all the supplies needed to create something new. We were looking forward to welcoming them so we could surprise them with how far we have come. Everything about their mission had been documented and it was our bible. Every one of us needed to understand what they were bringing and how to help when it was time. I was part of the welcoming committee. The ship was an autopilot program. We knew exactly where it was going to land and when. The ship broke through our atmosphere at precisely when it was supposed to and as I had grown up understanding, it would take 45 seconds before it landed and another 2 minutes as the landings platforms opened and the bulkhead doors would open and we could great our long awaited guests. We were already up the ramp after it was lowered as the doors of the ship began to open. The doors opened fully and we stared into a vacant hallway. We were completely dumbfounded. Where was everyone. There should be around 7 thousand people on the ship by now. The ship was silent. We walked into the ship and marveled at all the things that we had learned about from the photos of this ship. I couldn't wait to see the Forrest chamber at the center of the ship. A mile long box on all four sides of all kinds of plants and flora brought from earth to here to help. We arrived at the Forrest chamber and found an empty box. A square mile of shiny metal nothingness. The sight was breathtaking and heartbreaking. I felt my stomach churn and a hotness under my skin. I felt I may be sick. I wasn't. We continued through the ship to what was t be the command deck. Again empty. Left in pristine condition. All the screens were off and all the controls remained dormant. All except for one blinking green button on the control console. I pushed the button and a single screen turned on behind us. On screen the captain of the ship appeared and began to speak. "My name is Miles Benjamin Gallo. I am captain of the Infinity and today is right around May 12th of our fiftieth year of our planned 300 year journey. Yesterday at approximately 23:00 hours we were knocked off course by somethin passing us, a comet or something, it caused significant damage to the ship. We will be performing maintenance on the hole tomorrow and will be taking the ship off of its auto pilot status to correct the issue." The video cut off and another screen in the room lit up with another video. "My name is Claudette Marie Anderton. I am captain of the Infinity and today we mourn the death of Captain Gallo, we are now back on course with our autopilot but two days ago we had a major malfunction..." The video cut off and then another screen turned on with yet another video log. "My name is Adrian Patel I am captain of the Infinity there seems to be a problem with the..." Again the transmission was cut short and again another screen. "Hello." "My name is" "Good Morning I am.." "Sarah Travers" "Richard Lambden" "Samuel Washington" "Captain of the Infinity" "The Infinitys captain" "Infinity captain:" The video logs of all the captains went on for over 12 hours. Each detailing some sort of issue with the ship and their attempts to resolve it and what collateral damage it took on the crew and the ship. The data logs lasted for about ten years before there was nothing left. And then it hit me, and no one else seemed to understand what happened. So I kept my mouth shut. We exited the ship while the days light was fading and found an anxious crowd wondering where they were. They are all dead. They never even made it a quarter of the way here before the ship was vacant and back on course. Almost 220 years of pure silence the Infinity traveled here. We had a few days to gather information from the ship before I was to give a statement to my people. I now had to figure out how to break it to everyone that when our forefathers developed faster than light travel we were so eager to get here that we must not have considered the Infinity was in the same course to this planet that they took. At light speed you seemingly phase through anything I your way. They passed through the Infinity just to be the first ones here.	It had already been two weeks since contact was made. Two weeks of endless interviews that felt like interrogations. The daily regiment of rations and vaccinations, while a welcome change from the limited options a generation ship can provide over 300 years, made Maurice wonder if there were any diseases left in humanity. As he waited for the daily scheduled conference with the planetary colony, Maurice rehearsed his points of protest against the continued isolation. The frustrated started boiling up to the point that he could no longer keep sitting and still, instead standing and leaning forward across the comms table, staring at an empty chair. Suddenly, a bluish disembodied upper torso came into focus followed quickly by the colony director's face. Maurice hated this form of communication. The difference in technologies made the few people they did talk to seem motionless and their voices harsh and cold. All the more it fueled Maurice's frustration to be face-to-face, to be able to actually reach out and shake hands. "Morning, Maurice." Paul spoke. The flatness made it seem like he was stating a fact rather than extending a greeting. His eyes stared blankly ahead while his hands were interlocked in front of him. "Have you completed the report we requested yesterday?" Maurice sighed audibly as he picked up a small tablet with one hand. He gestured it to the hologram, "Right here, as ordered." He gave it a glance and, cocking his head to one side, inquired, "We've already given our logs, reports, and personal records about the journey and most of these questions are the same updates we give everyday. Is it all necess....?" "Necssary? Yes, it is." Paul interrupted. The tablet in Maurice's hand gave a ping. "Thank you for your continued diligence, Maurice, and pass on my thanks to the crew. Have the rations and medications been sufficient for everyone? Any side effects?" Again, Maurice sighed in exasperation at Paul's tireless adherence to the same rote answers. "No! There's no side effects! No hunger, no sickness, no space madness or whatever you're worried about! I demand to know when we will be allowed planet-side!" Maurice began to grind his teeth as his hands now became clentched fists. Paul answered reservedly, "Maurice, I've already explained the importance of this temporary isolation. You and your crew, being the only instance of a humanity being completely cut off from others, are the single best sample to see how culture survives and changes, how scientific progress either duplicates or diverges, not to mention the physciological adaptations to generations-long space travel. I sense your frustration in the process and I will provide something to help with the anxiety. Tell me, do others feel this way." Maurice was crestfallen. With a hopeless thump he slid into his chair. Throwing up his hands, "A couple. Not everyone. I guess it's just that we've been looking forward to this for so long. I..." He trailed off. "I understand, Maurice. We're very close to completing enough initial work to allow your crew to integrate with colony. We appreciate your continued cooperation. We're sending the new questionnaire shortly. The daily supplies will arrive in about an hour. I will communicate with you tomorrow at the same time." "See you..." Paul's vision disappeared into darkness before Maurice could finish "...tomorrow." Alice entered the room. "Did you already communicate with Paul?" Wearily, Paul nodded his head. "Another damned questionnaire will be uploaded soon and the supplied will be arriving. Can you handle the reception?" "Of course." Alice said and turned to leave. "Hey, Alice?" "Yes?" "Don't you find this strange? The repetitive questions and rations and cold communications?" "I don't know what else I would expect. They're doing their job just as we are," Alice replied. Maurice turned in his chair towards Alice and spoke, almost in a whisper, "Aren't you excited to see the planet? Are you not anxious to meet new people, see a city on solid ground and not spinning in space?" A moment passed, although Maurice saw no emotion pass her face. "It will definitely be a new experience, but until then we have our day's work. There will be time for excitement when the work's done, I suppose." Another moment passed and Alice took it as permission to leave. Maurice watched her go and shaking his head, returned his attention to his desk. "Another 'day's work', I suppose," he said to himself. Meanwhile, planet-side. Paul watched Maurice's holographic likeness dissipate. He then turned to another colonist who was sitting off to one side. "He continues to show great frustration, anger, and a loose regard for policy and authority. Should we increase the dosage?" "No," replied the other, "he clearly shows some sort of resistance either physicologically or psychologially. We'll need to identify the others like him and bring them in for examination." Paul looked puzzled, "So soon? I thought we had a few more weeks of trials. The new drugs seemed particularly effective on the lab subjects in suppressing these kind of outbursts." "The timetable has advanced." replied the other, "A 'rescue party' is being formed on Earth to come for us which requires us to move fast. We'll have to use what we've learned to subjugate as much of Earth as possible." "The rest?" "A necessary sacrifice to save mankind from its self-destructive nature." Paul thought on this moment, but the Asphodel drug blinded him to the irony. "Of course," he replied, and returned to his work.
	[WP] Humanity sends a generation ship to a nearby inhabitable planet, destined to arrive in 300 years. 50 years after, light speed travel is discovered. The planet is colonized 245 years before the generation ship arrives.	There was an announcement made to us that "the ship" would be arriving today. A three hundred year journey with the intent of establishing a colony for us Humans. They were bringing all the supplies needed to create something new. We were looking forward to welcoming them so we could surprise them with how far we have come. Everything about their mission had been documented and it was our bible. Every one of us needed to understand what they were bringing and how to help when it was time. I was part of the welcoming committee. The ship was an autopilot program. We knew exactly where it was going to land and when. The ship broke through our atmosphere at precisely when it was supposed to and as I had grown up understanding, it would take 45 seconds before it landed and another 2 minutes as the landings platforms opened and the bulkhead doors would open and we could great our long awaited guests. We were already up the ramp after it was lowered as the doors of the ship began to open. The doors opened fully and we stared into a vacant hallway. We were completely dumbfounded. Where was everyone. There should be around 7 thousand people on the ship by now. The ship was silent. We walked into the ship and marveled at all the things that we had learned about from the photos of this ship. I couldn't wait to see the Forrest chamber at the center of the ship. A mile long box on all four sides of all kinds of plants and flora brought from earth to here to help. We arrived at the Forrest chamber and found an empty box. A square mile of shiny metal nothingness. The sight was breathtaking and heartbreaking. I felt my stomach churn and a hotness under my skin. I felt I may be sick. I wasn't. We continued through the ship to what was t be the command deck. Again empty. Left in pristine condition. All the screens were off and all the controls remained dormant. All except for one blinking green button on the control console. I pushed the button and a single screen turned on behind us. On screen the captain of the ship appeared and began to speak. "My name is Miles Benjamin Gallo. I am captain of the Infinity and today is right around May 12th of our fiftieth year of our planned 300 year journey. Yesterday at approximately 23:00 hours we were knocked off course by somethin passing us, a comet or something, it caused significant damage to the ship. We will be performing maintenance on the hole tomorrow and will be taking the ship off of its auto pilot status to correct the issue." The video cut off and another screen in the room lit up with another video. "My name is Claudette Marie Anderton. I am captain of the Infinity and today we mourn the death of Captain Gallo, we are now back on course with our autopilot but two days ago we had a major malfunction..." The video cut off and then another screen turned on with yet another video log. "My name is Adrian Patel I am captain of the Infinity there seems to be a problem with the..." Again the transmission was cut short and again another screen. "Hello." "My name is" "Good Morning I am.." "Sarah Travers" "Richard Lambden" "Samuel Washington" "Captain of the Infinity" "The Infinitys captain" "Infinity captain:" The video logs of all the captains went on for over 12 hours. Each detailing some sort of issue with the ship and their attempts to resolve it and what collateral damage it took on the crew and the ship. The data logs lasted for about ten years before there was nothing left. And then it hit me, and no one else seemed to understand what happened. So I kept my mouth shut. We exited the ship while the days light was fading and found an anxious crowd wondering where they were. They are all dead. They never even made it a quarter of the way here before the ship was vacant and back on course. Almost 220 years of pure silence the Infinity traveled here. We had a few days to gather information from the ship before I was to give a statement to my people. I now had to figure out how to break it to everyone that when our forefathers developed faster than light travel we were so eager to get here that we must not have considered the Infinity was in the same course to this planet that they took. At light speed you seemingly phase through anything I your way. They passed through the Infinity just to be the first ones here.	It had taken twelve years for the first human colonists to feel at home on Hestia, and the first children were born only one year after that. Those children were the first settlers on a grand frontier, the limits of which were enough as to be non-existent. One hundred years later after the birth of the first generation of Hestian-born humans, the human species had colonized dozens of planets across their little part of the galaxy. Two hundred and forty-five years later, their technologies had seen huge advancements. Half the galaxy had been mapped, much of it by autonomous probes that leaped from star to nebula to black hole on fingers of light. The common citizen could scarcely remember when spaceflight was a danger, and the idea of interstellar travel that took years, or even decades, was a story that their great-great grandparents had long since ceased to tell. Fifty-five years before the first humans arrived on Hestia, and fifty years before the creation of faster than light travel, the generation ship Dawn Light was sent from earth carrying two hundred of the finest men and women, none of whom would ever see their destination. It would take the Dawn three hundred years to arrive. Galactic officials had been told the exact time and place that the Dawn Light would be entering the Hestian solar system. They watched through their telescopes and sent their probes to fly, undetected, at the side of the huge, asteroid-scarred generation ship. They watched as the ship began it's braking maneuvers, slowing from two percent of the speed of light to a speed that would allow for the entry into orbit. In cities across the planet, crowds gathered, turning their eyes upward toward the night sky. On viewscreens across the galaxy a trillion people watched as the behemoth starship became visible as a bright point of light. They watched then as the missiles, smaller pinpricks in the dark, leaped across the void and sent flames washing over and through the vessel's hull. Gasps arose from the crowd as burning points of light flew across the sky and the metal skin of the Dawn Light split, spilling it's guts out into vacuum. People on the planet's surface covered their eyes as several of the ship's nuclear warheads detonated above the atmosphere, throwing the faces of those watching into squinting, awestruck relief. People turned away then, in ones and twos. Then in droves, returning to homes, or to businesses. In a few hours the first of days worth of debris would begin to streak the atmosphere with burning white lines. Two people walked in silence to a small roadside cafe, styled in the manner of classic mid twenty-first century, and ordered drinks. They they sat silently, each lost in their own thoughts, one leaning back on a three legged stool, the other resting comfortably against the counter, her three eyes wandering over cafe decor. Their drinks arrived, one in a tall thin glass, another in an earthenware mug. She gripped the mug in a scaly hand. "To two-hundred and forty-five years of peace," She said. He picked up his glass. "Yeah," He said, raising his drink, "To peace." Clink.
	[WP] Darrell was a normal everyday idiot until he was bitten by a ware-genius. Now every full moon, he turns into a genius and is trying to solve the world's problems one night a month at a time.	Despite the grandeur of his genius, The Riemann Hypothesis remained elusive for the first three months. His breakthrough came nearly at the beginning of the fourth night, surprisingly early in what was normally a four-hour long marathon of thought. In a seemingly scripted flash of insight, the tangled lines of reason bolstering the 157 year-old conjecture straightened to form a beautifully intricate web of understanding, geometric in its perfection. Darrell was moved to tears as the zeroes of the zeta function materialized on the critical line, visualized in the chipped white center beam of his window pane. A similarly cinematic moment, though genuine nonetheless. With an incalculable satisfaction he left his desk, and poured a fresh cup of coffee, high off the transcendental gravity of this achievement, and smug in the way mathematicians are, recalling friends and colleagues arguing with him to focus on the more practical matters. Yet the gloating and vanity did not last, these quickly subsumed by wonder as he gazed out the window, fingers warmed by the steaming mug. Intelligibility... this was the reason for it all. Yes, this tangling with the universe, solving the puzzles as surely as His omnipotence would - this was his happiness.	Darrel sat at his desk, tapping his foot impatiently. In the moments before, he always got nervous. Every month on the same night, fear and anxiety would always consume him and his thoughts would be consumed by one burning question: What if it doesn’t work this time? He glanced at the clock. 7:44PM. Almost time. He glanced at his list and sighed .The list of problems was tremendously long, and it was getting increasingly random: draft a working peace treaty for Syria, get clean water to Sudan, figure out what was killing the nut trees in the Amazon, fix the California drought, solve the city’s infrastructure problem… He lifted his blinds. Orange rays of a set sun poked their head out from behind the city’s skyline. Just a few more minutes now. He alternated tapping his pen and his feet as he watched the last rays of light disappear and give way to a glowing, silver full moon. Darrel immediately stopped his tapping. It’s expending anxious energy that would be better suited to drafting this peace treaty, Darrel thought to himself. Logic of this sort surged through his brain, a brain suddenly made brilliant by the heavenly silver sphere. And thus Darrel’s work began. He was always an overachiever, though that usually amounted to eating one more burger or breaking the record for the most consecutive days asleep. But tonight, he wanted to hit every single problem on his list. Unfortunately, that didn’t leave very much time for any of them. He could spend three hours on his peace treaty, certainly the most important crisis. Maybe a couple of hours on the clean water issue, and he could possibly apply some of that knowledge to the drought as well. The city infrastructure issues - of which there were dozens - could only get about twenty minutes each. Down the list he went, one at a time, his pen unable to keep up with the onslaught of breakthroughs occurring with his brain. And as the night wore on, Darrel’s notebooks filled - one for each issue - filled and filled. But only so much time existed, and these issues were too big for even the world’s greatest genius to solve in one night. Why didn’t Darrel ever think to just focus on one problem at a time? Surely that type of methodology was more conducive to these massive, multi-day undertakings. Perhaps his condition was flawed so that his need for cramming and lists didn’t fade out as his genius faded in. So at the end of the night, as the sun rose and the moon dipped beneath the clouds, Darrel was only incrementally closer to solving every issue. Maybe I need to be bitten by another Were-Genius meant for other types of moons he wondered, staring at the list which had nothing crossed off. It was discouraging, but there was nothing Darrel could do about it. Dawn had come, and he was a bumbling oaf again. He would just bide his time for the next twenty-eight days and then get right back to work. And one day, years form now, he would shock the world by presenting a fully completed list of every conceivable global crisis - all simultaneously solved by him.
	[WP] Darrell was a normal everyday idiot until he was bitten by a ware-genius. Now every full moon, he turns into a genius and is trying to solve the world's problems one night a month at a time.	"Why?! Why must you do this?!" Darrell shouted to no one in particular. "I could unravel the mysteries of the cosmos, but for your meddling!" Before him stood the still-smoldering remains of his clothes, which had been stuffed into a bucket and set aflame prior to his transformation. A crudely scrawled note lay before the bucket that read "LOL ur naked!". The "k" in "naked" was actually backward. Darrell had learned quickly that, while he retained no memory of what transpired with the original Darrell between the full moons, the buffoon that was his alter ego seemed to be cognizant of all things despite being subverted during those phases. Rather than facilitating the research and ideas that flushed his mind during these periods, that fool chose instead to bully his intellectually superior self at every opportunity. At least this time he had not changed only to find himself crammed into a random locker at the local high school...how he had even locked himself inside baffled him despite his genius IQ. "Yes, I am naked. Har har." Darrell grumbled as he calmed down and took stock of his surroundings. "But where am I naked?" It was clearly a public restroom of some kind. Likely a gas station based on the squalid state of the facility. Grimly, he noted that the remainder of the paper towels had been used as tinder for his clothes, so there was no hope of using them as covering. With a heavy sigh, he tentatively opened the door only to be greeted by the sight of a police officer walking toward him across the parking lot toward him. "Hey! You! Is that smoke?" The officer barked. "Sadly, it is. I'm afraid my clothes have been burned, officer." Darrell replied while hiding his full nudity behind the half-open door. "Are you on drugs, son?" The officer asked after peering behind him and confirming that Darrell was alone in the restroom. "No, sir. My situation is...complicated. I'm afraid I have what you could call a mental condition." Or at least part of me does Darrell thought. "So you're naked because you started a fire in a public restroom with your clothes?" The officer's eyes narrowed as he reached for his handcuffs. "....yes." Darrell admitted with resignation. His theories on faster-than-light travel would have to wait for another night, it seemed.	Darrel sat at his desk, tapping his foot impatiently. In the moments before, he always got nervous. Every month on the same night, fear and anxiety would always consume him and his thoughts would be consumed by one burning question: What if it doesn’t work this time? He glanced at the clock. 7:44PM. Almost time. He glanced at his list and sighed .The list of problems was tremendously long, and it was getting increasingly random: draft a working peace treaty for Syria, get clean water to Sudan, figure out what was killing the nut trees in the Amazon, fix the California drought, solve the city’s infrastructure problem… He lifted his blinds. Orange rays of a set sun poked their head out from behind the city’s skyline. Just a few more minutes now. He alternated tapping his pen and his feet as he watched the last rays of light disappear and give way to a glowing, silver full moon. Darrel immediately stopped his tapping. It’s expending anxious energy that would be better suited to drafting this peace treaty, Darrel thought to himself. Logic of this sort surged through his brain, a brain suddenly made brilliant by the heavenly silver sphere. And thus Darrel’s work began. He was always an overachiever, though that usually amounted to eating one more burger or breaking the record for the most consecutive days asleep. But tonight, he wanted to hit every single problem on his list. Unfortunately, that didn’t leave very much time for any of them. He could spend three hours on his peace treaty, certainly the most important crisis. Maybe a couple of hours on the clean water issue, and he could possibly apply some of that knowledge to the drought as well. The city infrastructure issues - of which there were dozens - could only get about twenty minutes each. Down the list he went, one at a time, his pen unable to keep up with the onslaught of breakthroughs occurring with his brain. And as the night wore on, Darrel’s notebooks filled - one for each issue - filled and filled. But only so much time existed, and these issues were too big for even the world’s greatest genius to solve in one night. Why didn’t Darrel ever think to just focus on one problem at a time? Surely that type of methodology was more conducive to these massive, multi-day undertakings. Perhaps his condition was flawed so that his need for cramming and lists didn’t fade out as his genius faded in. So at the end of the night, as the sun rose and the moon dipped beneath the clouds, Darrel was only incrementally closer to solving every issue. Maybe I need to be bitten by another Were-Genius meant for other types of moons he wondered, staring at the list which had nothing crossed off. It was discouraging, but there was nothing Darrel could do about it. Dawn had come, and he was a bumbling oaf again. He would just bide his time for the next twenty-eight days and then get right back to work. And one day, years form now, he would shock the world by presenting a fully completed list of every conceivable global crisis - all simultaneously solved by him.
	[WP] Darrell was a normal everyday idiot until he was bitten by a ware-genius. Now every full moon, he turns into a genius and is trying to solve the world's problems one night a month at a time.	One night a month just isn't enough. Darrell knew on these nights something changed, he could feel it come upon him. He would start the day in his normal routine, except the static was at a minimum. And as the day went on the static faded until dusk. At dusk, his mind would clear; and his work would begin. Years of research locked away in the basement his ignorant self had been locked out of for years, decades actually. The solution was simple, a Chinese puzzle box his father had brought home from the war with the only copy for the basement key inside. Darrells simple mind was unable to figure out the puzzles secret, but he wasn't feeble enough to smash a cherished family heirloom. He may be dumb but he sure learned his lessons the hard way from his father, lessons that would stick in his mind where common sense always seemed to lack. Over the years the puzzle had become second nature. 20 seconds Darrell was in, 45 seconds and the fluorescents of his basement workshop were buzzing and popping as he made his way slowly down the stairs. His age had caught up to him, but on these fateful nights, his mind was as sharp as ever. His workshop was quite impressive for a man who didn't have a high school diploma. The odd jobs his counterpart performed every other day of the year wasn't much, but through the years on nights like these, Darrell would take all the money he had stuffed under his bed, in the sock drawer, in his pants pockets, and in the couch cushions and go shopping. He'd set himself up with enough groceries and supplies for the month, then stash the remainder in the desk drawer of his basement sanctuary. Over time that money paid for the Chem lab set, the computer and Internet service, the stacks upon stacks of texts and lab equipment. Years have been dedicated to his continuous search for knowledge, and those years had been productive. So much knowledge was saved to the hard drives in his computer office, enough external drives were filled with data to start his own library. Finally, all that he had worked for, all that he had accumulated over the years would be revealed to the world, and the next step of technological advancement could be achieved. The years had been good. But the time just wasn't enough. Throughout the years Darrell had witnessed terrible travesties, disease, war, famine, all things he had answers for. Stored right in the basement of his suburban home outside of Indianapolis. Darrell's biggest problem was getting his information to the right people in his limited time, and being able to explain his theorems to the correct communities. He had resorted to long hours of rigorous lectures, recorded in the basement, using an old black board and chalk to explain his concepts and theorems. All he planned to show to the world sometime soon. Navigating the stairs had become quite the chore in his old age. His joints weren't what they used to be and his back had all but given out. Darrell knew that this was likely his last trip downstairs, he could only hope that he'd die down here, with his intelligence still in check until the very end. If it weren't for his sister, Darrells simpler self would not have made it this far through the illness. Her daily visits and weekly trips to the treatment center proved to be the only reason he was able to continue his work in the last year and a half. Darrell had the cure too, which was the worst part about his condition. He had the chemical components to heal himself, but not the ability to do so. Once therapy started he shaved his head. The first night his mind was free Darrell started preparing for the end. All he had accumulated over the years was alphabetized neatly in rows on shelves in the basement, and categorized alphabetically on his hard drives. But the most crucial data he had been working on for four decades was still unfinished. And on this night it would not be finished. One night a month just isn't enough.	Darrel sat at his desk, tapping his foot impatiently. In the moments before, he always got nervous. Every month on the same night, fear and anxiety would always consume him and his thoughts would be consumed by one burning question: What if it doesn’t work this time? He glanced at the clock. 7:44PM. Almost time. He glanced at his list and sighed .The list of problems was tremendously long, and it was getting increasingly random: draft a working peace treaty for Syria, get clean water to Sudan, figure out what was killing the nut trees in the Amazon, fix the California drought, solve the city’s infrastructure problem… He lifted his blinds. Orange rays of a set sun poked their head out from behind the city’s skyline. Just a few more minutes now. He alternated tapping his pen and his feet as he watched the last rays of light disappear and give way to a glowing, silver full moon. Darrel immediately stopped his tapping. It’s expending anxious energy that would be better suited to drafting this peace treaty, Darrel thought to himself. Logic of this sort surged through his brain, a brain suddenly made brilliant by the heavenly silver sphere. And thus Darrel’s work began. He was always an overachiever, though that usually amounted to eating one more burger or breaking the record for the most consecutive days asleep. But tonight, he wanted to hit every single problem on his list. Unfortunately, that didn’t leave very much time for any of them. He could spend three hours on his peace treaty, certainly the most important crisis. Maybe a couple of hours on the clean water issue, and he could possibly apply some of that knowledge to the drought as well. The city infrastructure issues - of which there were dozens - could only get about twenty minutes each. Down the list he went, one at a time, his pen unable to keep up with the onslaught of breakthroughs occurring with his brain. And as the night wore on, Darrel’s notebooks filled - one for each issue - filled and filled. But only so much time existed, and these issues were too big for even the world’s greatest genius to solve in one night. Why didn’t Darrel ever think to just focus on one problem at a time? Surely that type of methodology was more conducive to these massive, multi-day undertakings. Perhaps his condition was flawed so that his need for cramming and lists didn’t fade out as his genius faded in. So at the end of the night, as the sun rose and the moon dipped beneath the clouds, Darrel was only incrementally closer to solving every issue. Maybe I need to be bitten by another Were-Genius meant for other types of moons he wondered, staring at the list which had nothing crossed off. It was discouraging, but there was nothing Darrel could do about it. Dawn had come, and he was a bumbling oaf again. He would just bide his time for the next twenty-eight days and then get right back to work. And one day, years form now, he would shock the world by presenting a fully completed list of every conceivable global crisis - all simultaneously solved by him.
	[WP] Darrell was a normal everyday idiot until he was bitten by a ware-genius. Now every full moon, he turns into a genius and is trying to solve the world's problems one night a month at a time.	Despite the grandeur of his genius, The Riemann Hypothesis remained elusive for the first three months. His breakthrough came nearly at the beginning of the fourth night, surprisingly early in what was normally a four-hour long marathon of thought. In a seemingly scripted flash of insight, the tangled lines of reason bolstering the 157 year-old conjecture straightened to form a beautifully intricate web of understanding, geometric in its perfection. Darrell was moved to tears as the zeroes of the zeta function materialized on the critical line, visualized in the chipped white center beam of his window pane. A similarly cinematic moment, though genuine nonetheless. With an incalculable satisfaction he left his desk, and poured a fresh cup of coffee, high off the transcendental gravity of this achievement, and smug in the way mathematicians are, recalling friends and colleagues arguing with him to focus on the more practical matters. Yet the gloating and vanity did not last, these quickly subsumed by wonder as he gazed out the window, fingers warmed by the steaming mug. Intelligibility... this was the reason for it all. Yes, this tangling with the universe, solving the puzzles as surely as His omnipotence would - this was his happiness.	Chapter 1- The Professor Professor Bourbaki was puzzled. In of itself, this was nothing new. Being a research mathematician got you used to a puzzle or two. What was new was the doubt. Doubt that they wanted to find the answer to “who is doing this”? Who would break into the department in the middle of the night, only to cover the the boards with solutions Bourbaki never asked for. The professor felt they should be thankful, but instead felt only doubt. Every time it happened, it took nearly a month to decipher. The first time it was almost erased. Nearly dismissed as a hoax before the first and last lines were noticed to be the statement and solution to a problem a hundred years old. Every time it happened, it took nearly a month to decipher. It was always a major advancement, using completely new techniques professor Bourbaki would never have thought of. The research fairy never mad mistakes or repeated themselves, though often referenced what they wrote in previous visits. Jackie Bourbaki doubted they could have come up with it themself. Jackie Bourbaki, Ph.D MIT summa cum laude, stared at the three inch stack of compiled notes on their desk. Not one sheet was original material. Not one line was work Jackie would write on their own. Not one symbol uninspired. “But no research is original!Newton admitted he was only standing on the shoulders of giants!” They thought in a moment of determination. “ I've collected it! I've decrypted it! I've spent my life devoted to these mysteries, only to have the answers laid out before I had the time!” But the shouts were hollow in their head. The doubt had returned. Leibniz was called a fraud when accused of standing on Newton's great shoulders. Jackie was at the end of their research career, and they knew it. They might publish a paper dotting an inverted i or crossing a functional t, but there was no Fields Medal at the end of it. “But what should I do with this stack?” Jackie called to their office walls, “ The more it grows, the heavier the weight. Will this graffitier of knowledge keep coming? Should I simply clear the boards, or continue stacking this tower until it topples, crushing me beneath? Would it be more noble to publish? An engineer in 30 years might save humanity with this knowledge... Or destroy it.” The words bounced off the office walls. Finding no answers, only doubt.
	[WP] Darrell was a normal everyday idiot until he was bitten by a ware-genius. Now every full moon, he turns into a genius and is trying to solve the world's problems one night a month at a time.	"Why?! Why must you do this?!" Darrell shouted to no one in particular. "I could unravel the mysteries of the cosmos, but for your meddling!" Before him stood the still-smoldering remains of his clothes, which had been stuffed into a bucket and set aflame prior to his transformation. A crudely scrawled note lay before the bucket that read "LOL ur naked!". The "k" in "naked" was actually backward. Darrell had learned quickly that, while he retained no memory of what transpired with the original Darrell between the full moons, the buffoon that was his alter ego seemed to be cognizant of all things despite being subverted during those phases. Rather than facilitating the research and ideas that flushed his mind during these periods, that fool chose instead to bully his intellectually superior self at every opportunity. At least this time he had not changed only to find himself crammed into a random locker at the local high school...how he had even locked himself inside baffled him despite his genius IQ. "Yes, I am naked. Har har." Darrell grumbled as he calmed down and took stock of his surroundings. "But where am I naked?" It was clearly a public restroom of some kind. Likely a gas station based on the squalid state of the facility. Grimly, he noted that the remainder of the paper towels had been used as tinder for his clothes, so there was no hope of using them as covering. With a heavy sigh, he tentatively opened the door only to be greeted by the sight of a police officer walking toward him across the parking lot toward him. "Hey! You! Is that smoke?" The officer barked. "Sadly, it is. I'm afraid my clothes have been burned, officer." Darrell replied while hiding his full nudity behind the half-open door. "Are you on drugs, son?" The officer asked after peering behind him and confirming that Darrell was alone in the restroom. "No, sir. My situation is...complicated. I'm afraid I have what you could call a mental condition." Or at least part of me does Darrell thought. "So you're naked because you started a fire in a public restroom with your clothes?" The officer's eyes narrowed as he reached for his handcuffs. "....yes." Darrell admitted with resignation. His theories on faster-than-light travel would have to wait for another night, it seemed.	Chapter 1- The Professor Professor Bourbaki was puzzled. In of itself, this was nothing new. Being a research mathematician got you used to a puzzle or two. What was new was the doubt. Doubt that they wanted to find the answer to “who is doing this”? Who would break into the department in the middle of the night, only to cover the the boards with solutions Bourbaki never asked for. The professor felt they should be thankful, but instead felt only doubt. Every time it happened, it took nearly a month to decipher. The first time it was almost erased. Nearly dismissed as a hoax before the first and last lines were noticed to be the statement and solution to a problem a hundred years old. Every time it happened, it took nearly a month to decipher. It was always a major advancement, using completely new techniques professor Bourbaki would never have thought of. The research fairy never mad mistakes or repeated themselves, though often referenced what they wrote in previous visits. Jackie Bourbaki doubted they could have come up with it themself. Jackie Bourbaki, Ph.D MIT summa cum laude, stared at the three inch stack of compiled notes on their desk. Not one sheet was original material. Not one line was work Jackie would write on their own. Not one symbol uninspired. “But no research is original!Newton admitted he was only standing on the shoulders of giants!” They thought in a moment of determination. “ I've collected it! I've decrypted it! I've spent my life devoted to these mysteries, only to have the answers laid out before I had the time!” But the shouts were hollow in their head. The doubt had returned. Leibniz was called a fraud when accused of standing on Newton's great shoulders. Jackie was at the end of their research career, and they knew it. They might publish a paper dotting an inverted i or crossing a functional t, but there was no Fields Medal at the end of it. “But what should I do with this stack?” Jackie called to their office walls, “ The more it grows, the heavier the weight. Will this graffitier of knowledge keep coming? Should I simply clear the boards, or continue stacking this tower until it topples, crushing me beneath? Would it be more noble to publish? An engineer in 30 years might save humanity with this knowledge... Or destroy it.” The words bounced off the office walls. Finding no answers, only doubt.
	[WP] Darrell was a normal everyday idiot until he was bitten by a ware-genius. Now every full moon, he turns into a genius and is trying to solve the world's problems one night a month at a time.	One night a month just isn't enough. Darrell knew on these nights something changed, he could feel it come upon him. He would start the day in his normal routine, except the static was at a minimum. And as the day went on the static faded until dusk. At dusk, his mind would clear; and his work would begin. Years of research locked away in the basement his ignorant self had been locked out of for years, decades actually. The solution was simple, a Chinese puzzle box his father had brought home from the war with the only copy for the basement key inside. Darrells simple mind was unable to figure out the puzzles secret, but he wasn't feeble enough to smash a cherished family heirloom. He may be dumb but he sure learned his lessons the hard way from his father, lessons that would stick in his mind where common sense always seemed to lack. Over the years the puzzle had become second nature. 20 seconds Darrell was in, 45 seconds and the fluorescents of his basement workshop were buzzing and popping as he made his way slowly down the stairs. His age had caught up to him, but on these fateful nights, his mind was as sharp as ever. His workshop was quite impressive for a man who didn't have a high school diploma. The odd jobs his counterpart performed every other day of the year wasn't much, but through the years on nights like these, Darrell would take all the money he had stuffed under his bed, in the sock drawer, in his pants pockets, and in the couch cushions and go shopping. He'd set himself up with enough groceries and supplies for the month, then stash the remainder in the desk drawer of his basement sanctuary. Over time that money paid for the Chem lab set, the computer and Internet service, the stacks upon stacks of texts and lab equipment. Years have been dedicated to his continuous search for knowledge, and those years had been productive. So much knowledge was saved to the hard drives in his computer office, enough external drives were filled with data to start his own library. Finally, all that he had worked for, all that he had accumulated over the years would be revealed to the world, and the next step of technological advancement could be achieved. The years had been good. But the time just wasn't enough. Throughout the years Darrell had witnessed terrible travesties, disease, war, famine, all things he had answers for. Stored right in the basement of his suburban home outside of Indianapolis. Darrell's biggest problem was getting his information to the right people in his limited time, and being able to explain his theorems to the correct communities. He had resorted to long hours of rigorous lectures, recorded in the basement, using an old black board and chalk to explain his concepts and theorems. All he planned to show to the world sometime soon. Navigating the stairs had become quite the chore in his old age. His joints weren't what they used to be and his back had all but given out. Darrell knew that this was likely his last trip downstairs, he could only hope that he'd die down here, with his intelligence still in check until the very end. If it weren't for his sister, Darrells simpler self would not have made it this far through the illness. Her daily visits and weekly trips to the treatment center proved to be the only reason he was able to continue his work in the last year and a half. Darrell had the cure too, which was the worst part about his condition. He had the chemical components to heal himself, but not the ability to do so. Once therapy started he shaved his head. The first night his mind was free Darrell started preparing for the end. All he had accumulated over the years was alphabetized neatly in rows on shelves in the basement, and categorized alphabetically on his hard drives. But the most crucial data he had been working on for four decades was still unfinished. And on this night it would not be finished. One night a month just isn't enough.	Chapter 1- The Professor Professor Bourbaki was puzzled. In of itself, this was nothing new. Being a research mathematician got you used to a puzzle or two. What was new was the doubt. Doubt that they wanted to find the answer to “who is doing this”? Who would break into the department in the middle of the night, only to cover the the boards with solutions Bourbaki never asked for. The professor felt they should be thankful, but instead felt only doubt. Every time it happened, it took nearly a month to decipher. The first time it was almost erased. Nearly dismissed as a hoax before the first and last lines were noticed to be the statement and solution to a problem a hundred years old. Every time it happened, it took nearly a month to decipher. It was always a major advancement, using completely new techniques professor Bourbaki would never have thought of. The research fairy never mad mistakes or repeated themselves, though often referenced what they wrote in previous visits. Jackie Bourbaki doubted they could have come up with it themself. Jackie Bourbaki, Ph.D MIT summa cum laude, stared at the three inch stack of compiled notes on their desk. Not one sheet was original material. Not one line was work Jackie would write on their own. Not one symbol uninspired. “But no research is original!Newton admitted he was only standing on the shoulders of giants!” They thought in a moment of determination. “ I've collected it! I've decrypted it! I've spent my life devoted to these mysteries, only to have the answers laid out before I had the time!” But the shouts were hollow in their head. The doubt had returned. Leibniz was called a fraud when accused of standing on Newton's great shoulders. Jackie was at the end of their research career, and they knew it. They might publish a paper dotting an inverted i or crossing a functional t, but there was no Fields Medal at the end of it. “But what should I do with this stack?” Jackie called to their office walls, “ The more it grows, the heavier the weight. Will this graffitier of knowledge keep coming? Should I simply clear the boards, or continue stacking this tower until it topples, crushing me beneath? Would it be more noble to publish? An engineer in 30 years might save humanity with this knowledge... Or destroy it.” The words bounced off the office walls. Finding no answers, only doubt.
	[WP] Darrell was a normal everyday idiot until he was bitten by a ware-genius. Now every full moon, he turns into a genius and is trying to solve the world's problems one night a month at a time.	Despite the grandeur of his genius, The Riemann Hypothesis remained elusive for the first three months. His breakthrough came nearly at the beginning of the fourth night, surprisingly early in what was normally a four-hour long marathon of thought. In a seemingly scripted flash of insight, the tangled lines of reason bolstering the 157 year-old conjecture straightened to form a beautifully intricate web of understanding, geometric in its perfection. Darrell was moved to tears as the zeroes of the zeta function materialized on the critical line, visualized in the chipped white center beam of his window pane. A similarly cinematic moment, though genuine nonetheless. With an incalculable satisfaction he left his desk, and poured a fresh cup of coffee, high off the transcendental gravity of this achievement, and smug in the way mathematicians are, recalling friends and colleagues arguing with him to focus on the more practical matters. Yet the gloating and vanity did not last, these quickly subsumed by wonder as he gazed out the window, fingers warmed by the steaming mug. Intelligibility... this was the reason for it all. Yes, this tangling with the universe, solving the puzzles as surely as His omnipotence would - this was his happiness.	Darrell's laboratory/workshop stood unused most of the time. He'd found through trial and error that if he went in there when in his normal state, he'd invariably end up breaking something. Not tonight, though. Tonight was a full moon. And when the moon was full, Darrell's mind expanded. He could see everything, think everything, do anything, it seemed, and when the sun came up and he returned to his normal state, he was always amazed at the wonders the genius form of him had produced. He stood over his workbench, screwdriver in hand, welder's mask and soldering iron to one side, a hammer and a pile of metal parts to the other. His latest project was coming together quite beautifully. Gyroscopic joint stabilization, smart environmental processing, algorithmic object detection—this thing had it all. This was going to revolutionize everything. At last, after many hours, his invention was complete, just as a hint of red began to tint the sky. He looked out the window and dabbed a bead of sweat from his brow. It wouldn't be long before he could test it. In the meantime, his long night of work had left him exhausted, and he dropped into his comfortable armchair to rest. When he awoke, all was back to normal. He could no longer recognize any but the simplest of his tools, and he couldn't tell how his invention worked anymore. Never mind; he'd tested it earlier, so he knew that it did. Time to try it, for real this time. Excited, he carried it to his car and set it on the dashboard. After a brief hunt, he finally found the power button and switched it on. Excited, he watched as it whirred to life and waited to see what it would do. With surgical precision, it extended an arm to his sound system, removed the CD, and replaced it with another one from his collection. "EUREKA!" he shouted.
	[WP] Darrell was a normal everyday idiot until he was bitten by a ware-genius. Now every full moon, he turns into a genius and is trying to solve the world's problems one night a month at a time.	"Why?! Why must you do this?!" Darrell shouted to no one in particular. "I could unravel the mysteries of the cosmos, but for your meddling!" Before him stood the still-smoldering remains of his clothes, which had been stuffed into a bucket and set aflame prior to his transformation. A crudely scrawled note lay before the bucket that read "LOL ur naked!". The "k" in "naked" was actually backward. Darrell had learned quickly that, while he retained no memory of what transpired with the original Darrell between the full moons, the buffoon that was his alter ego seemed to be cognizant of all things despite being subverted during those phases. Rather than facilitating the research and ideas that flushed his mind during these periods, that fool chose instead to bully his intellectually superior self at every opportunity. At least this time he had not changed only to find himself crammed into a random locker at the local high school...how he had even locked himself inside baffled him despite his genius IQ. "Yes, I am naked. Har har." Darrell grumbled as he calmed down and took stock of his surroundings. "But where am I naked?" It was clearly a public restroom of some kind. Likely a gas station based on the squalid state of the facility. Grimly, he noted that the remainder of the paper towels had been used as tinder for his clothes, so there was no hope of using them as covering. With a heavy sigh, he tentatively opened the door only to be greeted by the sight of a police officer walking toward him across the parking lot toward him. "Hey! You! Is that smoke?" The officer barked. "Sadly, it is. I'm afraid my clothes have been burned, officer." Darrell replied while hiding his full nudity behind the half-open door. "Are you on drugs, son?" The officer asked after peering behind him and confirming that Darrell was alone in the restroom. "No, sir. My situation is...complicated. I'm afraid I have what you could call a mental condition." Or at least part of me does Darrell thought. "So you're naked because you started a fire in a public restroom with your clothes?" The officer's eyes narrowed as he reached for his handcuffs. "....yes." Darrell admitted with resignation. His theories on faster-than-light travel would have to wait for another night, it seemed.	Darrell's laboratory/workshop stood unused most of the time. He'd found through trial and error that if he went in there when in his normal state, he'd invariably end up breaking something. Not tonight, though. Tonight was a full moon. And when the moon was full, Darrell's mind expanded. He could see everything, think everything, do anything, it seemed, and when the sun came up and he returned to his normal state, he was always amazed at the wonders the genius form of him had produced. He stood over his workbench, screwdriver in hand, welder's mask and soldering iron to one side, a hammer and a pile of metal parts to the other. His latest project was coming together quite beautifully. Gyroscopic joint stabilization, smart environmental processing, algorithmic object detection—this thing had it all. This was going to revolutionize everything. At last, after many hours, his invention was complete, just as a hint of red began to tint the sky. He looked out the window and dabbed a bead of sweat from his brow. It wouldn't be long before he could test it. In the meantime, his long night of work had left him exhausted, and he dropped into his comfortable armchair to rest. When he awoke, all was back to normal. He could no longer recognize any but the simplest of his tools, and he couldn't tell how his invention worked anymore. Never mind; he'd tested it earlier, so he knew that it did. Time to try it, for real this time. Excited, he carried it to his car and set it on the dashboard. After a brief hunt, he finally found the power button and switched it on. Excited, he watched as it whirred to life and waited to see what it would do. With surgical precision, it extended an arm to his sound system, removed the CD, and replaced it with another one from his collection. "EUREKA!" he shouted.
	[WP] Darrell was a normal everyday idiot until he was bitten by a ware-genius. Now every full moon, he turns into a genius and is trying to solve the world's problems one night a month at a time.	One night a month just isn't enough. Darrell knew on these nights something changed, he could feel it come upon him. He would start the day in his normal routine, except the static was at a minimum. And as the day went on the static faded until dusk. At dusk, his mind would clear; and his work would begin. Years of research locked away in the basement his ignorant self had been locked out of for years, decades actually. The solution was simple, a Chinese puzzle box his father had brought home from the war with the only copy for the basement key inside. Darrells simple mind was unable to figure out the puzzles secret, but he wasn't feeble enough to smash a cherished family heirloom. He may be dumb but he sure learned his lessons the hard way from his father, lessons that would stick in his mind where common sense always seemed to lack. Over the years the puzzle had become second nature. 20 seconds Darrell was in, 45 seconds and the fluorescents of his basement workshop were buzzing and popping as he made his way slowly down the stairs. His age had caught up to him, but on these fateful nights, his mind was as sharp as ever. His workshop was quite impressive for a man who didn't have a high school diploma. The odd jobs his counterpart performed every other day of the year wasn't much, but through the years on nights like these, Darrell would take all the money he had stuffed under his bed, in the sock drawer, in his pants pockets, and in the couch cushions and go shopping. He'd set himself up with enough groceries and supplies for the month, then stash the remainder in the desk drawer of his basement sanctuary. Over time that money paid for the Chem lab set, the computer and Internet service, the stacks upon stacks of texts and lab equipment. Years have been dedicated to his continuous search for knowledge, and those years had been productive. So much knowledge was saved to the hard drives in his computer office, enough external drives were filled with data to start his own library. Finally, all that he had worked for, all that he had accumulated over the years would be revealed to the world, and the next step of technological advancement could be achieved. The years had been good. But the time just wasn't enough. Throughout the years Darrell had witnessed terrible travesties, disease, war, famine, all things he had answers for. Stored right in the basement of his suburban home outside of Indianapolis. Darrell's biggest problem was getting his information to the right people in his limited time, and being able to explain his theorems to the correct communities. He had resorted to long hours of rigorous lectures, recorded in the basement, using an old black board and chalk to explain his concepts and theorems. All he planned to show to the world sometime soon. Navigating the stairs had become quite the chore in his old age. His joints weren't what they used to be and his back had all but given out. Darrell knew that this was likely his last trip downstairs, he could only hope that he'd die down here, with his intelligence still in check until the very end. If it weren't for his sister, Darrells simpler self would not have made it this far through the illness. Her daily visits and weekly trips to the treatment center proved to be the only reason he was able to continue his work in the last year and a half. Darrell had the cure too, which was the worst part about his condition. He had the chemical components to heal himself, but not the ability to do so. Once therapy started he shaved his head. The first night his mind was free Darrell started preparing for the end. All he had accumulated over the years was alphabetized neatly in rows on shelves in the basement, and categorized alphabetically on his hard drives. But the most crucial data he had been working on for four decades was still unfinished. And on this night it would not be finished. One night a month just isn't enough.	Darrell's laboratory/workshop stood unused most of the time. He'd found through trial and error that if he went in there when in his normal state, he'd invariably end up breaking something. Not tonight, though. Tonight was a full moon. And when the moon was full, Darrell's mind expanded. He could see everything, think everything, do anything, it seemed, and when the sun came up and he returned to his normal state, he was always amazed at the wonders the genius form of him had produced. He stood over his workbench, screwdriver in hand, welder's mask and soldering iron to one side, a hammer and a pile of metal parts to the other. His latest project was coming together quite beautifully. Gyroscopic joint stabilization, smart environmental processing, algorithmic object detection—this thing had it all. This was going to revolutionize everything. At last, after many hours, his invention was complete, just as a hint of red began to tint the sky. He looked out the window and dabbed a bead of sweat from his brow. It wouldn't be long before he could test it. In the meantime, his long night of work had left him exhausted, and he dropped into his comfortable armchair to rest. When he awoke, all was back to normal. He could no longer recognize any but the simplest of his tools, and he couldn't tell how his invention worked anymore. Never mind; he'd tested it earlier, so he knew that it did. Time to try it, for real this time. Excited, he carried it to his car and set it on the dashboard. After a brief hunt, he finally found the power button and switched it on. Excited, he watched as it whirred to life and waited to see what it would do. With surgical precision, it extended an arm to his sound system, removed the CD, and replaced it with another one from his collection. "EUREKA!" he shouted.
	[WP] Darrell was a normal everyday idiot until he was bitten by a ware-genius. Now every full moon, he turns into a genius and is trying to solve the world's problems one night a month at a time.	"Why?! Why must you do this?!" Darrell shouted to no one in particular. "I could unravel the mysteries of the cosmos, but for your meddling!" Before him stood the still-smoldering remains of his clothes, which had been stuffed into a bucket and set aflame prior to his transformation. A crudely scrawled note lay before the bucket that read "LOL ur naked!". The "k" in "naked" was actually backward. Darrell had learned quickly that, while he retained no memory of what transpired with the original Darrell between the full moons, the buffoon that was his alter ego seemed to be cognizant of all things despite being subverted during those phases. Rather than facilitating the research and ideas that flushed his mind during these periods, that fool chose instead to bully his intellectually superior self at every opportunity. At least this time he had not changed only to find himself crammed into a random locker at the local high school...how he had even locked himself inside baffled him despite his genius IQ. "Yes, I am naked. Har har." Darrell grumbled as he calmed down and took stock of his surroundings. "But where am I naked?" It was clearly a public restroom of some kind. Likely a gas station based on the squalid state of the facility. Grimly, he noted that the remainder of the paper towels had been used as tinder for his clothes, so there was no hope of using them as covering. With a heavy sigh, he tentatively opened the door only to be greeted by the sight of a police officer walking toward him across the parking lot toward him. "Hey! You! Is that smoke?" The officer barked. "Sadly, it is. I'm afraid my clothes have been burned, officer." Darrell replied while hiding his full nudity behind the half-open door. "Are you on drugs, son?" The officer asked after peering behind him and confirming that Darrell was alone in the restroom. "No, sir. My situation is...complicated. I'm afraid I have what you could call a mental condition." Or at least part of me does Darrell thought. "So you're naked because you started a fire in a public restroom with your clothes?" The officer's eyes narrowed as he reached for his handcuffs. "....yes." Darrell admitted with resignation. His theories on faster-than-light travel would have to wait for another night, it seemed.	Darrell sat at his computer chair, his hand throbbing like a son of a bitch where that weirdo had bitten him. And then that creep had stuffed a piece of paper into Darrell's pocket, before running away. What the hell was that about? It made no sense, and Darrell couldn't figure out what the heck it all meant. Maybe that stupid piece of paper had a clue... Darrell could hardly read at all. Still, he took out the paper and laid it as flat as he could on the computer desk. This time, the big and normally indecipherable words resolved themselves into units of meaning, astonishing and delighting Darrell. He gasped as he read and comprehended words that previously had only been ugly jumbles of letters. The note explained what had happened to Darrell, and what the consequences of it were. It explained the moon, the high intelligence, the whole nine yards. Or 8.223 meters, thought Darrell. What was that? He checked on google. 8.223 meters was correct. Wow. What else could he understand now? He looked at the news on google. He could understand everything. The words came easily, the concepts were childish, puerile really, easily understood and assimilated. But to his horror, he couldn't stop. Two boys had been strangled in Texas, mutilated and then burned alive. Rape was at an all time high in Florida, and his newfound understanding meant the implications of that filled him with searing anguish. A junkie mom in New York had killed her eldest child, a seven year old girl, when she had tried to protect her younger brothers from being pimped by their mother. She had stuffed the tiny body of her malnourished child into a suitcase and left it on the roof of the crack house in which she lived, where it rotted for weeks as her brothers were literally abused to death. In Boston a man had killed his neighbor with a crowbar in an argument over a football game. Seven gang members had been killed in LA as part of an escalating gang feud. The tongues of the dead had been removed and nailed to the door of the nearest precinct house. On and on it went. As fast as he could read (which was very fast indeed), the computer churned out horror stories of every type. Darrell wanted to scream, he wanted to escape, he wanted this to be a dream from which he could wake. He understood how the gang members felt, the fear of the children, the violation of the rape victims. He understood it all, to the very depth of his being. It felt as if each evil, each crime, each agony was being indelibly tattooed into his bones. But he knew he could make it stop. He knew he could end it. So he did. It took him only 45 minutes to create a single use hyper-pistol. And just another 5 seconds to splash his brains all over his computer screen. Edit: paragraphs > wall of text
	[WP] Darrell was a normal everyday idiot until he was bitten by a ware-genius. Now every full moon, he turns into a genius and is trying to solve the world's problems one night a month at a time.	One night a month just isn't enough. Darrell knew on these nights something changed, he could feel it come upon him. He would start the day in his normal routine, except the static was at a minimum. And as the day went on the static faded until dusk. At dusk, his mind would clear; and his work would begin. Years of research locked away in the basement his ignorant self had been locked out of for years, decades actually. The solution was simple, a Chinese puzzle box his father had brought home from the war with the only copy for the basement key inside. Darrells simple mind was unable to figure out the puzzles secret, but he wasn't feeble enough to smash a cherished family heirloom. He may be dumb but he sure learned his lessons the hard way from his father, lessons that would stick in his mind where common sense always seemed to lack. Over the years the puzzle had become second nature. 20 seconds Darrell was in, 45 seconds and the fluorescents of his basement workshop were buzzing and popping as he made his way slowly down the stairs. His age had caught up to him, but on these fateful nights, his mind was as sharp as ever. His workshop was quite impressive for a man who didn't have a high school diploma. The odd jobs his counterpart performed every other day of the year wasn't much, but through the years on nights like these, Darrell would take all the money he had stuffed under his bed, in the sock drawer, in his pants pockets, and in the couch cushions and go shopping. He'd set himself up with enough groceries and supplies for the month, then stash the remainder in the desk drawer of his basement sanctuary. Over time that money paid for the Chem lab set, the computer and Internet service, the stacks upon stacks of texts and lab equipment. Years have been dedicated to his continuous search for knowledge, and those years had been productive. So much knowledge was saved to the hard drives in his computer office, enough external drives were filled with data to start his own library. Finally, all that he had worked for, all that he had accumulated over the years would be revealed to the world, and the next step of technological advancement could be achieved. The years had been good. But the time just wasn't enough. Throughout the years Darrell had witnessed terrible travesties, disease, war, famine, all things he had answers for. Stored right in the basement of his suburban home outside of Indianapolis. Darrell's biggest problem was getting his information to the right people in his limited time, and being able to explain his theorems to the correct communities. He had resorted to long hours of rigorous lectures, recorded in the basement, using an old black board and chalk to explain his concepts and theorems. All he planned to show to the world sometime soon. Navigating the stairs had become quite the chore in his old age. His joints weren't what they used to be and his back had all but given out. Darrell knew that this was likely his last trip downstairs, he could only hope that he'd die down here, with his intelligence still in check until the very end. If it weren't for his sister, Darrells simpler self would not have made it this far through the illness. Her daily visits and weekly trips to the treatment center proved to be the only reason he was able to continue his work in the last year and a half. Darrell had the cure too, which was the worst part about his condition. He had the chemical components to heal himself, but not the ability to do so. Once therapy started he shaved his head. The first night his mind was free Darrell started preparing for the end. All he had accumulated over the years was alphabetized neatly in rows on shelves in the basement, and categorized alphabetically on his hard drives. But the most crucial data he had been working on for four decades was still unfinished. And on this night it would not be finished. One night a month just isn't enough.	Darrell sat at his computer chair, his hand throbbing like a son of a bitch where that weirdo had bitten him. And then that creep had stuffed a piece of paper into Darrell's pocket, before running away. What the hell was that about? It made no sense, and Darrell couldn't figure out what the heck it all meant. Maybe that stupid piece of paper had a clue... Darrell could hardly read at all. Still, he took out the paper and laid it as flat as he could on the computer desk. This time, the big and normally indecipherable words resolved themselves into units of meaning, astonishing and delighting Darrell. He gasped as he read and comprehended words that previously had only been ugly jumbles of letters. The note explained what had happened to Darrell, and what the consequences of it were. It explained the moon, the high intelligence, the whole nine yards. Or 8.223 meters, thought Darrell. What was that? He checked on google. 8.223 meters was correct. Wow. What else could he understand now? He looked at the news on google. He could understand everything. The words came easily, the concepts were childish, puerile really, easily understood and assimilated. But to his horror, he couldn't stop. Two boys had been strangled in Texas, mutilated and then burned alive. Rape was at an all time high in Florida, and his newfound understanding meant the implications of that filled him with searing anguish. A junkie mom in New York had killed her eldest child, a seven year old girl, when she had tried to protect her younger brothers from being pimped by their mother. She had stuffed the tiny body of her malnourished child into a suitcase and left it on the roof of the crack house in which she lived, where it rotted for weeks as her brothers were literally abused to death. In Boston a man had killed his neighbor with a crowbar in an argument over a football game. Seven gang members had been killed in LA as part of an escalating gang feud. The tongues of the dead had been removed and nailed to the door of the nearest precinct house. On and on it went. As fast as he could read (which was very fast indeed), the computer churned out horror stories of every type. Darrell wanted to scream, he wanted to escape, he wanted this to be a dream from which he could wake. He understood how the gang members felt, the fear of the children, the violation of the rape victims. He understood it all, to the very depth of his being. It felt as if each evil, each crime, each agony was being indelibly tattooed into his bones. But he knew he could make it stop. He knew he could end it. So he did. It took him only 45 minutes to create a single use hyper-pistol. And just another 5 seconds to splash his brains all over his computer screen. Edit: paragraphs > wall of text
	[WP] Darrell was a normal everyday idiot until he was bitten by a ware-genius. Now every full moon, he turns into a genius and is trying to solve the world's problems one night a month at a time.	"Why?! Why must you do this?!" Darrell shouted to no one in particular. "I could unravel the mysteries of the cosmos, but for your meddling!" Before him stood the still-smoldering remains of his clothes, which had been stuffed into a bucket and set aflame prior to his transformation. A crudely scrawled note lay before the bucket that read "LOL ur naked!". The "k" in "naked" was actually backward. Darrell had learned quickly that, while he retained no memory of what transpired with the original Darrell between the full moons, the buffoon that was his alter ego seemed to be cognizant of all things despite being subverted during those phases. Rather than facilitating the research and ideas that flushed his mind during these periods, that fool chose instead to bully his intellectually superior self at every opportunity. At least this time he had not changed only to find himself crammed into a random locker at the local high school...how he had even locked himself inside baffled him despite his genius IQ. "Yes, I am naked. Har har." Darrell grumbled as he calmed down and took stock of his surroundings. "But where am I naked?" It was clearly a public restroom of some kind. Likely a gas station based on the squalid state of the facility. Grimly, he noted that the remainder of the paper towels had been used as tinder for his clothes, so there was no hope of using them as covering. With a heavy sigh, he tentatively opened the door only to be greeted by the sight of a police officer walking toward him across the parking lot toward him. "Hey! You! Is that smoke?" The officer barked. "Sadly, it is. I'm afraid my clothes have been burned, officer." Darrell replied while hiding his full nudity behind the half-open door. "Are you on drugs, son?" The officer asked after peering behind him and confirming that Darrell was alone in the restroom. "No, sir. My situation is...complicated. I'm afraid I have what you could call a mental condition." Or at least part of me does Darrell thought. "So you're naked because you started a fire in a public restroom with your clothes?" The officer's eyes narrowed as he reached for his handcuffs. "....yes." Darrell admitted with resignation. His theories on faster-than-light travel would have to wait for another night, it seemed.	Darrell had been working himself up on the drive over, his brain reaching a satisfying simmering like a pink poached egg. Righteous anger has ways of sneaking into the best of people but with Darrell once it was in it couldn't break out of his thick skull if it tried. Right now it was scratching tallies to mark the days. His dear old nan - bless her heart - had graciously rented out her home to the smarty pants that had decided to attend more school. Darrell didn't really understand why they would do this, but he did understand that most were strapped for cash and his sweet nan undercut the local rent average by 200 dollars. And he liked most of em'. They were bright kids what knew to treat his nan with respec', and if they didn't they knew Darrel would make sure they got a dorm at the university with the help of disability priorities. But one tenant wasn't a student. He was a tenured professor of biology who made a paycheck that said he shouldn't be livin' for cheap in some old lady's basement, and it DEFINITELY said he should be paying his fuckin' rent. And Goddam basic human decency said there shouldn't be strange smells and loud moaning noises disturbing the student's studies - and far worse disturbing his dear old nan. She didn't have the disposition to kick people out. But Darrell was a bouncer, and had a disposition that thoroughly enjoyed when people pulled knives or bottles on it because that usually meant the owner would give a little extra bonus for the trouble. The stench hit him before he even reached the door. There was a soft ticking noise in his mind as righteous anger turned up the dial. The egg boiled. He didn't bother knocking, just shoved the key in and shouldered his way in. A pile of strange crap on the floor was pushed aside in the doors wake. The whole room was covered in garbage. Darrell thought he saw something move in the corner. The water in his brainpan turned to steam, now whistling a hasty exit out each ear. His mind was a small black stain. "ALRIGHT YOU PIECE OF -IT (Darrell's subconscious would automatically censor him if it thought his nan was in earshot, which in this case currently covered most of the neighborhood) I'M GUNNA COUNT TO TEN, AND BY THEN YOU'RE GUNNA GIVE ME ONE EFFIN CHEQUE FOR ALL THE RENT YOU MISSED AND ONE EFFIN CHEQUE THE DANG CLEANERS. He lowered his voice a few decibels. Not because he calmed down, but because a hissed whisper could be far worse than shouting at times. "You gotta month, one fuckin' month to clear out before I punch you into pâté and feed it to my fuckin' dog. Understand?" There was more movement in the corner. A human - at least he assumed the emaciated thing was human - unearthed itself from piles of filth. Pieces showered out of a mop of hair and beard that obscured the face. "I-i-it's ready, I've finally done it." the thing muttered. "I-I tried to create an artificial woman to i-i-increase ef-efficiency, a-a-and pass on my genes, but it failed me. I h-had to try something else." Darrell followed the gaze of the professor. A harder look in the dim light revealed a body among the waste. Multiple legs curled upwards and down towards the stomach, like a giant fleshy spider set in rigor mortis. This man had been living not 20 feet from his nan. The rage passed beyond hot anger. It was now cold, a sub-zero chill working its way into every nerve in his body as it crawled up his spine. "I'm. Calling. Police. Don't move." The professor clutched his beard, spasming. He gave a shrill whine "I'm so very sick... but you... you'll pass on my legacy. You'll accept my gift." Most would've assumed that the professors skeletal frame couldn't have propelled itself that fast across the room in a single lunge. But Darrell had learned that lesson a long time ago and was ready for it. His fist arced out like lightning, gleefully running the shortest path to the face. There was a resounding CRACK of shattered bone to act the thunder. The prof's body folded in on itself, then slumped to the ground. Darrell looked at the blood pouring out of his knuckles, crawling down his arm. They were sliced open - cut by hitting teeth. A wave of nausea swept through him. Darrell knew that he wouldn't have to check the pulse. "Christ... I'll need to get bloody shots." "I saw everything." He whirled around so fast he almost fell over. He managed a chocked gurgle before the girl in the doorway continued. One of the students. Cassandra - something. "I saw him attack you, with a weapon too." Darrell looked down and noticed the empty syringe clutched in the professors hand. Another wave of nausea. "Don't worry, he didn't get you. I think whatever was in that was for himself." She wrinkled her nose. "I'll testify for you. It was self-defense, and once they figure out whatever the fuck he was doing in here I bet the cops will shake your hand." An awkward, bony hand was placed on his heaving shoulders. Darrell realized he was breathing hard, and tried to calm down. "Come on, I'll call the police and bandage you up. I'm studying pre-med. Mrs Applewood will probably make our favorite tea." Darrell nodded. He liked it when other people did the thinking for him, and he needed that now more than usual. He followed her up the stairs. ...................... The trial ended in no time. Cassandras eye witness testimony in addition to character statements by staff and students had helped, but it was the corpse that sealed the deal. The professor had been stealing priceless cloning equipment from the university then covering it up. Viable cloning was still a recent invention reserved for making compatible, healthy organs for people who needed them. The professor had made - if only briefly - a living organism. She could only hope to herself that it wasn't sentient. Being told where he had gotten the DNA was enough to cause her and the other tenants to consider moving out. But shit, an extra 200 dollars a month was an extra 200 dollars, and it was all over now anyway. Plus there was one other important reason.... Darrell had shown up one night, laughing. He kissed Mrs. Applewood hard on the cheek, and them stomped over to her and picked her up by the waist. Once the room stopped spinning, she looked at an expression Mrs. Applewood's face that told her this was not her grandsons usual conduct. Once initial annoyance subsided, she begrudgingly took a moment to consider that not many of the boys in pre-med could spin her like that, and the ones that could didn't really bother with her. She had written Darrell off as some dumb ugly goon before the incident (then he graduated to heroic ugly goon in her eyes), but something was especially different about him tonight. He smothered her hands in calloused mitts and fell to one knee, so his blocky head was just about shoulder level. "Please, please, Cassandra, you have to let me read your textbooks. All of them. I've got something to share that's going to make both of us famous." Crap. She didn't want to sound obnoxious, but they were probably more useful to Darrell as a blunt instrument than reading material. After he tried she'd put him down softly - it was advanced material after all. "Alright, alright. I'll go grab them for you." she smiled. And then he flipped through them like they were picture books. She had thought he was making a lame prank, but he repeated sentences and formulas verbatim. It was like talking to a living computer. It was fantastic, and slightly disturbing. "Darrell, what the hell happened to you? This.... this is unprecedented." "I know.. And it only happens during the full moon. But I don't need to know how or why, I just need to know the best ways I can use it." He grabbed a pencil and some notebook paper. "Cassandra, those medical books were the very latest? Well, I figure I can make some improvements here and there. And I want to show you, and I want your help. So when I'm back to being as thick as a brick, someone can advance and explore the work until the next full moon. If it even keeps lasting, hopefully." They spent the entire night together. And many, many more nights after.
	[WP] Darrell was a normal everyday idiot until he was bitten by a ware-genius. Now every full moon, he turns into a genius and is trying to solve the world's problems one night a month at a time.	"Why?! Why must you do this?!" Darrell shouted to no one in particular. "I could unravel the mysteries of the cosmos, but for your meddling!" Before him stood the still-smoldering remains of his clothes, which had been stuffed into a bucket and set aflame prior to his transformation. A crudely scrawled note lay before the bucket that read "LOL ur naked!". The "k" in "naked" was actually backward. Darrell had learned quickly that, while he retained no memory of what transpired with the original Darrell between the full moons, the buffoon that was his alter ego seemed to be cognizant of all things despite being subverted during those phases. Rather than facilitating the research and ideas that flushed his mind during these periods, that fool chose instead to bully his intellectually superior self at every opportunity. At least this time he had not changed only to find himself crammed into a random locker at the local high school...how he had even locked himself inside baffled him despite his genius IQ. "Yes, I am naked. Har har." Darrell grumbled as he calmed down and took stock of his surroundings. "But where am I naked?" It was clearly a public restroom of some kind. Likely a gas station based on the squalid state of the facility. Grimly, he noted that the remainder of the paper towels had been used as tinder for his clothes, so there was no hope of using them as covering. With a heavy sigh, he tentatively opened the door only to be greeted by the sight of a police officer walking toward him across the parking lot toward him. "Hey! You! Is that smoke?" The officer barked. "Sadly, it is. I'm afraid my clothes have been burned, officer." Darrell replied while hiding his full nudity behind the half-open door. "Are you on drugs, son?" The officer asked after peering behind him and confirming that Darrell was alone in the restroom. "No, sir. My situation is...complicated. I'm afraid I have what you could call a mental condition." Or at least part of me does Darrell thought. "So you're naked because you started a fire in a public restroom with your clothes?" The officer's eyes narrowed as he reached for his handcuffs. "....yes." Darrell admitted with resignation. His theories on faster-than-light travel would have to wait for another night, it seemed.	His fingers skimmed over the spines of the books on the library's shelf. A shelf containing books on early philosophy, modern physics, and various other various mathematics and robotics manuals. His library was quaint, but adequate. He wasn't the smartest man in the world everyday, in fact no day at all. He was a were-genious. The result of cross-breeding the intelligence of man and the prey drive of a wolf. Every month, on the night of the fullest full moon, Darrell goes through a metamorphosis to form into this strangely subtle, but wolf-like creature. In the strangest of cases, Darrell's perfect 20/20 vision actually diminishes and glasses form through his skull. It's quite the process. In this state of vigor, Darrell can only pick up the first intellectually stimulating material near-by and start consuming it's contents one idea at a time. Darrell lives for these moments, although any knowledge obtained will be lost upon reversal. Thankfully enough, Darrell always knew that he would retain this knowledge upon next 'awakening.' Tonight Darrell had his mind set on biological engineering. "It's time to strike down world hunger, baby," Darrell thought to himself as he felt his vision slowly start to fade...
	[WP] Darrell was a normal everyday idiot until he was bitten by a ware-genius. Now every full moon, he turns into a genius and is trying to solve the world's problems one night a month at a time.	"Why?! Why must you do this?!" Darrell shouted to no one in particular. "I could unravel the mysteries of the cosmos, but for your meddling!" Before him stood the still-smoldering remains of his clothes, which had been stuffed into a bucket and set aflame prior to his transformation. A crudely scrawled note lay before the bucket that read "LOL ur naked!". The "k" in "naked" was actually backward. Darrell had learned quickly that, while he retained no memory of what transpired with the original Darrell between the full moons, the buffoon that was his alter ego seemed to be cognizant of all things despite being subverted during those phases. Rather than facilitating the research and ideas that flushed his mind during these periods, that fool chose instead to bully his intellectually superior self at every opportunity. At least this time he had not changed only to find himself crammed into a random locker at the local high school...how he had even locked himself inside baffled him despite his genius IQ. "Yes, I am naked. Har har." Darrell grumbled as he calmed down and took stock of his surroundings. "But where am I naked?" It was clearly a public restroom of some kind. Likely a gas station based on the squalid state of the facility. Grimly, he noted that the remainder of the paper towels had been used as tinder for his clothes, so there was no hope of using them as covering. With a heavy sigh, he tentatively opened the door only to be greeted by the sight of a police officer walking toward him across the parking lot toward him. "Hey! You! Is that smoke?" The officer barked. "Sadly, it is. I'm afraid my clothes have been burned, officer." Darrell replied while hiding his full nudity behind the half-open door. "Are you on drugs, son?" The officer asked after peering behind him and confirming that Darrell was alone in the restroom. "No, sir. My situation is...complicated. I'm afraid I have what you could call a mental condition." Or at least part of me does Darrell thought. "So you're naked because you started a fire in a public restroom with your clothes?" The officer's eyes narrowed as he reached for his handcuffs. "....yes." Darrell admitted with resignation. His theories on faster-than-light travel would have to wait for another night, it seemed.	"Ah-ha! Derrell, today is the day!" The first waking second of my day came as an epiphany, as second Tuesdays always do. My dreams sleepily amalgamate into ideas and ideas coalesce into actionable reality as I am finally on the 5th mensiversary of my infection capable of achieving... Well, anything really. For I am a were-genius, once a month my brilliance eclipses the planet as the course of humanity is laid before me. Last month I permanently lost my eyebrows when my epiphany decamped into belated festivities as the clock struck twelve. The anniversary before that, the pigmentation of my skin, I don't even know how I thought Today was going to be different though, no mad scientist - - -Sorry but I lost motivation and I took sleep meds 2 hours ago and I'm dying. I was going to make him decide that the smartest thing he could do for mankind was file his teeth to ensure further infections, and infect as many people as possible, thus turning him into Derrell the ware-genius idiot vampire. Let me know what you thought of what I had though, literally have never written a story of any kind before. At least since 5th grade.
	[WP] Darrell was a normal everyday idiot until he was bitten by a ware-genius. Now every full moon, he turns into a genius and is trying to solve the world's problems one night a month at a time.	"Why?! Why must you do this?!" Darrell shouted to no one in particular. "I could unravel the mysteries of the cosmos, but for your meddling!" Before him stood the still-smoldering remains of his clothes, which had been stuffed into a bucket and set aflame prior to his transformation. A crudely scrawled note lay before the bucket that read "LOL ur naked!". The "k" in "naked" was actually backward. Darrell had learned quickly that, while he retained no memory of what transpired with the original Darrell between the full moons, the buffoon that was his alter ego seemed to be cognizant of all things despite being subverted during those phases. Rather than facilitating the research and ideas that flushed his mind during these periods, that fool chose instead to bully his intellectually superior self at every opportunity. At least this time he had not changed only to find himself crammed into a random locker at the local high school...how he had even locked himself inside baffled him despite his genius IQ. "Yes, I am naked. Har har." Darrell grumbled as he calmed down and took stock of his surroundings. "But where am I naked?" It was clearly a public restroom of some kind. Likely a gas station based on the squalid state of the facility. Grimly, he noted that the remainder of the paper towels had been used as tinder for his clothes, so there was no hope of using them as covering. With a heavy sigh, he tentatively opened the door only to be greeted by the sight of a police officer walking toward him across the parking lot toward him. "Hey! You! Is that smoke?" The officer barked. "Sadly, it is. I'm afraid my clothes have been burned, officer." Darrell replied while hiding his full nudity behind the half-open door. "Are you on drugs, son?" The officer asked after peering behind him and confirming that Darrell was alone in the restroom. "No, sir. My situation is...complicated. I'm afraid I have what you could call a mental condition." Or at least part of me does Darrell thought. "So you're naked because you started a fire in a public restroom with your clothes?" The officer's eyes narrowed as he reached for his handcuffs. "....yes." Darrell admitted with resignation. His theories on faster-than-light travel would have to wait for another night, it seemed.	"Except this night. This night, he's not going to help a third world country figure out its hunger problems or the CIA track down the mass murderer who's been on the run for the last decade. And he'll be damned if he's helping Bon Jovi again. So what's he going to do this night? This night he's going to do something special. Figure out why teenage girls like boy bands and maybe, just maybe he'll be able to understand his 16yr old (hopefully still a virgin) daughter and in return she might just acknowledge his existence, maybe. "
	[WP] Darrell was a normal everyday idiot until he was bitten by a ware-genius. Now every full moon, he turns into a genius and is trying to solve the world's problems one night a month at a time.	"Why?! Why must you do this?!" Darrell shouted to no one in particular. "I could unravel the mysteries of the cosmos, but for your meddling!" Before him stood the still-smoldering remains of his clothes, which had been stuffed into a bucket and set aflame prior to his transformation. A crudely scrawled note lay before the bucket that read "LOL ur naked!". The "k" in "naked" was actually backward. Darrell had learned quickly that, while he retained no memory of what transpired with the original Darrell between the full moons, the buffoon that was his alter ego seemed to be cognizant of all things despite being subverted during those phases. Rather than facilitating the research and ideas that flushed his mind during these periods, that fool chose instead to bully his intellectually superior self at every opportunity. At least this time he had not changed only to find himself crammed into a random locker at the local high school...how he had even locked himself inside baffled him despite his genius IQ. "Yes, I am naked. Har har." Darrell grumbled as he calmed down and took stock of his surroundings. "But where am I naked?" It was clearly a public restroom of some kind. Likely a gas station based on the squalid state of the facility. Grimly, he noted that the remainder of the paper towels had been used as tinder for his clothes, so there was no hope of using them as covering. With a heavy sigh, he tentatively opened the door only to be greeted by the sight of a police officer walking toward him across the parking lot toward him. "Hey! You! Is that smoke?" The officer barked. "Sadly, it is. I'm afraid my clothes have been burned, officer." Darrell replied while hiding his full nudity behind the half-open door. "Are you on drugs, son?" The officer asked after peering behind him and confirming that Darrell was alone in the restroom. "No, sir. My situation is...complicated. I'm afraid I have what you could call a mental condition." Or at least part of me does Darrell thought. "So you're naked because you started a fire in a public restroom with your clothes?" The officer's eyes narrowed as he reached for his handcuffs. "....yes." Darrell admitted with resignation. His theories on faster-than-light travel would have to wait for another night, it seemed.	He could always tell it was that time of the month when the poster on the wall begin to mean something. First he noticed there was a poster. Then he noticed the poster had an image of a cat , as well as shapes and colors on it. Then the shapes and colors turned into ... letters. And then words. Every month it was a bit different, sometimes it took his Super Genius brain longer to figure out how to read than others. But he always did figure it out. This month and it happened suddenly, almost jarring as a world of information opened up to him in what seemed to be a matter of moments. But his genius brain compensated just as quickly as it had figured it out how to read, and the moment of vertigo quickly passed. He still recalled why he'd chosen the cat poster. Believe, it said. This simple word threw him into what he recalled now was his recurring existential crisis about the blessing, or was it a curse, it had been laid upon him.
	[WP] Darrell was a normal everyday idiot until he was bitten by a ware-genius. Now every full moon, he turns into a genius and is trying to solve the world's problems one night a month at a time.	One night a month just isn't enough. Darrell knew on these nights something changed, he could feel it come upon him. He would start the day in his normal routine, except the static was at a minimum. And as the day went on the static faded until dusk. At dusk, his mind would clear; and his work would begin. Years of research locked away in the basement his ignorant self had been locked out of for years, decades actually. The solution was simple, a Chinese puzzle box his father had brought home from the war with the only copy for the basement key inside. Darrells simple mind was unable to figure out the puzzles secret, but he wasn't feeble enough to smash a cherished family heirloom. He may be dumb but he sure learned his lessons the hard way from his father, lessons that would stick in his mind where common sense always seemed to lack. Over the years the puzzle had become second nature. 20 seconds Darrell was in, 45 seconds and the fluorescents of his basement workshop were buzzing and popping as he made his way slowly down the stairs. His age had caught up to him, but on these fateful nights, his mind was as sharp as ever. His workshop was quite impressive for a man who didn't have a high school diploma. The odd jobs his counterpart performed every other day of the year wasn't much, but through the years on nights like these, Darrell would take all the money he had stuffed under his bed, in the sock drawer, in his pants pockets, and in the couch cushions and go shopping. He'd set himself up with enough groceries and supplies for the month, then stash the remainder in the desk drawer of his basement sanctuary. Over time that money paid for the Chem lab set, the computer and Internet service, the stacks upon stacks of texts and lab equipment. Years have been dedicated to his continuous search for knowledge, and those years had been productive. So much knowledge was saved to the hard drives in his computer office, enough external drives were filled with data to start his own library. Finally, all that he had worked for, all that he had accumulated over the years would be revealed to the world, and the next step of technological advancement could be achieved. The years had been good. But the time just wasn't enough. Throughout the years Darrell had witnessed terrible travesties, disease, war, famine, all things he had answers for. Stored right in the basement of his suburban home outside of Indianapolis. Darrell's biggest problem was getting his information to the right people in his limited time, and being able to explain his theorems to the correct communities. He had resorted to long hours of rigorous lectures, recorded in the basement, using an old black board and chalk to explain his concepts and theorems. All he planned to show to the world sometime soon. Navigating the stairs had become quite the chore in his old age. His joints weren't what they used to be and his back had all but given out. Darrell knew that this was likely his last trip downstairs, he could only hope that he'd die down here, with his intelligence still in check until the very end. If it weren't for his sister, Darrells simpler self would not have made it this far through the illness. Her daily visits and weekly trips to the treatment center proved to be the only reason he was able to continue his work in the last year and a half. Darrell had the cure too, which was the worst part about his condition. He had the chemical components to heal himself, but not the ability to do so. Once therapy started he shaved his head. The first night his mind was free Darrell started preparing for the end. All he had accumulated over the years was alphabetized neatly in rows on shelves in the basement, and categorized alphabetically on his hard drives. But the most crucial data he had been working on for four decades was still unfinished. And on this night it would not be finished. One night a month just isn't enough.	"How do you do what you do?" A giddy reporter exclaimed, visibly in shock she had found the smartest man in the world. "Does the traveling help?" "Well let's just say that it's important to not fall behind and to not get too far ahead. It's important to be where the magic is at the right time. It's a balance." Todd said as he walked back to his government quality lab on wheels. "And I don't want to be late." He reporter swooned, clearly arouses by such an incredibly display of intelligence. With that, Todd sped off into the setting moon. For a little while at least.
	[WP] Darrell was a normal everyday idiot until he was bitten by a ware-genius. Now every full moon, he turns into a genius and is trying to solve the world's problems one night a month at a time.	i like to walk about sometimes i do at nite but once there was a small man who come gave me a bite i not know why he did this? dont know why he not friend??? i think sometimes that bite can change me... However, it's troublesome to pinpoint when.	"How do you do what you do?" A giddy reporter exclaimed, visibly in shock she had found the smartest man in the world. "Does the traveling help?" "Well let's just say that it's important to not fall behind and to not get too far ahead. It's important to be where the magic is at the right time. It's a balance." Todd said as he walked back to his government quality lab on wheels. "And I don't want to be late." He reporter swooned, clearly arouses by such an incredibly display of intelligence. With that, Todd sped off into the setting moon. For a little while at least.
	[WP] Darrell was a normal everyday idiot until he was bitten by a ware-genius. Now every full moon, he turns into a genius and is trying to solve the world's problems one night a month at a time.	[WP] Darrell was a normal everyday idiot until he was bitten by a ware-genius. Now every full moon, he turns into a genius and is trying to solve the world's problems one night a month at a time. >Two months ago, Darrell was the typical nerd you would come across at a comic book store. He'd quote memes that he saw off the internet on his favorite website, reddit, admitting how it was twice as awesome because he'd used them in real life. Two months ago, he would have never imagined just how real life could be and all thanks to one idiotic decision that led to a whole slew of amazing events. Darrell stopped typing. He was breathing heavily. No, he thought. This wouldn't do. He deleted his draft and tried again. She's still out there. Somewhere. I have to try. > Darrell wasn't always the brightest bulb in the box, but he never did back down from a challenge either. Always being labelled as the class idiot, he was always desperately trying to prove himself No, scrap that, Darrell thought again, crunching his fist over the stress relief ball that had been strategically laid beside him. "What's going on!" he cried. "It's not fucking flowing anymore!!!" He deleted the entire paragraph and resumed typing. > Darrell was your typical college kid who joined a party one day. Which was unusual because he was usually timid, meek and afraid. Nobody ~~liked~~ ~~really liked him because he was always spouting memes at inappropriate moments causing many cringe worthy moments among his peers.~~ paid any attention to him at the party except for Jessica, He paused, collecting his thoughts. Though he was tucked away in the basement of his home, he could hear the sound of a dog barking. Christ! It's 3AM already, he thought. He vaguely remembered posting the prompt on his alt five hours ago. "What's wrong with you, Darrell?" he said, "You used to be able to finish a thesis in 30 minutes." "Think. Think. Think. Think. THINK!" he said, slapping his palm to his head. "Jessica," he murmured as the thoughts took form in his head once more. > ~~she wasn't your typical~~ now there's a girl who was definitely something. She had brown hair and hazel eyes. Lips that could light up a carnival. She was possibly the best thing to happen to me, literally. Or maybe the worst. "No. No. No." Darrell uttered. It was horrible. Who would read this trash. Definitely not Jessica. But he had to tell her. He had to ask her what's happening, and yet, he didn't know how. She'd been missing from classes for over a month. I tried to visit her house but her neighbors said her whole family had moved. "Totally bonkers!" Darrell said. > Okay, here's the deal. A girl named Jessica, yeah, you. That's who I'm talking to. The only way I can reach out to you because I know there's a conspiracy out there. I don't know who's after you or why they've taken your family away but I'm pretty sure you got away before they did and the only place I could think of where the Anne Ass Anonymous Society (wink wink) would never think to look is probably here on our favorite sub. Yeah, the one where we first bonded over and the one where you thought my writing was sexy. At least no one would take this seriously, so listen, I need you to go to the place where we went that night after the party. The one where you gave me that bite "by accident" and make sure you're not followed. Why? Because something's wrong. I don't know how to explain except that I'm not becoming as smart anymore. Maybe it's wearing off. Maybe you need to bite me again. Please come. See you soon. Love, The D. Finally, he thought. The synapses were firing again. He double checked his sky cam. It was definitely a full moon out that night, in fact the fullest he'd ever seen. Something about the relative distance of the moon towards his position that somehow brought out the inner genius in him. I should log that down, Darrell thought. Gotta start making observations in case things deteriorate further. He rubbed his hands together. And get back to my paper on global warming. A sound came from what was likely the 2nd floor of his two story home judging by the echo and reverb. Probably a pot. And after that, to meet up with Jess. Wait what-- "What?" Darrell said aloud this time. He was holed up in his basement and knew for certain that no one should be in. His parents were on vacation and weren't due for another week. A robber? Unlikely, he thought as he performed a quick calculation on the statistical probability of that occurring in his neighborhood based on the data he had recorded for the last month or so. No, something worse, he thought, and he automatically realized it was linked to Jessica's disappearances. Something that had been vaguely budding at the back of his mind but he could never have quite fathomed it before; but given the timing and circumstances. His guts, or rather, his heightened senses were telling him to flee. Quietly. He took one last look at his post. He hadn't even sent it out yet and yet... Darrell deleted the words. They had no meaning now. He understood that his days as a were-genius were numbered. Jess was... gone. He quickly drafted up another post. Something to rile up the "redditors" who frequented the sub, and something that would buy him some time to escape. He could hear the soft threading of a sneaker on the carpet lining just above him. It would reach the door and stairwell to the basement in approximately four minutes and seven seconds. He could also feel the brilliance endowed by the moon's positional loom fading. He was losing his touch as the intruder crept closer and closer downstairs. The intruder would, in one hundred and seventy seven seconds, arrive at the bottom. She'll think she has the upper hand, having brutally murdered numerous victims in cold blood just to savor their brains and become a little smarter herself. Thinking that the fact that she'd had the "smahts" of seven other people that Jessica turned, would allow her a comeuppance over one such as I, who had been bitten a week earlier. I'm sorry, Amy. I knew it was you all along. I knew you'd come to the same conclusions I did. That to solve the world's problem, we had to become even smarter than we were before. But unlike you, I found a way to stay smart even without the reliance on the moon. You who thought that being the Class Wiz second to Jess would somehow make you the smartest of us all. Somehow, you've underestimated me and I'm glad you took the time to read this. See, the stress reliever beside this laptop? It contains an adhesive gas that will ignite the moment you step off the panel that you so gleefully threaded over thinking you'd have won. Well, sucks to be you, because the effect's of the bite is proportionately inverse to the intelligence one possess. So me being the biggest idiot around seems to have become the one with the biggest brains. I figured out at once that Jess wasn't exactly the pastor's daughter and you weren't really lesbian either. You just wanted a bite like what you'd deduced happen to me. So I guess you really wanted was a piece of me? Well congratufuckations. You got what you came for. ( •_•) ( •_•)>⌐■-■ (⌐■_■) - The D	"How do you do what you do?" A giddy reporter exclaimed, visibly in shock she had found the smartest man in the world. "Does the traveling help?" "Well let's just say that it's important to not fall behind and to not get too far ahead. It's important to be where the magic is at the right time. It's a balance." Todd said as he walked back to his government quality lab on wheels. "And I don't want to be late." He reporter swooned, clearly arouses by such an incredibly display of intelligence. With that, Todd sped off into the setting moon. For a little while at least.
	[WP] Darrell was a normal everyday idiot until he was bitten by a ware-genius. Now every full moon, he turns into a genius and is trying to solve the world's problems one night a month at a time.	I like to go to the coffee shop down on the corner each day. The coffee shop is below a big gray building with red letters. The man who guards the gray building door has a gun that he has on his belt. He smiles at me every day. The coffee shop has green muffins that I like and Alisha is very nice to me when some people there are not. Write your diary she says. So I write now. I sit and eat my green muffin and watch the people and how fast they come and go. I don't understand some of the words they use but sometimes I understand enough to be able to smile and nod. I also like to read magazines that people leave at the shop. I don't understand most words but sometimes when I read a word goes very dark with very bright edges and I understand. TREPIDATION This word I know. I just saw word reading same magazine yesterday and it was too long. Now I now I must look at the plastic card in my wallet. I keep the card behind my other card with the big red letters. I use that card for food. Like green muffins. This card has the days of the week. Monday. Tuesday. Sometimes there is a picture over the day. Today has black circle. LUNAR PHASES It says top of card, this word makes sense now too. The scar on the back of my left leg begins to throb, even though I know that mark has been on me for many years now. I don't remember quite how I got it, as the murk and the cobwebs that normally plague my brain are beginning to lift a little. I don't really want this pistachio muffin, not very fond of them, but I always seem to have one in my hand. I put the moonphase card back into my wallet and stand. I give a nod to Alisha who gives me a big smile as if I've just walked into the place, but that's typical as she's always happy to see me during this time. Last month I took the whole night off to help her with her taxes, and then we headed out to a movie and some drinks. She really needs to diversify her portfolio, but we'll need to deal with that in a few months. Tonight I have other work to do. I step from the coffee shop, and true to form, my good man Malcolm is at the door to my office, his hand already on the handle. "Good Evening Mr. Morrone, glad to see you again sir," he says as he opens the door and I walk though. Still has that firearm on his belt, but I'm not sure why, not many people know what we do here. I have to work quickly, the moon is on the move! I enter into the boardroom, and there's my usual cadre of thinkers, scientists and of course there's always a few new people here that need something. Sometimes they're very important people, those that I see gracing the covers of magazines when I'm eating those wretched muffins, while other times they are everyday people with extraordinary problems. Each of them has 30 minutes to state what they need help with, and what they need solved. The next remaining 30 minutes, I step inside the soundproofed room with my people and we work through the issues. Tonight it's the polar ice caps, some software developer needing help with procedurally producing a universe and a group of parents whose children are struck by a neural disorder. We go through these things together, come up with best course of action, and sometimes we get paid very well. Other times we do these things because it's the right thing to do. Unfortunately, it's going to take a whole month for me to learn of the results. There's a lot of opaque time between these moments, but they tell me our success rate is very high and that throughout the world this group is known as the problem solvers. I'm so grateful to be their lead, but if you asked me to identify them within the next few days, I'd find it impossible. I'd know their faces, but it's like there's a disconnect matching the faces with the name, and everything then simply grinds to a halt. The sunrise is almost upon us, so we need to close out these final few projects. It's been an extremely productive evening and I believe we're on the cusp of some major breakthrough on some items....but it'll have to wait as the sunlight begins poking it's way through the conference room blinds. I stand and make my way down the hall to the front door, where Malcolm holds the door open for me. He smiles at me and I see he has the gun on his belt. The air is hot and I am hungry. The coffee shop should be open in a minute. I can see Alisha putting water in the machine that makes the coffee. I wave. She waves as she turns the key and opens the door. "Hi Darrell!," she says and it makes me happy. I walk to the counter and pick out my muffin. It must be bigger than the others and have many of the nuts. She pushes buttons so I can pay for it. I go in my wallet and take out the card next to my plastic card. The card I use to buy food. It has big red letters on it like the letters on the big building outside. ALGERNON	"How do you do what you do?" A giddy reporter exclaimed, visibly in shock she had found the smartest man in the world. "Does the traveling help?" "Well let's just say that it's important to not fall behind and to not get too far ahead. It's important to be where the magic is at the right time. It's a balance." Todd said as he walked back to his government quality lab on wheels. "And I don't want to be late." He reporter swooned, clearly arouses by such an incredibly display of intelligence. With that, Todd sped off into the setting moon. For a little while at least.
	[WP] Darrell was a normal everyday idiot until he was bitten by a ware-genius. Now every full moon, he turns into a genius and is trying to solve the world's problems one night a month at a time.	One night a month just isn't enough. Darrell knew on these nights something changed, he could feel it come upon him. He would start the day in his normal routine, except the static was at a minimum. And as the day went on the static faded until dusk. At dusk, his mind would clear; and his work would begin. Years of research locked away in the basement his ignorant self had been locked out of for years, decades actually. The solution was simple, a Chinese puzzle box his father had brought home from the war with the only copy for the basement key inside. Darrells simple mind was unable to figure out the puzzles secret, but he wasn't feeble enough to smash a cherished family heirloom. He may be dumb but he sure learned his lessons the hard way from his father, lessons that would stick in his mind where common sense always seemed to lack. Over the years the puzzle had become second nature. 20 seconds Darrell was in, 45 seconds and the fluorescents of his basement workshop were buzzing and popping as he made his way slowly down the stairs. His age had caught up to him, but on these fateful nights, his mind was as sharp as ever. His workshop was quite impressive for a man who didn't have a high school diploma. The odd jobs his counterpart performed every other day of the year wasn't much, but through the years on nights like these, Darrell would take all the money he had stuffed under his bed, in the sock drawer, in his pants pockets, and in the couch cushions and go shopping. He'd set himself up with enough groceries and supplies for the month, then stash the remainder in the desk drawer of his basement sanctuary. Over time that money paid for the Chem lab set, the computer and Internet service, the stacks upon stacks of texts and lab equipment. Years have been dedicated to his continuous search for knowledge, and those years had been productive. So much knowledge was saved to the hard drives in his computer office, enough external drives were filled with data to start his own library. Finally, all that he had worked for, all that he had accumulated over the years would be revealed to the world, and the next step of technological advancement could be achieved. The years had been good. But the time just wasn't enough. Throughout the years Darrell had witnessed terrible travesties, disease, war, famine, all things he had answers for. Stored right in the basement of his suburban home outside of Indianapolis. Darrell's biggest problem was getting his information to the right people in his limited time, and being able to explain his theorems to the correct communities. He had resorted to long hours of rigorous lectures, recorded in the basement, using an old black board and chalk to explain his concepts and theorems. All he planned to show to the world sometime soon. Navigating the stairs had become quite the chore in his old age. His joints weren't what they used to be and his back had all but given out. Darrell knew that this was likely his last trip downstairs, he could only hope that he'd die down here, with his intelligence still in check until the very end. If it weren't for his sister, Darrells simpler self would not have made it this far through the illness. Her daily visits and weekly trips to the treatment center proved to be the only reason he was able to continue his work in the last year and a half. Darrell had the cure too, which was the worst part about his condition. He had the chemical components to heal himself, but not the ability to do so. Once therapy started he shaved his head. The first night his mind was free Darrell started preparing for the end. All he had accumulated over the years was alphabetized neatly in rows on shelves in the basement, and categorized alphabetically on his hard drives. But the most crucial data he had been working on for four decades was still unfinished. And on this night it would not be finished. One night a month just isn't enough.	Despite the grandeur of his genius, The Riemann Hypothesis remained elusive for the first three months. His breakthrough came nearly at the beginning of the fourth night, surprisingly early in what was normally a four-hour long marathon of thought. In a seemingly scripted flash of insight, the tangled lines of reason bolstering the 157 year-old conjecture straightened to form a beautifully intricate web of understanding, geometric in its perfection. Darrell was moved to tears as the zeroes of the zeta function materialized on the critical line, visualized in the chipped white center beam of his window pane. A similarly cinematic moment, though genuine nonetheless. With an incalculable satisfaction he left his desk, and poured a fresh cup of coffee, high off the transcendental gravity of this achievement, and smug in the way mathematicians are, recalling friends and colleagues arguing with him to focus on the more practical matters. Yet the gloating and vanity did not last, these quickly subsumed by wonder as he gazed out the window, fingers warmed by the steaming mug. Intelligibility... this was the reason for it all. Yes, this tangling with the universe, solving the puzzles as surely as His omnipotence would - this was his happiness.
	[WP] Darrell was a normal everyday idiot until he was bitten by a ware-genius. Now every full moon, he turns into a genius and is trying to solve the world's problems one night a month at a time.	I like to go to the coffee shop down on the corner each day. The coffee shop is below a big gray building with red letters. The man who guards the gray building door has a gun that he has on his belt. He smiles at me every day. The coffee shop has green muffins that I like and Alisha is very nice to me when some people there are not. Write your diary she says. So I write now. I sit and eat my green muffin and watch the people and how fast they come and go. I don't understand some of the words they use but sometimes I understand enough to be able to smile and nod. I also like to read magazines that people leave at the shop. I don't understand most words but sometimes when I read a word goes very dark with very bright edges and I understand. TREPIDATION This word I know. I just saw word reading same magazine yesterday and it was too long. Now I now I must look at the plastic card in my wallet. I keep the card behind my other card with the big red letters. I use that card for food. Like green muffins. This card has the days of the week. Monday. Tuesday. Sometimes there is a picture over the day. Today has black circle. LUNAR PHASES It says top of card, this word makes sense now too. The scar on the back of my left leg begins to throb, even though I know that mark has been on me for many years now. I don't remember quite how I got it, as the murk and the cobwebs that normally plague my brain are beginning to lift a little. I don't really want this pistachio muffin, not very fond of them, but I always seem to have one in my hand. I put the moonphase card back into my wallet and stand. I give a nod to Alisha who gives me a big smile as if I've just walked into the place, but that's typical as she's always happy to see me during this time. Last month I took the whole night off to help her with her taxes, and then we headed out to a movie and some drinks. She really needs to diversify her portfolio, but we'll need to deal with that in a few months. Tonight I have other work to do. I step from the coffee shop, and true to form, my good man Malcolm is at the door to my office, his hand already on the handle. "Good Evening Mr. Morrone, glad to see you again sir," he says as he opens the door and I walk though. Still has that firearm on his belt, but I'm not sure why, not many people know what we do here. I have to work quickly, the moon is on the move! I enter into the boardroom, and there's my usual cadre of thinkers, scientists and of course there's always a few new people here that need something. Sometimes they're very important people, those that I see gracing the covers of magazines when I'm eating those wretched muffins, while other times they are everyday people with extraordinary problems. Each of them has 30 minutes to state what they need help with, and what they need solved. The next remaining 30 minutes, I step inside the soundproofed room with my people and we work through the issues. Tonight it's the polar ice caps, some software developer needing help with procedurally producing a universe and a group of parents whose children are struck by a neural disorder. We go through these things together, come up with best course of action, and sometimes we get paid very well. Other times we do these things because it's the right thing to do. Unfortunately, it's going to take a whole month for me to learn of the results. There's a lot of opaque time between these moments, but they tell me our success rate is very high and that throughout the world this group is known as the problem solvers. I'm so grateful to be their lead, but if you asked me to identify them within the next few days, I'd find it impossible. I'd know their faces, but it's like there's a disconnect matching the faces with the name, and everything then simply grinds to a halt. The sunrise is almost upon us, so we need to close out these final few projects. It's been an extremely productive evening and I believe we're on the cusp of some major breakthrough on some items....but it'll have to wait as the sunlight begins poking it's way through the conference room blinds. I stand and make my way down the hall to the front door, where Malcolm holds the door open for me. He smiles at me and I see he has the gun on his belt. The air is hot and I am hungry. The coffee shop should be open in a minute. I can see Alisha putting water in the machine that makes the coffee. I wave. She waves as she turns the key and opens the door. "Hi Darrell!," she says and it makes me happy. I walk to the counter and pick out my muffin. It must be bigger than the others and have many of the nuts. She pushes buttons so I can pay for it. I go in my wallet and take out the card next to my plastic card. The card I use to buy food. It has big red letters on it like the letters on the big building outside. ALGERNON	i like to walk about sometimes i do at nite but once there was a small man who come gave me a bite i not know why he did this? dont know why he not friend??? i think sometimes that bite can change me... However, it's troublesome to pinpoint when.
	[WP] Darrell was a normal everyday idiot until he was bitten by a ware-genius. Now every full moon, he turns into a genius and is trying to solve the world's problems one night a month at a time.	I like to go to the coffee shop down on the corner each day. The coffee shop is below a big gray building with red letters. The man who guards the gray building door has a gun that he has on his belt. He smiles at me every day. The coffee shop has green muffins that I like and Alisha is very nice to me when some people there are not. Write your diary she says. So I write now. I sit and eat my green muffin and watch the people and how fast they come and go. I don't understand some of the words they use but sometimes I understand enough to be able to smile and nod. I also like to read magazines that people leave at the shop. I don't understand most words but sometimes when I read a word goes very dark with very bright edges and I understand. TREPIDATION This word I know. I just saw word reading same magazine yesterday and it was too long. Now I now I must look at the plastic card in my wallet. I keep the card behind my other card with the big red letters. I use that card for food. Like green muffins. This card has the days of the week. Monday. Tuesday. Sometimes there is a picture over the day. Today has black circle. LUNAR PHASES It says top of card, this word makes sense now too. The scar on the back of my left leg begins to throb, even though I know that mark has been on me for many years now. I don't remember quite how I got it, as the murk and the cobwebs that normally plague my brain are beginning to lift a little. I don't really want this pistachio muffin, not very fond of them, but I always seem to have one in my hand. I put the moonphase card back into my wallet and stand. I give a nod to Alisha who gives me a big smile as if I've just walked into the place, but that's typical as she's always happy to see me during this time. Last month I took the whole night off to help her with her taxes, and then we headed out to a movie and some drinks. She really needs to diversify her portfolio, but we'll need to deal with that in a few months. Tonight I have other work to do. I step from the coffee shop, and true to form, my good man Malcolm is at the door to my office, his hand already on the handle. "Good Evening Mr. Morrone, glad to see you again sir," he says as he opens the door and I walk though. Still has that firearm on his belt, but I'm not sure why, not many people know what we do here. I have to work quickly, the moon is on the move! I enter into the boardroom, and there's my usual cadre of thinkers, scientists and of course there's always a few new people here that need something. Sometimes they're very important people, those that I see gracing the covers of magazines when I'm eating those wretched muffins, while other times they are everyday people with extraordinary problems. Each of them has 30 minutes to state what they need help with, and what they need solved. The next remaining 30 minutes, I step inside the soundproofed room with my people and we work through the issues. Tonight it's the polar ice caps, some software developer needing help with procedurally producing a universe and a group of parents whose children are struck by a neural disorder. We go through these things together, come up with best course of action, and sometimes we get paid very well. Other times we do these things because it's the right thing to do. Unfortunately, it's going to take a whole month for me to learn of the results. There's a lot of opaque time between these moments, but they tell me our success rate is very high and that throughout the world this group is known as the problem solvers. I'm so grateful to be their lead, but if you asked me to identify them within the next few days, I'd find it impossible. I'd know their faces, but it's like there's a disconnect matching the faces with the name, and everything then simply grinds to a halt. The sunrise is almost upon us, so we need to close out these final few projects. It's been an extremely productive evening and I believe we're on the cusp of some major breakthrough on some items....but it'll have to wait as the sunlight begins poking it's way through the conference room blinds. I stand and make my way down the hall to the front door, where Malcolm holds the door open for me. He smiles at me and I see he has the gun on his belt. The air is hot and I am hungry. The coffee shop should be open in a minute. I can see Alisha putting water in the machine that makes the coffee. I wave. She waves as she turns the key and opens the door. "Hi Darrell!," she says and it makes me happy. I walk to the counter and pick out my muffin. It must be bigger than the others and have many of the nuts. She pushes buttons so I can pay for it. I go in my wallet and take out the card next to my plastic card. The card I use to buy food. It has big red letters on it like the letters on the big building outside. ALGERNON	[WP] Darrell was a normal everyday idiot until he was bitten by a ware-genius. Now every full moon, he turns into a genius and is trying to solve the world's problems one night a month at a time. >Two months ago, Darrell was the typical nerd you would come across at a comic book store. He'd quote memes that he saw off the internet on his favorite website, reddit, admitting how it was twice as awesome because he'd used them in real life. Two months ago, he would have never imagined just how real life could be and all thanks to one idiotic decision that led to a whole slew of amazing events. Darrell stopped typing. He was breathing heavily. No, he thought. This wouldn't do. He deleted his draft and tried again. She's still out there. Somewhere. I have to try. > Darrell wasn't always the brightest bulb in the box, but he never did back down from a challenge either. Always being labelled as the class idiot, he was always desperately trying to prove himself No, scrap that, Darrell thought again, crunching his fist over the stress relief ball that had been strategically laid beside him. "What's going on!" he cried. "It's not fucking flowing anymore!!!" He deleted the entire paragraph and resumed typing. > Darrell was your typical college kid who joined a party one day. Which was unusual because he was usually timid, meek and afraid. Nobody ~~liked~~ ~~really liked him because he was always spouting memes at inappropriate moments causing many cringe worthy moments among his peers.~~ paid any attention to him at the party except for Jessica, He paused, collecting his thoughts. Though he was tucked away in the basement of his home, he could hear the sound of a dog barking. Christ! It's 3AM already, he thought. He vaguely remembered posting the prompt on his alt five hours ago. "What's wrong with you, Darrell?" he said, "You used to be able to finish a thesis in 30 minutes." "Think. Think. Think. Think. THINK!" he said, slapping his palm to his head. "Jessica," he murmured as the thoughts took form in his head once more. > ~~she wasn't your typical~~ now there's a girl who was definitely something. She had brown hair and hazel eyes. Lips that could light up a carnival. She was possibly the best thing to happen to me, literally. Or maybe the worst. "No. No. No." Darrell uttered. It was horrible. Who would read this trash. Definitely not Jessica. But he had to tell her. He had to ask her what's happening, and yet, he didn't know how. She'd been missing from classes for over a month. I tried to visit her house but her neighbors said her whole family had moved. "Totally bonkers!" Darrell said. > Okay, here's the deal. A girl named Jessica, yeah, you. That's who I'm talking to. The only way I can reach out to you because I know there's a conspiracy out there. I don't know who's after you or why they've taken your family away but I'm pretty sure you got away before they did and the only place I could think of where the Anne Ass Anonymous Society (wink wink) would never think to look is probably here on our favorite sub. Yeah, the one where we first bonded over and the one where you thought my writing was sexy. At least no one would take this seriously, so listen, I need you to go to the place where we went that night after the party. The one where you gave me that bite "by accident" and make sure you're not followed. Why? Because something's wrong. I don't know how to explain except that I'm not becoming as smart anymore. Maybe it's wearing off. Maybe you need to bite me again. Please come. See you soon. Love, The D. Finally, he thought. The synapses were firing again. He double checked his sky cam. It was definitely a full moon out that night, in fact the fullest he'd ever seen. Something about the relative distance of the moon towards his position that somehow brought out the inner genius in him. I should log that down, Darrell thought. Gotta start making observations in case things deteriorate further. He rubbed his hands together. And get back to my paper on global warming. A sound came from what was likely the 2nd floor of his two story home judging by the echo and reverb. Probably a pot. And after that, to meet up with Jess. Wait what-- "What?" Darrell said aloud this time. He was holed up in his basement and knew for certain that no one should be in. His parents were on vacation and weren't due for another week. A robber? Unlikely, he thought as he performed a quick calculation on the statistical probability of that occurring in his neighborhood based on the data he had recorded for the last month or so. No, something worse, he thought, and he automatically realized it was linked to Jessica's disappearances. Something that had been vaguely budding at the back of his mind but he could never have quite fathomed it before; but given the timing and circumstances. His guts, or rather, his heightened senses were telling him to flee. Quietly. He took one last look at his post. He hadn't even sent it out yet and yet... Darrell deleted the words. They had no meaning now. He understood that his days as a were-genius were numbered. Jess was... gone. He quickly drafted up another post. Something to rile up the "redditors" who frequented the sub, and something that would buy him some time to escape. He could hear the soft threading of a sneaker on the carpet lining just above him. It would reach the door and stairwell to the basement in approximately four minutes and seven seconds. He could also feel the brilliance endowed by the moon's positional loom fading. He was losing his touch as the intruder crept closer and closer downstairs. The intruder would, in one hundred and seventy seven seconds, arrive at the bottom. She'll think she has the upper hand, having brutally murdered numerous victims in cold blood just to savor their brains and become a little smarter herself. Thinking that the fact that she'd had the "smahts" of seven other people that Jessica turned, would allow her a comeuppance over one such as I, who had been bitten a week earlier. I'm sorry, Amy. I knew it was you all along. I knew you'd come to the same conclusions I did. That to solve the world's problem, we had to become even smarter than we were before. But unlike you, I found a way to stay smart even without the reliance on the moon. You who thought that being the Class Wiz second to Jess would somehow make you the smartest of us all. Somehow, you've underestimated me and I'm glad you took the time to read this. See, the stress reliever beside this laptop? It contains an adhesive gas that will ignite the moment you step off the panel that you so gleefully threaded over thinking you'd have won. Well, sucks to be you, because the effect's of the bite is proportionately inverse to the intelligence one possess. So me being the biggest idiot around seems to have become the one with the biggest brains. I figured out at once that Jess wasn't exactly the pastor's daughter and you weren't really lesbian either. You just wanted a bite like what you'd deduced happen to me. So I guess you really wanted was a piece of me? Well congratufuckations. You got what you came for. ( •_•) ( •_•)>⌐■-■ (⌐■_■) - The D
	[WP] Darrell was a normal everyday idiot until he was bitten by a ware-genius. Now every full moon, he turns into a genius and is trying to solve the world's problems one night a month at a time.	Darrel woke up in the lab, disoriented. It had happened again. He started working immediately, furiously powering through experiments. It was always so overwhelming - he could clearly see all the solutions to humanity's problems. But he just didn't have the time, or the support, to make the solutions come to fruition. His monthly forays always felt so futile, but he persevered regardless. **** Daylight was nearing, and he was nowhere closer to solving anything. One person doing this, once a month, was simply not enough. What if he could have a partner? Two partners? Four, eight - a million? He wondered about the first ware-genius that had bitten him. It had clearly done it while it while still in a heightened intellectual state. Had it reached the same conclusion? What if everyone in the world could have this level of intellect once a month? What if the cure for all of humanity's problems was simply biting each and every single one of them? Darrell left the lab, checking his watch. He still had some time before sunrise. He saw a group of people walking out of a club. Darrel grinned. "Time to save the world."	It all began with Einstein’s evil twin. There I was crying quietly to myself under the oak tree by the lake after a day of being ridiculed by the local townsfolk. Out of nowhere, this Einstein lookalike came out of the woods rambling to himself. I told him to go away, but he then did something I’d never forget. He bit me. Right on my chin. Shrieking with pain I beat him senseless then ran off back to my house. I was half groggy from pain and half scared from the man. One night, I came home to my delight and horror as I did string theory when making spaghetti for a late supper. It didn’t take long to make a correlation to the full moon, to deduce the mythical were-genius that bit me. Soon afterwards, I spent all my reminding money purchasing advanced textbooks and materials for my ingenious projects. The shopkeepers all laughed at me. But under my breath I promised that I would help the world and make them swallow their words. *** I watched all the half-projects that I started every full moon of each month strewn on the table. Tear stains were visible on many of them, some even distorting the equations and words. I felt wetness in my eyes as I remembered sobbing over my hard work when the blanket of idiocy descended upon me. A cure for cancer. A solution to ending world hunger. A way to balance out global warming. Morosely, I scraped off the bits and pieces of metal of the incomplete plans into a bin. The dull clunk the lid made subtly portrayed my feelings as I sat down dejectedly. So many humans, creatures and plants could have been saved if I had more than a day to work with. So much life could have been saved were it not for the curse of the ware-genius. The chair fell over as I shoot up abruptly. Shaking my fists at the innocent-looking moon hanging in the sky, I yelled in frustration, cursing its name. All thoughts of improving the world had vanished from my mind. Only ideas of various ways to destroy the accursed thing ran rampant inside me. I will do everything I can to stop it from crossing the horizon. That’s it. A brilliant spark hit me right then and there. I didn’t need to stop the moon from going to the horizon. I just needed to make sure I wasn’t in the same timeframe when it went down. A slow smiled tugged at my lips as I realized the device I should have created long ago. I would devise a machine that would project a time bubble around me and my laboratory. The effects of the full moon would never wane while the bubble was active. The mass of diagrams for the former projects was scattered with a wipe of my arms. I whipped out my pencil and grabbed another piece of paper. Above me the moon dipped towards the horizon, while I worked ceaselessly to get the most important parts done. I could feel my mind getting foggier by the minute, but instead of stopping and bawling my eyes out, I hurried on. As daybreak broke, I put down my pencil with a sigh. I admired the outlines and sketches I created. The diagrams and calculations I drawn now looked so unfamiliar to me, but I knew they were completed. Next month, I promised myself as I carefully scrolled up my work and put them in the safe on the wall. Next month, I will finish building the machine and then the world will know peace.
	[WP] Darrell was a normal everyday idiot until he was bitten by a ware-genius. Now every full moon, he turns into a genius and is trying to solve the world's problems one night a month at a time.	I have three hours to sunrise. I write in this journal every night that I can. One night every 28 days. One glorious moon-filled night where I am master of my own mind. The remaining 28 days and 27 nights are ... different. I can barely remember them when I am in this state to be honest. It feels like a memory of someone else's life. And I hate that someone else for stealing that time from me. I have attempted multiple treatments to extend my lucid periods with no progress to show. I have reliably demonstrate that actual lunar radiation makes no difference as cloud cover does not delay onset of symptoms. I have not yet attempted a travel plan where I would chase the night around the globe and thereby extend my gifted period. If I time it right for the full moon nearest the winter solstice, I may get up to 31 hours of night. I also have not attempted to move north of the arctic circle for longer nights as it still appears that a full moon is required. The first night was confusing. I did not know who I was nor what I was doing. I could feel new connections coming alive in my cranium. I searched hungrily for any information of any sort. There were, of course, no books in the room I woke up in. The television only showed late night pablum. I did find a phone that granted me access to the Internet - and I tore through everything I could find. I deleted all the pornography bookmarks and replaced them with Shakespeare, Newton, Plato, and more. For nine glorious hours I gorged on everything I could find. But as the first rays of light crept over the horizon, I could feel my mind start to ebb from me. It was a little like falling asleep. When I next woke, I found that nearly a month had passed. I awoke in an automobile of some sort. I found a different phone in my pocket than last time. All the bookmarks were gone, once more replaced by filth of the most depraved sort. I spent that night, again, learning everything I could about science, technology, mathematics, philosophy, art, and the word around me. Once more, the sun destroyed my mind. The third night I was better prepared. Another 28 days had passed. I knew that my life was quantized and measured - one night every full moon to live to my full potential. I hoarded every minute as jealously as I could. If my life was to be a blink of the eye, then I would make it as brilliant as possible. I emailed professors solutions to mathematical equations that had stumped the ages. I sent a treatise on cancer remission to leading journals. I changed several critical interfaces to the electric grid to make it more fault tolerant. And then the cursed sun stole my life from me again. This is my twelfth night. I keep this journal hidden away but my daytime self always seems to find it and destroy it. I loathe that creature for stealing my life. I should be the one walking through the daylight not him! Alas, I believe some of me is leaking through to him. Not my intelligence - that's mine. But the desire to change to world. I fear for him. I fear for everyone. But one night a month I will still be here. I will still be working behind the scenes to help the world. The sun ... The door crept open as a young man in a suit entered the office. His boss didn't usually get in this early but he was unpredictable at the best of time. He saw his boss with his head readying on the desk in front of him wearing the same suit as yesterday. Quietly, he went over and woke him. "Another long night Mr. Trump?"	It all began with Einstein’s evil twin. There I was crying quietly to myself under the oak tree by the lake after a day of being ridiculed by the local townsfolk. Out of nowhere, this Einstein lookalike came out of the woods rambling to himself. I told him to go away, but he then did something I’d never forget. He bit me. Right on my chin. Shrieking with pain I beat him senseless then ran off back to my house. I was half groggy from pain and half scared from the man. One night, I came home to my delight and horror as I did string theory when making spaghetti for a late supper. It didn’t take long to make a correlation to the full moon, to deduce the mythical were-genius that bit me. Soon afterwards, I spent all my reminding money purchasing advanced textbooks and materials for my ingenious projects. The shopkeepers all laughed at me. But under my breath I promised that I would help the world and make them swallow their words. *** I watched all the half-projects that I started every full moon of each month strewn on the table. Tear stains were visible on many of them, some even distorting the equations and words. I felt wetness in my eyes as I remembered sobbing over my hard work when the blanket of idiocy descended upon me. A cure for cancer. A solution to ending world hunger. A way to balance out global warming. Morosely, I scraped off the bits and pieces of metal of the incomplete plans into a bin. The dull clunk the lid made subtly portrayed my feelings as I sat down dejectedly. So many humans, creatures and plants could have been saved if I had more than a day to work with. So much life could have been saved were it not for the curse of the ware-genius. The chair fell over as I shoot up abruptly. Shaking my fists at the innocent-looking moon hanging in the sky, I yelled in frustration, cursing its name. All thoughts of improving the world had vanished from my mind. Only ideas of various ways to destroy the accursed thing ran rampant inside me. I will do everything I can to stop it from crossing the horizon. That’s it. A brilliant spark hit me right then and there. I didn’t need to stop the moon from going to the horizon. I just needed to make sure I wasn’t in the same timeframe when it went down. A slow smiled tugged at my lips as I realized the device I should have created long ago. I would devise a machine that would project a time bubble around me and my laboratory. The effects of the full moon would never wane while the bubble was active. The mass of diagrams for the former projects was scattered with a wipe of my arms. I whipped out my pencil and grabbed another piece of paper. Above me the moon dipped towards the horizon, while I worked ceaselessly to get the most important parts done. I could feel my mind getting foggier by the minute, but instead of stopping and bawling my eyes out, I hurried on. As daybreak broke, I put down my pencil with a sigh. I admired the outlines and sketches I created. The diagrams and calculations I drawn now looked so unfamiliar to me, but I knew they were completed. Next month, I promised myself as I carefully scrolled up my work and put them in the safe on the wall. Next month, I will finish building the machine and then the world will know peace.
	[WP] Darrell was a normal everyday idiot until he was bitten by a ware-genius. Now every full moon, he turns into a genius and is trying to solve the world's problems one night a month at a time.	Darrel rubbed his eyes and moaned as sunlight came pouring in through the window. As he slowly woke from his stupor, he realized that he wasn’t comfortably asleep in his bed. Instead, he’d crashed at his desk on top of a mountain of thick, musty textbooks. “Oh god…” Around the room, he found mountains of evidence of what had happened last night. His football helmet was being used as a petri dish for some kind of crystal formation experiment. The playboy posters and pictures of basketball players on his walls were torn down, and quadratic equations were scrawled across the wallpaper in black sharpie. Looking down, he realized that he wasn’t wearing the Eagles jersey that he normally slept in, but a T-shirt that was at least two sizes too small for him. His pecs and arms were stretching the fabric to the point of tearing. On the front, it said 'AH' in a square box, and under that, it said ‘the element of surprise.’ Darrel didn’t get it. “Oh god. It happened again!” Darrel’s phone buzzed across the desk, and a text from Ashley popped up. > Hey babe! I’ll be there in five. I’m so excited to go down to the lake. You’re going to love the new bikini I got… Great. He jumped up from his desk, tore off the nerdy t-shirt, and threw all of this junk in the closet. The posters were hastily taped back up. Why does this keep happening? he wondered as he worked to hide all evidence of his transformations. Ever since that nerd’s braces scratched his knuckles while Darrel was beating him up, he would turn into some kind of super genius once a month. Last time, he’d woken up to find that he’d submitted two astrophysics papers to scientific journals. Luckily his parents, assuming it was some prank on their under-performing son, had hung up when the journals called back with offers of publication. That had been a close one. Satisfied that his room was restored to its original masculine glory, Darrel headed to the bathroom to get ready. As he applied deodorant, he noticed a strange high-pitched hum coming from behind the shower curtain. Ripping it aside revealed a glowing, hovering ball of energy that seemed to pulse and throb. “I’ve done it!” was scrawled in sharpie across the white shower tiles, and next to that, “I’ve created a self-sustaining fusion process for unlimited energy!” Darrel didn’t understand quite what that meant, but he knew that it wouldn’t be good for his reputation around school. The doorbell rang. Darrel dug his letterman jacket out of the hamper and tossed it over the fusion thing, deciding that he’d worry about it after he got back from the lake. Then he raced downstairs and opened the door for Ashley. “Hey, you!” Her hair was in a ponytail, and she wore a tight sundress. She bounced up the stairs and kissed him in on the cheek. “I tried calling you last night, but when you picked up I only heard some nervous stammering. Was that you?” “No… I….” Darrel did have a vague memory of getting flustered and needing an asthma inhaler. But that couldn’t be true; he didn’t have asthma. “Must have been the wrong number. Hey, let’s get going.” He tried to close the door, but she lunged for it. “I just need to use the bathroom, babe. It’ll only take a sec.” “NO, wait!” He followed her inside and grabbed her by the waist. “Come on,” she giggled. “It’ll only take a second.” She slipped out of his grasp and into his bathroom. “What is that noise??” she asked. Darrel stood helplessly in the doorway as she pulled the shower curtain aside and found his letterman jacket hovering two feet over the bathtub. She pulled it aside to reveal the glowing ball of pure energy, and then she noticed the graffiti explaining what it was. “Self sustaining fusion? What does this mean?” Darrel broke out in a cold sweat. This was it. She was going to find out. She’d tell the whole school that he was secretly a nerd. He’d be kicked off the football team and forced to join the AV Club or something. He’d end up with an academic scholarship to college and probably start liking Anime. His blood ran cold. “Is this your little brother’s?” Ashley asked. It was like a manna directly from heaven. “YES!” Darrel shouted, louder than he should have. “I mean, yes!” His grin stretched from ear to ear. “That’s exactly what it is. That big nerd.” Ashley laughed and shook her head. “You should teach that kid to play football or he’s going to be such a loser.” “Yeah,” Darrel laughed half-heartedly. “What a loser.” Close one, he thought. He wasn't sure how long he could keep this charade up.	"Darrell get your ass up here and take out the trash!" Mrs. Barson shouted down the dark stairwell to her son Darrell who was sitting in his old beat up recliner watching TV. "Shut up mom!" "Don't make me come down there!" she screamed, her high pitched voice echoing off the wood paneled walls. "Fine, damn..." Darrell paused the cartoon rerun and trudged up the stairs. He hefted the trash out of the can and walked into the dark alley behind their small house. Rows of metal garbage cans lined the alley, Darrell tossed the bag into his can and turned back toward the house when a faint rustling caught his attention. He saw a shadowy figure sifting through his neighbors trash. Darrell squinted trying to determine if it was a person or four raccoons in a trench coat. After some deep analysis he determined it was in fact a person and he would tell them off. Trash is someones property you don't go messing with another man's property. "Hey douche bag!" Darrell yelled puffing out his chest. A lean man with a shock of white hair on top of his head popped up from behind a trash can. Definitely not raccoons. "Don't mess with people's trash!" "Well you see young man, it turns out that a lot of this trash is actually a viable fuel source. If I can only some how harness the power of the world's trash we may have a new sustainable energy source thus solving the energy crisis!" the man said excitedly. "Uh. Don't mess with people's trash!" A thick blanket of clouds drifted overhead, revealing a radiant full moon hanging in the night sky. "Oh bother, young man for your safety you might want to return to your home." "You wanna fight me bro?" "No, no, nooooooooo!" the man howled in pain as he clutched the sides of his head. This guy is bat shit crazy! Darrell thought to himself as he slowly backed away. With a burst of inhuman speed the man leapt over the garbage cans and sped toward Darrell. Darrell screamed loudly and turned to flee, but his house slippers couldn't get traction fast enough. Before he could react the man was on him clawing and biting. Darrell felt teeth sink deep into his neck, hot blood rushed out of the wound. He tried to scream, tried to roll, but the man was too strong. Black dots swam in front of his eyes as his vision narrowed, and he blacked out. Darrell woke up with a start in his bed. His Superman sheets lay in a sweaty ball on the floor. "It was just a dream!" he said to himself. His hand gingerly reached up to his neck and it came back wet with blood. Darrell passed out again. Darrell woke up with a start in his bed, again. "It was just a dream!" he said to himself. His hand gingerly reached up to his neck, he felt the dried blood caked to his neck. His eyes focused on the trail of bloody foot prints leading from his bed and up the stairs. He almost fainted again but the fear of his mother kept him awake. "Mom's gonna kill me..." Darrell cleaned up the blood as best he could and tried to ignore the situation by watching TV. He didn't leave the basement except to grab a few bites to eat from the kitchen late at night. Time passed and Darrell stared lazily at the TV day after day. Soon he had forgotten about the crazy man and the bite wound, as far as he could tell everything was normal. The full moon peaked it's brilliant white face above the horizon and shone its light down on Darrell's little home. He was about to start another marathon of a show he had already watched when he felt a hot flash shoot through his body. "Well that's weird," he thought rubbing at his tingling arms. Pain erupted from every nerve in his body. He screamed and fell to the floor trying to roll the pain away. It only intensified as he skin came into contact with the rough carpet. It was as if he was aware of every centimeter of skin, every nerve ending, everything. He was aware of everything. The pain subsided after a few moments and Darrell took a few ragged breaths. Everything he had heard he remembered, everything people had tried to teach him he finally understood. Math, words, letters, science, history, it exploded into his mind like nuclear bombs going off. In fifteen seconds he understood more than he ever had. With his new found gifts he knew what he would do. He would make society a better place, he would solve the most important questions on the planet. He sat in front of his computer and began to type. It was a work of art, it was his magnum opus. It was simply brilliant. As the moon began its descent and the sun rose Darrell felt his mind slipping, he could feel the brilliance fleeing into the dark recesses of his mind. In a rush he finished his essay. He took a step back and could feel his intelligence evaporate like a switch had been turned off. He sank to his chair and wept. The knowledge of being an idiot again remained. He wiped the tears away from his cheeks and read the title of the essay. "Jet Fuel Can't Melt Steel Beams." --- As always thank you for reading! Check out /r/Written4Reddit for more!
	[WP] Darrell was a normal everyday idiot until he was bitten by a ware-genius. Now every full moon, he turns into a genius and is trying to solve the world's problems one night a month at a time.	Mary Stevenson found her son where she always found him at 7am: wrapped around the mini-fridge on the concrete floor of the basement wearing nothing but a pair of over-matched white undies and a physiologically unlikely amount of body hair. "Darrell, get the hell up! You can't be late for work again." Darrell Stevenson awoke with a snort and a fart. "Wha? Why? Yes? M'up. M'up. Okay." Mary shook her head. Was it the drugs, she wondered? Yes, the doctor had suggested rather strongly that hard drugs during pregnancy could adversely effect the baby, but cocaine wasn't really a hard drug, and besides - it was the 80s. How was any sane woman supposed to make it through the 1980s without cocaine and quaaludes? "You lose your job, you're out of here. You hear me? And what the hell were you up to last night?" Mary stomped to Darrell's lopsided, secondhand Ikea desk and started picking through the various loose sheets of paper and spiral-bound notebooks. Darrell pulled himself to his feet and considered his hands for a moment. For some reason his right wrist hurt. The most likely culprit - at least from a historical standpoint - seemed to be over-masturbation, but Darrell left himself open to the possibility of simply having slept on it funny. He decided he would run some tests in the shower. "This is all crazy talk," said Mary, shuffling through the pages. "What?" said Darrell, retrieving his work pants from behind the pull out couch. "All this stuff on your desk," said Mary. "You've got his one thing here - Bi-partisan student loan reform. Since when have you had any student loans?" Darrell shrugged. "Um. Maybe it's about that one time Jimmy Parsons loaned me three dollars for lunch." "When was that?" Darrell considered this, which involved a good bit of finger counting. "1991." "Well, you've got a whole goddamn notebook about Jimmy Parsons' $3 then." Mary tossed the notebook aside. "And what's this? This sounds pretty perverted." Darrell padded across the cold, gray floor and took the stapled pages from his mother. "Gender In-e-qua...Inequality in the Workplace - A Solution to America's Opportunity Gap. Huh." "Who's gap is that about, anyway?" said Mary, swatting Darrell across the back of the head. "Sounds like pornography to me." "Mom, I don't write pornography," said Darrell. All the same, he found himself quickly scanning the document for any good bits. He briefly got excited when he saw something about women getting taken advantage of, but that didn't amount to much. He tossed the papers into the bin. "I must have some sort of sleep disease," he suggested. "Like sleepwalking, but I just sit here and write out a bunch of nonsense instead." "Paper's not free, you know," said Mary, picking up yet another notebook, this one titled ISIS - Decoding Patterns of Movement. "You used up both sides, too! Can't even write on the back." "Well, I can't help it, can I?" said Darrell. "Can't you sleep-do-something-helpful instead? Like sleep-clean-the-gutters?" Darrell yawned, pushing the rest of the notebooks and papers into the trashcan. "That's not how the human brain works. It's complicated, mom. You wouldn't understand." "I understand you're going to be late!" She pushed her son towards the stairs. "No 20 minute shower this time. Move move move. Airport's not going to security itself. Let's go!" "Alright, alright," said Darrell, stifling another sigh as he slowly trudged his way up the stairs. Halfway up, his brain was suddenly assaulted with a barrage of vague, but pressing memories. He saw images of smiling children. He saw war-torn nations rebuilt in a wave of goodwill and neighborly love. He saw weapons dismantled. He saw dying species replenished and green forests renewed. He saw hands clasped. The images held a moment, just on the edge of memory, teetering as Darrell reached out to grab them. Then his stomach gurgled. "Mom? Do we have any Eggos left?" "No." "Shit." Darrell turned back to the memories, only to find that they had all fallen over the edge into oblivion - never to be recovered. "What about Pop-Tarts?"	Darrell was confused. Well, more confused than usual. Every month it was the same thing - the shed was relatively clean one morning, and then overnight some clown would dump a bunch of blueprints, metal scraps, and papers littered with gibberish inside. Darrell had been meaning to investigate, but simply cleaning out the shed required far less effort. He walked home from work, opened the shed door, and began the monthly ritual. The first thing he noticed was a stack of papers -- one of them marked "Chemical Components of Cancer Vaccine" -- which he promptly tore into tiny pieces and tossed to the wind. *** Precisely one month later, at 7:15 PM, the sun had set and the moon was beginning to appear from behind the clouds. Darrell entered the shed, exhaling deeply after a rigorous, satisfying evening of gardening and weed-killing. Then, as quickly as the relief arrived, he was consumed by panic. Oh my God, he thought. Where is it? Where is it? He raced around the relatively well-organized shed, tossing around garden tools and creating an even more chaotic mess than before. Every month some idiot breaks into my shed and clears out all my research, he thought. Time to start from scratch, I suppose. Darrell found a white board hidden behind the lawn mower and began to sketch wildly. In about thirty minutes, he figured out a tentative method of providing clean water to 500 million people, but decided to run another draft later on. He devised plans for a new form of alternative fuel made from Gatorade, a means of saving the Great Barrier Reef, and a cheap, affordable source of basic nutrition for impoverished communities, among others. Ever the perfectionist, he was fully satisfied with only one of his discoveries. By 6 AM, he was ready to make a phone call. "Hello, Department of Commerce? Yes, how would you like to fix the U.S. economy tonight? Perhaps several other countries' as well. Yes? All right, very good. Yes, I'll hold." The sun's rays were beginning to peek through the window. "Hello, Secretary Pritzker? Yes, I think the first step is to --" A flash of light hit Darrell straight between the eyes. "Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh." Secretary Pritzker stared at her phone, baffled. "Are...are you still there, sir?" "Uhhhhhh. I'm sorry, who is this?" Pritzker sighed. "If you're going to make a prank call, try a pizza shop, not the U.S. Government." Darrell shrugged and tapped his touchscreen, ending the call. When he glanced up to see where he was, his shoulders sagged. The shed was a mess. *** Thanks for reading! If you'd like to see more of my stories, check out /r/GigaWrites.
	[WP] You have the special ability to see the cause of death of the person you look at. For most of your life, you chose to not pay attention to it, but now everyone you look at has the same cause of death.	I hate my power. Every day, I have to force myself to get out of my safe, warm bed and face the brutal realities of the world. People always wonder why I'm a strange recluse who never left my house. Well, they'd be the same way if they had to witness the things I did. My mother said she noticed I was different when I was an infant. Apparently, I'd start crying hysterically as soon as I met someone new, but it wasn't until I learned to talk that she understood why. I was probably the first child who's first word was "dead." She still doesn't know where I learned it. As I grew older, it became clear that I was unique. From the moment I meet someone, I see their death. I never know when they'll die, only what they will look like at the moment they take their last breath. Thankfully, it only applies to humans; I don't know what I'd do without my miniature Schnauzer to keep me grounded. When I hear the knock at my door, I have to force myself not to slink back to the bedroom. It's one of only a couple of interactions I have to endure, but it's still more than I'd like. Why the damn grocer wouldn't leave my delivery on the doorstep, I'll never know, but they always make me sign for the damn things. At least it's not as bad as walking through an actual grocery store and watching the broken, bloodied bodies hurry about their day, oblivious to the atrocities that await them one day. Steeling myself, I unlock the door, relieved to feel my dog nudging the backs of my legs. She always seemed to know when I needed her. I take a deep breath then pull open the door so I can sign for the delivery of food. A familiar cologne teased my nose and I relaxed a fraction. The guy is a regular and knows my quirks. He knows I won't make small talk or look him in the eye. Hell, I won't even look at anything but the hand holding out a tablet. His death had always looked like it would be a fairly easy one, one brought on by old age that wouldn't come for some time if the high school class ring dated 2008 was any indication. Reaching for the tablet, I flinch. It's not the familiar hand of an elderly man with papery skin stretched over arthritic fingers. I force myself to lift my gaze and study the man in front of me. The voice is the same as always, but the figure is very different. His body is charred beyond recognition, flakes of blackened flesh sloughing off as he puts away the signed tablet. This is a first for me; never has a death changed. Movement down the hall draws my attention and I glance at my neighbor exiting her car. She had always looked battered and broken, but she, too, is now a charred mess. Horror fills me as my eyes dart to the other figures going about their lives on my street. Every single one of them looks the same and one thing is clear: something has changed their fates. ***** A work in progress	Jonathon enjoyed parks. He could relax and listen to children playing, the clatter of feet on pavement as the daily joggers went by, the distant barks of a dog playing with his owner. It was a soothing place to be, and he needed to take a break. It was getting dark, parents took their children home. The birds quieted down as insects all around began their chorus. It was a little after sunset when he finally sighed and stood up. It was at that very moment when she ran by. She was beautiful. Her hair up in a ponytail, to stay away from her eyes. Those mesmerizing eyes, a deep olive green. Full of life, of love. She waved a hand as she passed, having seen Jonathon there frequently enjoying to park. He waved back. He looked up, them sighed. Her death was close. Unfortunately, this death showed that it would be brutal. It was plural- stabbings Jonathon sighed once more, exasperated, and turned to follow her. He hated running. He hated running with a knife even more. Edited for errors
	[WP] You have the special ability to see the cause of death of the person you look at. For most of your life, you chose to not pay attention to it, but now everyone you look at has the same cause of death.	Every day, I wake up, open the curtains and go look in the mirror. There is just me. I always hope for a little more, to see the words "Peaceful death". Pain is terrifing for me. I'm reminded of that when my mother calls me to eat and, for a split second, I see above her head the words "Burning in a fire". I don't know when that will be and that is why I always listen to her, do what she says, hug her and tell her how much I love her. I am a 16 year old boy and my behavior looks strange to my friends and classmates, but they have no idea what I know. "I missed you." This is Maya, my girlfriend. She has brown hair, black eyes and dimples in her cheeks. That's what I like about her, the dimples. Her way of dying? Peaceful in her sleep. There is always something soothing in seeing those words. She is destined to have a happy life. I take her hand and smile. I hope to be by her side. "Hey, moron!" This is not Maya. It's her best friend, Marnie. I don't know why Maya and her are friends. Marnie is so different than her. She's blonde, blue eyes, no dimples in her cheeks and a complete dickhead. Doesn't like me very much. I can see why. Since 2 months ago, when Maya and I first kissed, she spent more and more time with me and less with her. I wish she liked my best friend, Ari. Then we could just double date and Marnie would have something else to do than to come between me and Maya. How she dies? Well, here things are a little bit complicated. I don't know how, but I know who does it. I see above her head a name. You see, that's the thing with my "gift". If people die of old age or in an accident or from some disease, I know what kills them, but if they are murdered, I find out who kills them. "Did you tell your parents I'm spending New Year with you?" In 3 days a new year will start for us. 1939. "Of course I did, Maya.A week ago. My mother was so happy." We have the biggest house in the neighborhood and my mother invites all of our neighbors every year. This was a very special holiday for us, the Berkowitz. It's the last minute of the year. Maya and I are already looking in each others eyes for about 5 minutes and everyone smiles when they see us. "5, 4, 3, 2, 1. Happy New Year!" I close my eyes and I kiss the love of my life. I'm happy. A few seconds later I open my eyes and I become pale and start to shiver. Everyone, including Maya, now have the same cause of death written above their heads: "Hitler".	Jonathon enjoyed parks. He could relax and listen to children playing, the clatter of feet on pavement as the daily joggers went by, the distant barks of a dog playing with his owner. It was a soothing place to be, and he needed to take a break. It was getting dark, parents took their children home. The birds quieted down as insects all around began their chorus. It was a little after sunset when he finally sighed and stood up. It was at that very moment when she ran by. She was beautiful. Her hair up in a ponytail, to stay away from her eyes. Those mesmerizing eyes, a deep olive green. Full of life, of love. She waved a hand as she passed, having seen Jonathon there frequently enjoying to park. He waved back. He looked up, them sighed. Her death was close. Unfortunately, this death showed that it would be brutal. It was plural- stabbings Jonathon sighed once more, exasperated, and turned to follow her. He hated running. He hated running with a knife even more. Edited for errors
	[WP] You have the special ability to see the cause of death of the person you look at. For most of your life, you chose to not pay attention to it, but now everyone you look at has the same cause of death.	Every day, I wake up, open the curtains and go look in the mirror. There is just me. I always hope for a little more, to see the words "Peaceful death". Pain is terrifing for me. I'm reminded of that when my mother calls me to eat and, for a split second, I see above her head the words "Burning in a fire". I don't know when that will be and that is why I always listen to her, do what she says, hug her and tell her how much I love her. I am a 16 year old boy and my behavior looks strange to my friends and classmates, but they have no idea what I know. "I missed you." This is Maya, my girlfriend. She has brown hair, black eyes and dimples in her cheeks. That's what I like about her, the dimples. Her way of dying? Peaceful in her sleep. There is always something soothing in seeing those words. She is destined to have a happy life. I take her hand and smile. I hope to be by her side. "Hey, moron!" This is not Maya. It's her best friend, Marnie. I don't know why Maya and her are friends. Marnie is so different than her. She's blonde, blue eyes, no dimples in her cheeks and a complete dickhead. Doesn't like me very much. I can see why. Since 2 months ago, when Maya and I first kissed, she spent more and more time with me and less with her. I wish she liked my best friend, Ari. Then we could just double date and Marnie would have something else to do than to come between me and Maya. How she dies? Well, here things are a little bit complicated. I don't know how, but I know who does it. I see above her head a name. You see, that's the thing with my "gift". If people die of old age or in an accident or from some disease, I know what kills them, but if they are murdered, I find out who kills them. "Did you tell your parents I'm spending New Year with you?" In 3 days a new year will start for us. 1939. "Of course I did, Maya.A week ago. My mother was so happy." We have the biggest house in the neighborhood and my mother invites all of our neighbors every year. This was a very special holiday for us, the Berkowitz. It's the last minute of the year. Maya and I are already looking in each others eyes for about 5 minutes and everyone smiles when they see us. "5, 4, 3, 2, 1. Happy New Year!" I close my eyes and I kiss the love of my life. I'm happy. A few seconds later I open my eyes and I become pale and start to shiver. Everyone, including Maya, now have the same cause of death written above their heads: "Hitler".	Everyone dies. That was a lesson Joseph had learned from a young age. Crying after his parents and sister on that fateful day, begging them not to go away and being ignored, hearing the news of their accident with little surprise, these were the images that came up in his mind whenever he thought of his ability. For the most part, he learned to ignore the floating letters whenever he could. Knowing how someone is going to die isn't really useful if you can't do anything about it. In fact, he couldn't remember a single time where he could change it. He can't cure cancer. He can't prevent aging. He can't force people to change their plans. Still, Joseph couldn't help but feel shocked when he entered Lone Pine Mall with his friends. "Nerve Gas". That's what floated over everyone's head. Hundreds of people walking the halls without a care in the world, their inevitable fate looming over them in deep scarlet. Joseph froze in place the second he realized what was happening, worrying his friends when they saw his pale face. "Umm... Joseph?" said Melissa. "You alright there? You look like you've seen a ghost." "Yeah," said Drew, "did you skip lunch or something?" Joseph's legs trembled slightly, but he managed to keep it hidden from them. Scratching his shaggy brown hair, he smiled weakly and said: "Oh, it's nothing. I just remembered I have to buy something. Don't mind me! Let's keep moving." Joseph had just witnessed something that he'd never seen before. Melissa and Drew's fates had just shifted in front of him, blurring from the original causes they usually had into the one of everyone else in the mall. To Joseph, it felt incredibly eerie watching it morph into that, but it confirmed something he had long suspected. "Fate can be changed" thought Joseph. "Their causes of death can change, so that means their future isn't fixed yet. It's just the ending they'll face if they keep walking the path they're in." The busy murmurs of the crowd blended into an unrecognizable blob of noise as Joseph walked along side his friends. His mind was busy racing on what he could possibly do. He could just leave now. Come up with an excuse and run away from the mall as fast as he could. "No!" Joseph quickly shook his head sideways. "I'm not gonna run away. If I die here, so be it. I'm probably the only person around that can do anything to stop this, and I won't be able to live with myself if I just give up... Never again." Gripping his fist tightly, Joseph stopped walking and told his friends he would meet up with them later. As he went to the security booth, his limbs got tenser while stepping on the green tiles. The letters above everyone he passed got darker the more minutes passed by. This was a bad sign, a part of his ability he'd only seen once before. The closer someone was to their death, the deeper in color their letters got. There was still time, but he had to hurry if he hoped to change anything. Joseph pounded on the booth's door and said: "Please, it's an emergency! I need your help!" A mustachioed man with a rounded belly opened the door. His white uniform was stained with marinara sauce and his face wore a scowl that screamed 'What now?'. Inside, there was a younger man with darker skin, sporting a sheepish look on his face. The older security guard cleared his throat and said: "What seems to be the problem, young man?" "Look, I know this is out of the blue, but you have to evacuate everyone in this building!" The man widened his eyes in amusement, let out a chuckle, and said: "I don't know what you kids are thinking these days, but these pranks are getting a bit out of hand. Go away kid, you're wasting our time." The guard grabbed the door, but before it close, Joseph stuck his foot inside and shouted: "You're killing everyone here if you ignore me! People will die if you don't listen!" Pushing Joseph away by leaning his hand on the teenager's chest, the guard shrugged and closed the door shut. Joseph slumped with worry, desperately running his hands through his hair. Pacing back and forth, the teenager started freaking out when he suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder. Joseph turned around and saw it was the same dark skinned guy from the booth. The young guard smiled and said: "Don't worry kid, I can help you!" He gave Joseph a thumbs up. "Officer Wilfery is on the case!" -------------------------- The backrooms of the mall were a lot more eerie than Joseph could have imagined. The hallways were poorly lit by lamps that flickered with a perpetual buzz. Drops of water from leaky pipes echoed throughout, complimented scratches and chitters that Joseph assumed came from rats. Following the security guard through this corridor, Joseph could not stop wondering why this cheerful man decided to help him. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate the assistance, it's just that it was very odd how the man took everything he said about the nerve gas at face value. He didn't even ask how Joseph knew about it! Unable to hold back his curiosity, Joseph hesitated for a second, but said: "So... uhh... Officer Wilfery, please don't take this the wrong way, but why did you believe me so easily?" "To be honest, I'm not really sure." Officer Wilfery chuckled. "I guess you just looked too desperate for you to be lying. Plus, what's there to lose in checking this out?" "I dunno..." "Exactly! That fat bastard's just a lazy man. His job is to make sure everyone's safe here, and he didn't even care about your problem. Worse case scenario, you're just wasting my time. We get to the A/C control room and everything's normal." "Actually," said Joseph, "in these circumstances, I think that's the best case scenario." Officer Wilfery laughed and said: "Yeah, you're right. I guess I'm just a kid inside a grown man's body." "Really? What do you mean?" "Well, the fact that, potentially, people's lives are at stake and I'm here hoping for a chance to show off. Save the day and stuff. I've always wanted to be a hero, ya' know? It's why I took this job, it's why I'm aiming to be a cop, and it's why I felt right in listening to you." Joseph opened his mouth to say something, but Wilfery raised his arm to stop him in his tracks. Dragging the boy and crouching behind an empty cardboard box, the security guard looked at Joseph and whispered: "I think you were right all along." He carefully pointed beyond the box. "The air vent system's door can only be locked from the outside, and the door's wide open. Let's move..." Joseph nodded and silently followed him along. Stopping on the frame of the door, they looked inside the control room and saw a solitary gray-bearded man, tinkering with a canister. Leaning forward, Joseph focused on the man's cause of death. "Heart attack" said the letters above his head, in a light-red color. This man wasn't dying anytime soon, but maybe they could still stop him. Unfortunately, Joseph sighed and lost his balance, falling over his crouch and landing in the middle of the open door. The bearded man was instantly startled, turning around with a gun in his hand and saying: "W-who are you? What are you doing here?!?" ------------------------------------------- Continued in a comment below
	[WP] Elon Musk is convinced that we live in a simulation, so he constructs the largest cluster bomb in history and sets it off in space. For the first time, MilkyWay.exe lags.	"Alright boys, It's time to set this baby off." Elon asked for the detonation device. Once handed to him, he takes a deep breath. The pressing of a single button would determine the success of his publicity, the funding he received, but more than anything else, his ideals. "3...2...1..." his voice rang loud and clear for all spectators. *click* the button decompresses, and all eyes point to a single point near the horizon line. A bright flash emanates and expands all over the sky. To the coder that programmed, the simulation truly did lag. In fact, the simulation almost ran out of resources to continue running. But to Elon and the crew? The event went on as unhindered, as it was their folly for believing they could observe the simulation stutter while being elements ran inside the simulation.	"Right there," Sebastian's paw pointed at the monitor as it flickered brightly in the darkened control room. "This is when our system resources actually hit 100% for the first time. Only for a second or so though." "Was it the CPU or the memory?" asked a voice behind him. "Well it was first CPU and then the memory doing a dynamic dump. Anyways, some human tech CEO named Elon Musk is trying to prove they live in the Matrix hehe." "What about the corgis? Are all the corgis all right?" "Virtual snack levels went down by 9% but other than that we've been letting them snack while their virtual selves are sleeping." "What about their pet humans? Do they believe this Musk character?" "His personality cult has been growing steadily. The council may need to send Delta Corgis after him if he keeps this up." "Good work Sebastian. Let me know if there are any new developments. Make sure the media center tightens up the messaging so that nothing gets out of hand. Oh and here's some Korean fried chicken, straight out of our test labs. I figured you'd want to be one of the first to try it." "Are those one of the new things the humans have recently invented so that we could use their creativity to create our own snacks??? PUT IT IN MY MOUF!!"
	[WP] Elon Musk is convinced that we live in a simulation, so he constructs the largest cluster bomb in history and sets it off in space. For the first time, MilkyWay.exe lags.	The bomb went off, and everyone on earth felt a ripple, like time froze for just a second, as if the "frames per second" of life dropped into the 30s, but only the PC master race noticed at first, but slowly it dipped to the 20s, then 10s, life was unplayable, 0/10 IGN. The screen froze and turned black soon after John, I told you we should've gotten more VRAM for future proofing! This is why we can't spend all our budget on the case! ctl+alt+del end MilkyWay.exe Now we're gonna have to start all over again John.	"Right there," Sebastian's paw pointed at the monitor as it flickered brightly in the darkened control room. "This is when our system resources actually hit 100% for the first time. Only for a second or so though." "Was it the CPU or the memory?" asked a voice behind him. "Well it was first CPU and then the memory doing a dynamic dump. Anyways, some human tech CEO named Elon Musk is trying to prove they live in the Matrix hehe." "What about the corgis? Are all the corgis all right?" "Virtual snack levels went down by 9% but other than that we've been letting them snack while their virtual selves are sleeping." "What about their pet humans? Do they believe this Musk character?" "His personality cult has been growing steadily. The council may need to send Delta Corgis after him if he keeps this up." "Good work Sebastian. Let me know if there are any new developments. Make sure the media center tightens up the messaging so that nothing gets out of hand. Oh and here's some Korean fried chicken, straight out of our test labs. I figured you'd want to be one of the first to try it." "Are those one of the new things the humans have recently invented so that we could use their creativity to create our own snacks??? PUT IT IN MY MOUF!!"
	[WP] Elon Musk is convinced that we live in a simulation, so he constructs the largest cluster bomb in history and sets it off in space. For the first time, MilkyWay.exe lags.	"Hey, boss, could you take a look at this?" Robert Fitch grunted as he heaved himself out of his chair in the observatory room. He liked that chair. It was the only particularly nice thing about the small room, in his opinion. Robert walked to the technician's station, where the right monitor was displaying a star chart and the left, a list of diagnostics. "What's the problem?" "Sir, a bunch of stars just... shifted." "What?" "Here, I'll show you a replay." The technician opened the constant-recording program for the main lens, and played back from twenty seconds before. About a fifth of the stars jumped several degrees in random directions at eight seconds. "What the fuck?" "I know." "Get Hawaii on the phone. Ask them if they're seeing this too." Ten phone call later, they'd confirmed that several other observatories had observed the phenomenon too. It seemed like it was just galaxies that had been part of the jump. Not only that, but they were looking different. "Wait, they're saying turn on the TV, Elon Musk's on about something..." Robert flicked the wall-mounted TV on and switched it to CNN. Elon Musk was indeed talking animatedly, apparently in a NASA press room. "...so we've confirmed it! This fits one of the hypotheses we had perfectly. When the probes detonated, it seems the galaxy itself lagged, bringing it out of sync with the others. We can only assume they're on different servers to us. This is the most concrete proof we've ever had that we're part of a simulation!" Elon continued to talk, visibly excited. &nbsp; Blas was caught off guard when the simulation lagged. They'd been assured it was bulletproof after the latest update. Typical IT behaviour, he thought. They'll tell you whatever you want to hear. It was his own fault for trusting the programmers. No point telling them anyway - what would it achieve? More rushed updates and barely-patched bugs, that's what. He brought up the bug-report template, then paused. Should he really do it? There had been enough bug reports already, too many really, and this was a semi-major one. One that could signal processing limits. One that could get the program branded as another wasteful, problematic government research project and shut down. No, he decided after a minute. He wanted to keep his job, thank you very much. But he'd have to fix this before someone noticed. What had caused the simulation to lag, anyway? He brought up the debugger and found a mass of particle-generation and -destruction routines. That must have been it. He brought up the main sim window and found the source of the problem to be in one of the solar systems with sentients. What they had been trying to achieve was beyond him - someone with the appropriate degree would figure that out later. He mulled it over and realised the objects that had caused the lag were still intact. A few sentient probes, by the looks of it. He mentally debated the issue until deciding to shut them down. What was something conceivable? He couldn't do anything obvious or his supervisors'd kill him. How about a chance electronics failure? A tiny solar flare! That was easily enough done. He did the job and made a note to explain it to the scientist when she came down for her weekly analysis. Surely she'd understand. &nbsp; "Sir, we just lost both probes. Electronic fault. It may have been a solar flare." That was certainly a good, simple explanation - the probes were definitely close together enough - but Elon was set on a different explanation. "They did their job. Good work, everybody. Core staff please stay behind, the rest of you can leave." As the technicians filtered out, Elon smiled to himself.	"Right there," Sebastian's paw pointed at the monitor as it flickered brightly in the darkened control room. "This is when our system resources actually hit 100% for the first time. Only for a second or so though." "Was it the CPU or the memory?" asked a voice behind him. "Well it was first CPU and then the memory doing a dynamic dump. Anyways, some human tech CEO named Elon Musk is trying to prove they live in the Matrix hehe." "What about the corgis? Are all the corgis all right?" "Virtual snack levels went down by 9% but other than that we've been letting them snack while their virtual selves are sleeping." "What about their pet humans? Do they believe this Musk character?" "His personality cult has been growing steadily. The council may need to send Delta Corgis after him if he keeps this up." "Good work Sebastian. Let me know if there are any new developments. Make sure the media center tightens up the messaging so that nothing gets out of hand. Oh and here's some Korean fried chicken, straight out of our test labs. I figured you'd want to be one of the first to try it." "Are those one of the new things the humans have recently invented so that we could use their creativity to create our own snacks??? PUT IT IN MY MOUF!!"
	[WP] Elon Musk is convinced that we live in a simulation, so he constructs the largest cluster bomb in history and sets it off in space. For the first time, MilkyWay.exe lags.	"So are you taking this or not?" The look Kimbal gave him was definitely saying: "Do it, your ringtone is annoying" "..fine" Said Elon pulling out his phone, "This is going to be just a minute, don't wander off too far, I want you to finish that story" "Ok, Jerry, what's up?" Said Elon into the phone covering it with his hand in an attempt to block out the noise from the party. "Hey, Elon, you really need to see this" Jerry's voice was shaking, but Elon couldn't tell if he was happy or scared. "Jerry, can we do this tomorrow? Is this that important?" Elon already started looking around for Kimbal, he knew nothing is more important than the detonation of his bomb and this reception where he was about to give a speech on the initial results of the experiment. "Elon, seriously? I'm calling from 7 time zones away, in the middle of your presentation and you have to ask?" This sounded convincing, especially given that 7 time zones away was 4am. Apparently Jerry did have reasons. "Alright, what happened?" asked Elon. "You were right, Elon" said Jerry proudly, like if it was him who was right, "The particle you predicted does exist!" "The particle I predicted?" Elon stopped looking for Kimbal and decided to step outside. "Yes, well, technically I predicted it, but you gave the idea. Remember when you said that if you were to architect an infinite Universe, you would just make one finite instance, and then make it recursively be made of itself?" Jerry was spitting words at Uzi rate and was definitely proud of himself. "Yeah, I do remember this" said Musk, "But how is it related to a particle?" "That's the best part!" Jerry obviously was waiting for this question "The theory was that there should be similarities between the macro Universe and micro Universe. So we set up an experiment where we bombarded Uranium with neutrons in presence of Higgs bosons, and the expectation was that a Higgs anti-boson would appear" Elon felt like Jerry was skipping over some steps in his explanation for brevity, but in general it made sense. "Ok, so?" he asked. "Well, we did observe something. Like 40 minutes ago, bosons just disappeared and we lost half of the mass of the uranium instantly. It must be the particle". Elon gasped. He looked at his watch. 40 minutes ago was right at the time of the detonation. "That's no particle Jerry. It's a glitch on microscopic scale, which may cause macro...". Suddenly, all sounds disappeared, the black sky was ripped by a circle of uniform bright white light. This white patch was expanding with increasing speed, however, nothing on the ground was seem to be lit by it. In a few seconds the sky was white and tall buildings started to shrink as if they were cut by some white plane dropping down quickly... A pop up with a red exclamation sign appeared on the screen accompanied by a flurry of characters in the crash log: ---- 14A07: Unhandled exception: Simulation stack overflow. Caused by instance: 0x2504807 (Universe) See nested exception description Nested exception: 14A07: Unhandled exception: Simulation stack overflow. Caused by instance: 0x00008746:8D788FF712 (Elon Musk) See nested exception description Nested exception: 64700: Unhandled exception: Custom: This exception is to track spontaneous Elon Musk instances in Milky Way cluster. See issue HKKDL_048872234 for possible solutions.	"Right there," Sebastian's paw pointed at the monitor as it flickered brightly in the darkened control room. "This is when our system resources actually hit 100% for the first time. Only for a second or so though." "Was it the CPU or the memory?" asked a voice behind him. "Well it was first CPU and then the memory doing a dynamic dump. Anyways, some human tech CEO named Elon Musk is trying to prove they live in the Matrix hehe." "What about the corgis? Are all the corgis all right?" "Virtual snack levels went down by 9% but other than that we've been letting them snack while their virtual selves are sleeping." "What about their pet humans? Do they believe this Musk character?" "His personality cult has been growing steadily. The council may need to send Delta Corgis after him if he keeps this up." "Good work Sebastian. Let me know if there are any new developments. Make sure the media center tightens up the messaging so that nothing gets out of hand. Oh and here's some Korean fried chicken, straight out of our test labs. I figured you'd want to be one of the first to try it." "Are those one of the new things the humans have recently invented so that we could use their creativity to create our own snacks??? PUT IT IN MY MOUF!!"
	[WP] Elon Musk is convinced that we live in a simulation, so he constructs the largest cluster bomb in history and sets it off in space. For the first time, MilkyWay.exe lags.	Something's wrong. I woke up this morning as per usual; alarm goes off at 7:30am, I stumble to the bathroom for my morning routine while my girlfriend stays in bed (she works late nights), and then after freshen up I put the coffee on. By the time I get back to the kitchen at about 7:50, the coffee's ready. Today, it wasn't. No big deal, I decide; I'll just take it to go today. Things started to get weird when I noticed that it was still dark outside. I check my calendar: July 17th. The sun should be out by now, ready to sear us all with its scorching July heat. But instead, the sky is as dark as night, as if the sun had just set. I make sure it's actually minutes to eight, and sure enough, it is. Curious, I go and turn on the television - muting it immediately so my girl can sleep - and turn it to the news. The first thing I see is this headline: MUSK DETONATES GIGANTIC BOMB IN SPACE - REALITY ALTERED DRASTICALLY Musk? Oh, right, that guy. SpaceX and what not. I'd heard he was planning something. I unmute the TV and put it to the lowest volume possible just as the report begins. "--reports of a loud explosion above the Earth last night, preceded by a bright flash that illuminated the sky for about 8 minutes. Elon Musk, President of SpaceX and co-founder of Tesla Motors, has claimed responsibility for this bizarre event that seems to have had an impact on our very reality. He explained this in a video posted just a few hours ago..." Am I going to be late to work? Maybe. But this is too good to miss. The South African-born entrepreneur appears on screen, explaining his latest feat in his smooth, accented voice: "Some time ago, I postulated the possibility that we are living in a very complex simulation," he began. "A simulation that is so real that we are essentially convinced that there is nothing else, no other explanation as to how we got here. I am here to tell you that it seems my hypothesis was correct. Last week, we launched Project Distortion, a test to see whether this simulation can be triggered into revealing itself, if only for a little bit. The project involved the building of an extremely large cluster bomb, one which, if detonated close enough to Earth, would extinguish all life on the planet..." I tune out. A BOMB? What is this guy on? He wanted to test a silly theory by building a weapon of mass destruction? He's nuts. I keep watching. "...the bomb was detonated at 12:00 Greenwich Mean Time, and at 12:04 GMT, we saw the indication of the simulation being real. We received reports of time literally staying still, or lagging heavily, in some parts of the world." so THAT'S why it's still dark outside... I turn the TV off, dumbfounded by what I'd just seen. This man, this... inventor, entrepreneur, whateverthefuck you want to call him, just did something unimaginable. he broke the fourth wall. everything we know to be real... is not. I have a feeling today's going to be very interesting.	"Right there," Sebastian's paw pointed at the monitor as it flickered brightly in the darkened control room. "This is when our system resources actually hit 100% for the first time. Only for a second or so though." "Was it the CPU or the memory?" asked a voice behind him. "Well it was first CPU and then the memory doing a dynamic dump. Anyways, some human tech CEO named Elon Musk is trying to prove they live in the Matrix hehe." "What about the corgis? Are all the corgis all right?" "Virtual snack levels went down by 9% but other than that we've been letting them snack while their virtual selves are sleeping." "What about their pet humans? Do they believe this Musk character?" "His personality cult has been growing steadily. The council may need to send Delta Corgis after him if he keeps this up." "Good work Sebastian. Let me know if there are any new developments. Make sure the media center tightens up the messaging so that nothing gets out of hand. Oh and here's some Korean fried chicken, straight out of our test labs. I figured you'd want to be one of the first to try it." "Are those one of the new things the humans have recently invented so that we could use their creativity to create our own snacks??? PUT IT IN MY MOUF!!"
	[WP] Elon Musk is convinced that we live in a simulation, so he constructs the largest cluster bomb in history and sets it off in space. For the first time, MilkyWay.exe lags.	"Alright boys, It's time to set this baby off." Elon asked for the detonation device. Once handed to him, he takes a deep breath. The pressing of a single button would determine the success of his publicity, the funding he received, but more than anything else, his ideals. "3...2...1..." his voice rang loud and clear for all spectators. *click* the button decompresses, and all eyes point to a single point near the horizon line. A bright flash emanates and expands all over the sky. To the coder that programmed, the simulation truly did lag. In fact, the simulation almost ran out of resources to continue running. But to Elon and the crew? The event went on as unhindered, as it was their folly for believing they could observe the simulation stutter while being elements ran inside the simulation.	This reminds me of "I have no Mouth but I must Scream," the video game version. Basically, the people who made AM created a failsafe that it was basically a software that simulates "Entropy" where causes everything to speed up time to the point that everything becomes inert junk, thus crashing AM into a mind of a brick. So if Musk wants to go chaotic evil, he would develop a bomb of entropy that causes the simulation to speed up time to the point that everything in existence would cease to exist becoming inert junk. Have a nice day!
	[WP] Elon Musk is convinced that we live in a simulation, so he constructs the largest cluster bomb in history and sets it off in space. For the first time, MilkyWay.exe lags.	The bomb went off, and everyone on earth felt a ripple, like time froze for just a second, as if the "frames per second" of life dropped into the 30s, but only the PC master race noticed at first, but slowly it dipped to the 20s, then 10s, life was unplayable, 0/10 IGN. The screen froze and turned black soon after John, I told you we should've gotten more VRAM for future proofing! This is why we can't spend all our budget on the case! ctl+alt+del end MilkyWay.exe Now we're gonna have to start all over again John.	This reminds me of "I have no Mouth but I must Scream," the video game version. Basically, the people who made AM created a failsafe that it was basically a software that simulates "Entropy" where causes everything to speed up time to the point that everything becomes inert junk, thus crashing AM into a mind of a brick. So if Musk wants to go chaotic evil, he would develop a bomb of entropy that causes the simulation to speed up time to the point that everything in existence would cease to exist becoming inert junk. Have a nice day!
	[WP] Elon Musk is convinced that we live in a simulation, so he constructs the largest cluster bomb in history and sets it off in space. For the first time, MilkyWay.exe lags.	"Hey, boss, could you take a look at this?" Robert Fitch grunted as he heaved himself out of his chair in the observatory room. He liked that chair. It was the only particularly nice thing about the small room, in his opinion. Robert walked to the technician's station, where the right monitor was displaying a star chart and the left, a list of diagnostics. "What's the problem?" "Sir, a bunch of stars just... shifted." "What?" "Here, I'll show you a replay." The technician opened the constant-recording program for the main lens, and played back from twenty seconds before. About a fifth of the stars jumped several degrees in random directions at eight seconds. "What the fuck?" "I know." "Get Hawaii on the phone. Ask them if they're seeing this too." Ten phone call later, they'd confirmed that several other observatories had observed the phenomenon too. It seemed like it was just galaxies that had been part of the jump. Not only that, but they were looking different. "Wait, they're saying turn on the TV, Elon Musk's on about something..." Robert flicked the wall-mounted TV on and switched it to CNN. Elon Musk was indeed talking animatedly, apparently in a NASA press room. "...so we've confirmed it! This fits one of the hypotheses we had perfectly. When the probes detonated, it seems the galaxy itself lagged, bringing it out of sync with the others. We can only assume they're on different servers to us. This is the most concrete proof we've ever had that we're part of a simulation!" Elon continued to talk, visibly excited. &nbsp; Blas was caught off guard when the simulation lagged. They'd been assured it was bulletproof after the latest update. Typical IT behaviour, he thought. They'll tell you whatever you want to hear. It was his own fault for trusting the programmers. No point telling them anyway - what would it achieve? More rushed updates and barely-patched bugs, that's what. He brought up the bug-report template, then paused. Should he really do it? There had been enough bug reports already, too many really, and this was a semi-major one. One that could signal processing limits. One that could get the program branded as another wasteful, problematic government research project and shut down. No, he decided after a minute. He wanted to keep his job, thank you very much. But he'd have to fix this before someone noticed. What had caused the simulation to lag, anyway? He brought up the debugger and found a mass of particle-generation and -destruction routines. That must have been it. He brought up the main sim window and found the source of the problem to be in one of the solar systems with sentients. What they had been trying to achieve was beyond him - someone with the appropriate degree would figure that out later. He mulled it over and realised the objects that had caused the lag were still intact. A few sentient probes, by the looks of it. He mentally debated the issue until deciding to shut them down. What was something conceivable? He couldn't do anything obvious or his supervisors'd kill him. How about a chance electronics failure? A tiny solar flare! That was easily enough done. He did the job and made a note to explain it to the scientist when she came down for her weekly analysis. Surely she'd understand. &nbsp; "Sir, we just lost both probes. Electronic fault. It may have been a solar flare." That was certainly a good, simple explanation - the probes were definitely close together enough - but Elon was set on a different explanation. "They did their job. Good work, everybody. Core staff please stay behind, the rest of you can leave." As the technicians filtered out, Elon smiled to himself.	This reminds me of "I have no Mouth but I must Scream," the video game version. Basically, the people who made AM created a failsafe that it was basically a software that simulates "Entropy" where causes everything to speed up time to the point that everything becomes inert junk, thus crashing AM into a mind of a brick. So if Musk wants to go chaotic evil, he would develop a bomb of entropy that causes the simulation to speed up time to the point that everything in existence would cease to exist becoming inert junk. Have a nice day!
	[WP] Elon Musk is convinced that we live in a simulation, so he constructs the largest cluster bomb in history and sets it off in space. For the first time, MilkyWay.exe lags.	"So are you taking this or not?" The look Kimbal gave him was definitely saying: "Do it, your ringtone is annoying" "..fine" Said Elon pulling out his phone, "This is going to be just a minute, don't wander off too far, I want you to finish that story" "Ok, Jerry, what's up?" Said Elon into the phone covering it with his hand in an attempt to block out the noise from the party. "Hey, Elon, you really need to see this" Jerry's voice was shaking, but Elon couldn't tell if he was happy or scared. "Jerry, can we do this tomorrow? Is this that important?" Elon already started looking around for Kimbal, he knew nothing is more important than the detonation of his bomb and this reception where he was about to give a speech on the initial results of the experiment. "Elon, seriously? I'm calling from 7 time zones away, in the middle of your presentation and you have to ask?" This sounded convincing, especially given that 7 time zones away was 4am. Apparently Jerry did have reasons. "Alright, what happened?" asked Elon. "You were right, Elon" said Jerry proudly, like if it was him who was right, "The particle you predicted does exist!" "The particle I predicted?" Elon stopped looking for Kimbal and decided to step outside. "Yes, well, technically I predicted it, but you gave the idea. Remember when you said that if you were to architect an infinite Universe, you would just make one finite instance, and then make it recursively be made of itself?" Jerry was spitting words at Uzi rate and was definitely proud of himself. "Yeah, I do remember this" said Musk, "But how is it related to a particle?" "That's the best part!" Jerry obviously was waiting for this question "The theory was that there should be similarities between the macro Universe and micro Universe. So we set up an experiment where we bombarded Uranium with neutrons in presence of Higgs bosons, and the expectation was that a Higgs anti-boson would appear" Elon felt like Jerry was skipping over some steps in his explanation for brevity, but in general it made sense. "Ok, so?" he asked. "Well, we did observe something. Like 40 minutes ago, bosons just disappeared and we lost half of the mass of the uranium instantly. It must be the particle". Elon gasped. He looked at his watch. 40 minutes ago was right at the time of the detonation. "That's no particle Jerry. It's a glitch on microscopic scale, which may cause macro...". Suddenly, all sounds disappeared, the black sky was ripped by a circle of uniform bright white light. This white patch was expanding with increasing speed, however, nothing on the ground was seem to be lit by it. In a few seconds the sky was white and tall buildings started to shrink as if they were cut by some white plane dropping down quickly... A pop up with a red exclamation sign appeared on the screen accompanied by a flurry of characters in the crash log: ---- 14A07: Unhandled exception: Simulation stack overflow. Caused by instance: 0x2504807 (Universe) See nested exception description Nested exception: 14A07: Unhandled exception: Simulation stack overflow. Caused by instance: 0x00008746:8D788FF712 (Elon Musk) See nested exception description Nested exception: 64700: Unhandled exception: Custom: This exception is to track spontaneous Elon Musk instances in Milky Way cluster. See issue HKKDL_048872234 for possible solutions.	This reminds me of "I have no Mouth but I must Scream," the video game version. Basically, the people who made AM created a failsafe that it was basically a software that simulates "Entropy" where causes everything to speed up time to the point that everything becomes inert junk, thus crashing AM into a mind of a brick. So if Musk wants to go chaotic evil, he would develop a bomb of entropy that causes the simulation to speed up time to the point that everything in existence would cease to exist becoming inert junk. Have a nice day!
	[WP] Elon Musk is convinced that we live in a simulation, so he constructs the largest cluster bomb in history and sets it off in space. For the first time, MilkyWay.exe lags.	Something's wrong. I woke up this morning as per usual; alarm goes off at 7:30am, I stumble to the bathroom for my morning routine while my girlfriend stays in bed (she works late nights), and then after freshen up I put the coffee on. By the time I get back to the kitchen at about 7:50, the coffee's ready. Today, it wasn't. No big deal, I decide; I'll just take it to go today. Things started to get weird when I noticed that it was still dark outside. I check my calendar: July 17th. The sun should be out by now, ready to sear us all with its scorching July heat. But instead, the sky is as dark as night, as if the sun had just set. I make sure it's actually minutes to eight, and sure enough, it is. Curious, I go and turn on the television - muting it immediately so my girl can sleep - and turn it to the news. The first thing I see is this headline: MUSK DETONATES GIGANTIC BOMB IN SPACE - REALITY ALTERED DRASTICALLY Musk? Oh, right, that guy. SpaceX and what not. I'd heard he was planning something. I unmute the TV and put it to the lowest volume possible just as the report begins. "--reports of a loud explosion above the Earth last night, preceded by a bright flash that illuminated the sky for about 8 minutes. Elon Musk, President of SpaceX and co-founder of Tesla Motors, has claimed responsibility for this bizarre event that seems to have had an impact on our very reality. He explained this in a video posted just a few hours ago..." Am I going to be late to work? Maybe. But this is too good to miss. The South African-born entrepreneur appears on screen, explaining his latest feat in his smooth, accented voice: "Some time ago, I postulated the possibility that we are living in a very complex simulation," he began. "A simulation that is so real that we are essentially convinced that there is nothing else, no other explanation as to how we got here. I am here to tell you that it seems my hypothesis was correct. Last week, we launched Project Distortion, a test to see whether this simulation can be triggered into revealing itself, if only for a little bit. The project involved the building of an extremely large cluster bomb, one which, if detonated close enough to Earth, would extinguish all life on the planet..." I tune out. A BOMB? What is this guy on? He wanted to test a silly theory by building a weapon of mass destruction? He's nuts. I keep watching. "...the bomb was detonated at 12:00 Greenwich Mean Time, and at 12:04 GMT, we saw the indication of the simulation being real. We received reports of time literally staying still, or lagging heavily, in some parts of the world." so THAT'S why it's still dark outside... I turn the TV off, dumbfounded by what I'd just seen. This man, this... inventor, entrepreneur, whateverthefuck you want to call him, just did something unimaginable. he broke the fourth wall. everything we know to be real... is not. I have a feeling today's going to be very interesting.	This reminds me of "I have no Mouth but I must Scream," the video game version. Basically, the people who made AM created a failsafe that it was basically a software that simulates "Entropy" where causes everything to speed up time to the point that everything becomes inert junk, thus crashing AM into a mind of a brick. So if Musk wants to go chaotic evil, he would develop a bomb of entropy that causes the simulation to speed up time to the point that everything in existence would cease to exist becoming inert junk. Have a nice day!
	[WP] Elon Musk is convinced that we live in a simulation, so he constructs the largest cluster bomb in history and sets it off in space. For the first time, MilkyWay.exe lags.	"So are you taking this or not?" The look Kimbal gave him was definitely saying: "Do it, your ringtone is annoying" "..fine" Said Elon pulling out his phone, "This is going to be just a minute, don't wander off too far, I want you to finish that story" "Ok, Jerry, what's up?" Said Elon into the phone covering it with his hand in an attempt to block out the noise from the party. "Hey, Elon, you really need to see this" Jerry's voice was shaking, but Elon couldn't tell if he was happy or scared. "Jerry, can we do this tomorrow? Is this that important?" Elon already started looking around for Kimbal, he knew nothing is more important than the detonation of his bomb and this reception where he was about to give a speech on the initial results of the experiment. "Elon, seriously? I'm calling from 7 time zones away, in the middle of your presentation and you have to ask?" This sounded convincing, especially given that 7 time zones away was 4am. Apparently Jerry did have reasons. "Alright, what happened?" asked Elon. "You were right, Elon" said Jerry proudly, like if it was him who was right, "The particle you predicted does exist!" "The particle I predicted?" Elon stopped looking for Kimbal and decided to step outside. "Yes, well, technically I predicted it, but you gave the idea. Remember when you said that if you were to architect an infinite Universe, you would just make one finite instance, and then make it recursively be made of itself?" Jerry was spitting words at Uzi rate and was definitely proud of himself. "Yeah, I do remember this" said Musk, "But how is it related to a particle?" "That's the best part!" Jerry obviously was waiting for this question "The theory was that there should be similarities between the macro Universe and micro Universe. So we set up an experiment where we bombarded Uranium with neutrons in presence of Higgs bosons, and the expectation was that a Higgs anti-boson would appear" Elon felt like Jerry was skipping over some steps in his explanation for brevity, but in general it made sense. "Ok, so?" he asked. "Well, we did observe something. Like 40 minutes ago, bosons just disappeared and we lost half of the mass of the uranium instantly. It must be the particle". Elon gasped. He looked at his watch. 40 minutes ago was right at the time of the detonation. "That's no particle Jerry. It's a glitch on microscopic scale, which may cause macro...". Suddenly, all sounds disappeared, the black sky was ripped by a circle of uniform bright white light. This white patch was expanding with increasing speed, however, nothing on the ground was seem to be lit by it. In a few seconds the sky was white and tall buildings started to shrink as if they were cut by some white plane dropping down quickly... A pop up with a red exclamation sign appeared on the screen accompanied by a flurry of characters in the crash log: ---- 14A07: Unhandled exception: Simulation stack overflow. Caused by instance: 0x2504807 (Universe) See nested exception description Nested exception: 14A07: Unhandled exception: Simulation stack overflow. Caused by instance: 0x00008746:8D788FF712 (Elon Musk) See nested exception description Nested exception: 64700: Unhandled exception: Custom: This exception is to track spontaneous Elon Musk instances in Milky Way cluster. See issue HKKDL_048872234 for possible solutions.	Musk retires in shame, wasting the fortunes of the world. Since we're also simulated, our consciences also lagged and nothing was noticed by anything, except some universe research assistant out in the real universe noticed something was wrong, so just rebooted our server. The simulation was reset, feeding different random noise into the universe generator, and was back to the same time in a few hours.
	[WP] Elon Musk is convinced that we live in a simulation, so he constructs the largest cluster bomb in history and sets it off in space. For the first time, MilkyWay.exe lags.	Something's wrong. I woke up this morning as per usual; alarm goes off at 7:30am, I stumble to the bathroom for my morning routine while my girlfriend stays in bed (she works late nights), and then after freshen up I put the coffee on. By the time I get back to the kitchen at about 7:50, the coffee's ready. Today, it wasn't. No big deal, I decide; I'll just take it to go today. Things started to get weird when I noticed that it was still dark outside. I check my calendar: July 17th. The sun should be out by now, ready to sear us all with its scorching July heat. But instead, the sky is as dark as night, as if the sun had just set. I make sure it's actually minutes to eight, and sure enough, it is. Curious, I go and turn on the television - muting it immediately so my girl can sleep - and turn it to the news. The first thing I see is this headline: MUSK DETONATES GIGANTIC BOMB IN SPACE - REALITY ALTERED DRASTICALLY Musk? Oh, right, that guy. SpaceX and what not. I'd heard he was planning something. I unmute the TV and put it to the lowest volume possible just as the report begins. "--reports of a loud explosion above the Earth last night, preceded by a bright flash that illuminated the sky for about 8 minutes. Elon Musk, President of SpaceX and co-founder of Tesla Motors, has claimed responsibility for this bizarre event that seems to have had an impact on our very reality. He explained this in a video posted just a few hours ago..." Am I going to be late to work? Maybe. But this is too good to miss. The South African-born entrepreneur appears on screen, explaining his latest feat in his smooth, accented voice: "Some time ago, I postulated the possibility that we are living in a very complex simulation," he began. "A simulation that is so real that we are essentially convinced that there is nothing else, no other explanation as to how we got here. I am here to tell you that it seems my hypothesis was correct. Last week, we launched Project Distortion, a test to see whether this simulation can be triggered into revealing itself, if only for a little bit. The project involved the building of an extremely large cluster bomb, one which, if detonated close enough to Earth, would extinguish all life on the planet..." I tune out. A BOMB? What is this guy on? He wanted to test a silly theory by building a weapon of mass destruction? He's nuts. I keep watching. "...the bomb was detonated at 12:00 Greenwich Mean Time, and at 12:04 GMT, we saw the indication of the simulation being real. We received reports of time literally staying still, or lagging heavily, in some parts of the world." so THAT'S why it's still dark outside... I turn the TV off, dumbfounded by what I'd just seen. This man, this... inventor, entrepreneur, whateverthefuck you want to call him, just did something unimaginable. he broke the fourth wall. everything we know to be real... is not. I have a feeling today's going to be very interesting.	Musk retires in shame, wasting the fortunes of the world. Since we're also simulated, our consciences also lagged and nothing was noticed by anything, except some universe research assistant out in the real universe noticed something was wrong, so just rebooted our server. The simulation was reset, feeding different random noise into the universe generator, and was back to the same time in a few hours.
	[WP] Elon Musk is convinced that we live in a simulation, so he constructs the largest cluster bomb in history and sets it off in space. For the first time, MilkyWay.exe lags.	I felt it for only a moment. A tiny hesitation. A slight bump. As if I had blinked, but my eyes never closed. It lasted for a mere split second, almost imperceptible yet also impossible to ignore. As my brain reeled back to reality, I pressed my now cold hands to my clammy cheeks and absorbed my surroundings to be sure nothing was missing. Then I immediately emptied the contents of my stomach onto the floor in front of me. What the hell was that?! I heard my younger sister shout from down the hall, her hoarse voice betraying her own lack of intestinal fortitude against whatever had just happened to the entire world. The only response I could muster was a loud grunt, a mixture of frustration and horror, as I scrambled to type the words into my computer. "world stops for a second" Nothing. Befuddled, I stare at Googles insistence that the world was perfectly normal. I slam my palm against the keyboard which loudly rejects my expression of anger. Begging for answers, I refresh the page, and suddenly Google provides. Scores of articles insist that Elon Musk, the inventor of Tesla Motors, has proven without a doubt that our reality is a simulation. He claims to have overloaded the simulation by detonating a cluster bomb just outside earths atmosphere. I feel my fingertips go numb and my face go pale at this realization. Unable to part my eyes from the words on the screen, I hear my sister approach the computer from behind, but before she can read it I protect her from the horrible truth with a quick stroke of the Keyboard. What was that? She asks again, much more collected and calm this time. Nothing, Go back to sleep. I insist. I look over and offer her the closest thing I can to a smile. My pale and clammy skin would rob me of any semblance of calm, but thankfully my sister was too exhausted to care. As she turned to trudge off to bed, I clutched my head in my hands and let myself sob with existential dread. I didn't have long to contemplate the ramifications of this realization before a bright flash illuminated the entire house, piercing the night sky with a loud roar. It was the last thing I saw before... SIMULATION ENDED	Musk retires in shame, wasting the fortunes of the world. Since we're also simulated, our consciences also lagged and nothing was noticed by anything, except some universe research assistant out in the real universe noticed something was wrong, so just rebooted our server. The simulation was reset, feeding different random noise into the universe generator, and was back to the same time in a few hours.
	[WP] Elon Musk is convinced that we live in a simulation, so he constructs the largest cluster bomb in history and sets it off in space. For the first time, MilkyWay.exe lags.	"Is there anything i can do to stop these redditors from dickriding me so hard?" Elon musked wondered out loud. "Jeez Elon I dont know" "Helpfull as always whatever my brothers called, listen to this ingenious idea. Ill get a couple of billions worth of explosives and set it off in space." "are you gonna be snarky if i ask why" "dumbass" Elon musked his way towards his living room and made some calls. People think its harder to create a project then it is. You apply money to smart people and youre pretty much set. Most of the time those smart people are engineers, sometimes its marketing, nowadays its pretty much everything I outsource. "You want to set off fireworks in space? why? thats such a waste Elon, even if we live in a simulation which is a dumb antiquated view thats honestly even that clearly formulated by you, heck you didnt..." "shush shush convenient exposition, if i say jump you say?" "ye ye how high" "so i ask rockets in the sky and you say" "how fucking many" "enough so that if i put the funding towards helping the poor i couldve saved a million people" "jesus Elon youre losing it" Elon hung up and remained silent for a minute. Then he started laughing. The walls echoed the hollow sounds. He gasped for air and sat down but kept on laughing. He got tears in his eyes such a good time he was having. "im gonna set of fucking fireworks to test if were in a simulation" he managed between laughing fits "its so fucking dumb to be rich" . After a successful launch there was a 'stutter' in everything. like the milkyway lagged. Elon smirked and called the engineer again. "looks like i was riii-iight" "still couldve saved those millions of people instead Elon. This "discovery" doesnt change as much as you think it does. "	Musk retires in shame, wasting the fortunes of the world. Since we're also simulated, our consciences also lagged and nothing was noticed by anything, except some universe research assistant out in the real universe noticed something was wrong, so just rebooted our server. The simulation was reset, feeding different random noise into the universe generator, and was back to the same time in a few hours.

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